If Jean-Claude had not offered me a home when our old master got himself executed, Belle Morte would have had me. Why isn't he? I just shook my head and got up to get more coffee. As he'd pointed out to me, the beauties of his day in the French courts were today's size twenty. Charles yelled at him.
He vanished around the doorframe, trailing a sound of masculine laughter. I don't mind killing to defend my life and the lives of others. A fear so raw and naked, that it hurt to meet his eyes. I just didn't see it.
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