Or perhaps she wouldn't chain and cuff his wrist, but his fine cock and scrotum. Jacob. When she thought of the personality he'd shown, the temper, her hunger stirred. She was ravenous. A side effect of the powder, she knew, but it was further stirred by her dream and memories of the things that had happened between them before she fainted.
While the malady she suffered had many drawbacks, including the inability to predict these attacks, one of its better aspects was that the spells, like the tides, fully receded after they'd run their course.
Her strength and potency had returned with her hunger. As well as the sharpness of her faculties, her ability to think and question.
Bran? How had Jacob gotten past him? How had he gotten in, period? Why was she thinking of him as if she'd already made the decision to keep him? He hadn't even told her the full truth of why he wanted to be her servant. She knew almost nothing of him. Thomas's endorsement held great weight, but normally she would have investigated far more about the man before bringing him into her home. Perhaps desperate times called for desperate measures, though she disliked thinking of her situation as desperate.
After brushing out her hair and sliding on a black satin robe and some jewelry to armor herself, she left the room and the west wing for the stairwell. She liked her Atlanta mansion, built in a fortress style with stone. While she'd have preferred it situated even more deeply in the woods than it was, at least it backed up to thirty acres of forest she'd had fenced, the outer perimeter regularly patrolled.
As she walked down the stairs, she knew it was still night. Probably about two thirty in the morning, given that the medicine usually knocked her out for two hours. The outside landscaping lights mounted beneath the stained glass windows threw light before her on. the curving stairwell and into the foyer. Reds, blues and golds merged with the shadows.
Stopping halfway down the staircase, she cocked her head, her exceptional senses picking up music from a radio and voices. And… aromas.
He was cooking eggs. Speaking to someone. Who? She deepened her probe, the possible need for aggression rising in her. Then she relaxed. It was Mr. Ingram. The driver. With Jacob. Brow furrowed, she went to the base of the stairs and headed for the kitchen.
Since she hadn't sent a compulsion to Bran to conceal his response when he sensed her approach, there was a sudden thunderous bark, followed by several slightly less vocal ones and a surprised yelp from what sounded like Mr. Ingram. Then there was the clatter of toenails. Many toenails.
Stopping in the wide hall, she braced herself for canine assault.
Her hellhounds, Rex had called them. He'd actually been fond of the two girls. Not as fond as she was of all of them though, finding herself unable to suppress a smile as the pack of Irish wolfhounds came racing out of the kitchen. Graceful as deer when they had traction, they galloped pell-mell down the slick wooden floor of the long hall that was the central feature of her home. She winced as Maggie skidded into one of the mounted suits of armor and knocked the pike loose, sending it clattering to the floor after it bounced off of Fionn's head, which deterred his speed not a bit.
She suspected Rex's affection had to do with their reputation from ancient times of being able to rip an enemy's head off in battle. Plus the fact that, at one time, only royalty could keep them. Even when Irish nobility had been allowed to have them, the quantity of the dogs they were allowed depended on rank. While she found their ferocity very useful, their heritage noble, she'd found many other reasons to love them.
Bran was in the lead of course. The pack of nine dogs, seven males and two females, varied in color from black to brindle, fawn to red, but he was her ghost, a rare pure white. He came to a skidding halt just short of making contact, showing respect. Since he was nearly a yard tall at the shoulder, Bran was level with her breastbone when he raised his head as he did now. She stroked his head first as the pack leader, acknowledging him, then dispensed touches and reassuring words to the others. As she heard footsteps approaching, she raised her voice.
"You've been a very bad dog, Bran. Letting riffraff into my house."
Lifting her head, she studied Jacob, coming down the hallway toward her. Yes, he was just as appealing now as he'd been at the salon. The edge of lust she carried made her want to sink her teeth into him before another blink of time had passed. He still wore a shirt, but he'd buttoned a couple more buttons and wore it loose over the jeans, impeding her view in a manner that didn't entirely please her. But for the moment she was content to study him as he was. The blue eyes assessed her, concerned. The confident stride, the loose hands said he'd made himself comfortable in his surroundings.
She could intimidate or seduce a man with a look without any magical power. She'd had time to practice, after all. But Jacob had a self-possession that made an impression. Perhaps it was his colorful past and the secrets he'd yet to divulge to her that made him handle himself so well. Since he had Thomas's confidence, she acknowledged those secrets might be nothing to concern her, just the history behind his private revelations and struggles. A man at ease with himself, who knew where he'd been, what it meant and where he wanted to go. Which annoyed her exactly because of how much it appealed to her.
"I promise he ate at least three Jehovah's Witnesses to redeem himself," he responded.
"Bran would never eat my dinner if it delivered itself to my door. He has manners. How did you get past him?"
"Thomas taught me the command he used with them. He also gave me a handkerchief with his preserved scent. The two together seemed to do the trick."
"Fortunately for you." She fondled Fionn's ears, feeling the soft silk of the undercoat mixed with the rough top layer. It reminded her somewhat of the softness of Jacob's lips, mixed with the stimulation of his facial hair. "Why is the driver still here?"
"I think you should hire him, my lady. He's very competent, and he's had military training."
"He would never work for the likes of me."
"I think he'd consider it, if an offer was made."
"What lies have you been telling him?"
His eyes narrowed. "I would never lie about you, my lady. I will lie for you, if needed for your well-being."
"Hmm." He was showing that edge of irritation he'd demonstrated when she'd accused him of being a drifter, stimulating her in a way he likely wouldn't expect. It brought back all the things the dream had roused as well. "Come with me, then."