Sliver of Silver (Blushing Death) by Suzanne M. Sabol Page A

them?” I asked.
    “In a minute,” he said, turning the full force of those blue eyes on me. “I wanted to talk to you first.” He seemed softer, more relaxed now that it was just the two of us. His shoulders were no longer the tense, rigid line they’d been and he was the familiar stoic Dean I knew.
    “What about?” I was exhausted. Not sleeping and having one stress filled day after another had finally taken its toll. I shoved my hands in my pockets for lack of something to lean on and relaxed as much as I could in the sweltering heat with my heart thundering in my chest.
    “Did Pat talk to you?” 
    The smartass in me wanted to say sure, all the time but I held back. I had a feeling I knew exactly what he was asking. The subject of the Fae was too important a subject to joke about. See, I was learning.
    “About the Fae?”
    He nodded.
    “He did,” I said, hearing the wary tone in my voice. I mentally kicked myself for letting my concern show.
    “And you approve?” His tone was flat. There was no judgment in his words or sign of interest one way or the other.
    I took a deep breath. A new wave of exhaustion pressed heavily on my shoulders, shoving me down into the ground as the steamy suffocating heat of the night shifted around me on the thick summer breeze. I swiped the sweat from my upper lip with my fingertips and wiped it on my jeans before I answered.
    “I did,” I said, nodding.
    “Why?” he asked. His question felt more like a professor seeking my reasoning than anything accusatory. We strolled through the tall grass as I pondered, trying to figure out how to explain something to him I didn’t understand myself. My reasons were probably not what Dean would expect either.
    “Patrick’s growing more powerful by the day, as are you,” I said with a sheepish smile. “We won’t be able to fly under the radar forever. I thought it might be beneficial to have the Fae here to help us instead of waiting until it’s too damned late and we have nothing. I don’t want to be unprepared,” I said with resignation. I don’t want to watch someone else I love die .
    He smiled, showing more teeth than I had ever seen. Delight shone in his eyes, as if he were seeing me for the very first time.
    “That’s very Machiavellian of you,” he said. “Patrick had one hesitation about the Fae moving here,” Dean said with obvious hesitation. “You.” His gaze raked over me before finally meeting my eyes again. “He worried what a war would do to you.”
    I understood more than he knew. My mortality was a weakness. No one liked admitting weakness, not even me. Dean certainly didn’t like pointing out that Patrick’s concern for me was a hindrance, but it was. It caused him to second guess himself, and his decisions.
    “Patrick should worry about more than me. A war brings casualties, innocent bystanders, Pack members and people we all care about. A war brings attention to us,” I said.
    I glanced up at Dean and his pale blue Caribbean eyes. The first real pangs of fear stirred in the pit of my stomach as I realized he wasn’t just Gaoh anymore; he was my friend.
    He is ours.
    I clenched my fists tight in my jeans pockets. “In the end, I don’t see how we can avoid it,” I forced out, regret thick in my voice.
    “You’re probably right,” Dean grumbled. “Problem is, Pat’s a 20 th century vampire. He’s got a different idea of what a vampire is,” he said, scanning beyond me into the trees. They were out there somewhere, hunting, living, running, and they were doing it without him. “That board of theirs forgets that Pat’s a leader of men. Before they were vampires, they were men. He gives them something to believe in again.” Dean turned his Caribbean blue eyes down to me. His heated gaze was full of things unspoken, things I wasn’t sure I wanted spoken either.
    “So are you,” I said and my breath caught in my throat. The air seemed so much thicker than it had been a few moments ago,