Dorian
"You're sure she's a Thorne?" he asks seriously, and I nod in response. "Marta had a daughter that died a couple years back. Layla Thorne. Is it her?"
I smirk. "Layla Rivers —Marta's ex-husband's surname," I tell him. "She didn't bother to be too creative, which means her faked death must have been really convincing."
"Some details were that it was gory and bloody, but I never got specifics. Someone tried to cover it up, and I'm leaning toward it being the ones behind her death as opposed to Marta, if that's the case," he continues.
"I'd toss you a treat if I had any," I say with thick condescension, as he scowls at me. Rolling my eyes, I add, "Yes, someone thought they covered their asses, but Marta was damn powerful. She could have easily manipulated minds, or possibly had Elias to do it as payment for his life debt."
He snorts from behind me. "That debt will never be paid. The Thorne gypsies love our punishment too much."
I shrug a shoulder.
"If this is her daughter, why didn't she instill that same traditional hatred?" I point out, causing him to bristle. "See, Wolf? It's possible Elias paid her mother a life debt, though he'd never share that information with us."
Even though the chance of Marta being able to do that is lower than what could be considered minimal…it's still something Elias could be persuaded with.
He sits back, seeming lost in thought. This time, I think I smell his brain smoking.
"There's something else, though, which is another reason I'm here," I tell him idly.
He puts his glass down and leans forward, finally covering himself…somewhat.
"I'm listening, but I'm not known for my patience, so save your typical, theatrical pauses for Lucien," he says on a sneer.
I smirk. "She has a ghost hanging around her. Rather attractive one too," I tell him.
He arches an eyebrow. "Glad you've got a boner for a dead chick, but I thought there was an important—"
His eyes widen like he finally gets it, being the slow, bloke he is.
I decide to set the record straight while he finishes putting together the obvious. "I'm not quite so easy to get erect; a pretty ghost didn't do it for me. It's hard to impress me these days," I say as I pick off a piece of lint from one of my lapels. "But she must have died in her underwear. Terrible waste. Could have met her in her time—"
"Stop talking about the ghost. This Layla girl can't be a Thorne. She'd be sucking the life right out of that ghost."
"Her pet ghost has reached the phase of pathological liar, and still, she's perfectly well, instead of a pile of salt. No ghost that far along in the final decay could be in the presence of a Thorne for that long, and it seems like they're rather familiar with each other," I continue.
"Then she's not a Thorne," he says again. "You just don't want to admit you're wrong, per the usual."
"I know perfectly well the scent of Thorne blood. You're not the only one with that particular curse," I go on.
"My head hurts," he says on a groan, leaning forward to massage his temples.
"Doesn't take much, does it, mutt?"
When he gives me a feral growl, I grin and push off from the house.
"I'll be the true test. She'll hate me worse than even you," he says as he stretches his arms above his head. "I'll do my own lie detection test, while making sure you're not just full of shit, which you probably are."
"Have fun with that. When you realize she's an anomaly by being a clueless Portocale, don't let her in on the secret just yet," I pointedly tell him, since it's possible he's stupid enough to open his mouth.
"Like I'm that stupid," he growls, almost prompting me to slip up and grin too much as I turn to walk away.
"Watch your manners, since she's a stickler like that," I call over my shoulder. "But remember, she's still a Thorne, even if she doesn't know what that means."
"What the hell kind of fucking thing is that to say?" he gripes at my back.
I continue grinning as I turn around, deciding not to give him the true warning. Layla Thorne has all the subtle Thorne beauty without the Thorne bitterness foaming from her very intriguing lips.
There's a certain vulnerability about her that I've not had to see in a Thorne's eyes for too many centuries to count, and it's unnervingly distracting.
Kier should be as caught off guard by that as I was.
"She doesn't know we can see her ghost. Good luck keeping a straight face," is what I say instead.
"Bullshit. She's faking it or you're pulling my dick," he says to my back, when I turn and walk away again, leaving him to think whatever he wants.
It'll have more humorous charm when he sees for himself.