"Good then." Arzhen said coldly, unconvinced. "You see my weakness and I see yours. Stay."
Balls.
Roarke felt as if he had been outmaneuvered. No, he was out-paranoided.
Arzhen Vasiliev, for all his exhaustion and psychological deterioration, was still sharp enough to recognize when someone wanted to leave and contrary enough to make them stay.
"If you insist, then I will accept your generous invitation."
Roarke sighed. The sigh was genuine although Father Rohan too would sigh in exactly this situation. The sigh could be interpreted as mildly put-upon, mildly amused, yet ultimately accommodating.
Arzhen turned to his aide. "Escort Father Rohan to the guest room."
As the order dropped, the aide glanced around the small, sparsely furnished townhouse with a confused expression. After all, this was not a residence with guest rooms. This was a neat, well made residence, but it was barely a residence with rooms.
