Free Vampire Instinct by Joey W. Hill

calm—as if she were mentally impaired—now his tone was that of an employer asking a question of an employee. Good. That was what she wanted. Though in that brief second while he waited for her answer, his gaze covered her, from the nervous clasp of her hands, to the rise and fall of her bosom, up to her throat. He lingered there for a bare second before coming to her face. She ignored the reactive warming of her skin.
    “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t understand the question.”
    Putting the paperwork aside, he laced his fingers across his flat abdomen, pushing the chair back farther on its complaining stem. “You named them, didn’t you?”
    “Their ability to communicate is limited, sir. So far. We didn’t have records of their names. With all they’ve been through, we think most don’t remember them. Or they don’t want to tell us, as if they’re giving something precious away. We had to call them something.”
    He arched a brow. “Do you have difficulty answering a question with a yes or no, Elisa?”
    She firmed her lips. “Yes, sir. I named them.”
    “I thought so. William means protector . Matthew, gift of God . Leonidas, lionlike .” He paused. “For the eyes, I assume. You couldn’t bring yourself to give him a name as gentle as the others.”
    “It didn’t seem to suit.”
    “Yet you think the others do.” Did his tone reflect a hint of scorn? She told herself she was going to hold her tongue this time even if she had to bite through it. He studied her for another uncomfortably long moment. “The girls are half-caste. Aboriginal and white.”
    She nodded. “We expect Lord Ruskin took them from their families through the government program.”
    “Nerida is flower . Miah is the moon .”
    Because a moon shone light through darkness, and Nerida looked at Miah like she was the moon. “Since it’s likely they were taken from Aboriginal mothers, I wanted to give them names from the people they knew.” She’d explained to each child why she was giving him or her the name she’d chosen. It was only until they felt like telling her their real names, of course. To her way of thinking, giving them a name told them they mattered, that they were unique and important.
    “And Jeremiah.” He glanced back down at the paperwork. “You imagine yourself closest to him.”
    “He reacts the best to me. To us.”
    Mal rocked forward, back. To entertain herself, trying to break the building tension, Elisa imagined what would happen if he overbalanced. Would he be so agile and quick he’d be up and clear of it before it fell, or would he sprawl on his arse like any other man too full of himself and in need of being taken down a peg or two?
    “‘God will raise him up,’ or ‘God will set him free.’ That’s what Jeremiah means,” Malachi continued. “Which interpretation did you tell him?”
    “Both. Mr. Malachi—”
    He made an impatient gesture. “My name is Mal. Not Mr. Malachi. You’ll use Mal.”
    She blinked. “But, sir, it doesn’t seem proper or respectful to call—”
    “Elisa, do you think I’ll have any less difficulty commanding your obedience and respect if you call me Mal instead of Mr. Malachi?”
    “No, sir. I—” She paused as his sardonic undertone hit her. She tightened her lips. “I didn’t mean it that way. I meant, I would respect you either way, but it doesn’t seem—”
    “Let me say it another way.” He pinned her with those dark eyes. “You will obey me, regardless of what you call me, won’t you, Elisa?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    He nodded. “ Sir is an acceptable compromise, but if you address me by name, you will call me Mal.”
    “Yes, sir. I’m not sure why you want to know the background of their names.”
    “Because I need to know everything about them. There are things you’ve picked up about their behavior that will help me, things you may not recognize as useful. Which is why I need you to answer the questions I ask.” When he brought his boots