by Chloe Adler
Waiting until dinner so that Alistair is present as a buffer before I broach the subject may not have been the best strategy.
“Don’t you look lovely,” he says as I take my seat at the table, which is already laden with food.
“Why are you all dressed up?” Mother sniffs. “You don’t have a performance tonight, do you?”
She knows perfectly well that I don’t. “Rhys is picking me up at nine. We’re going out for dessert.”
“Rhys?” Aurelia’s eyes narrow. “Without my permission?”
“Darling,” Alistair reaches a hand over to pat her arm, “Iphigenia is a grown woman, and my grandson is quite honorable. I’m happy to see them getting along.”
“Is that what you call it?” she hisses. “Getting along? More like trying to get into my daughter’s pants.”
“Mother!” I keep my tone stern. “We’re going to Confections for dessert, not eloping. I barely know him. Please give me more credit than that.”
She tosses her thick mane over one shoulder. “Well,” she concedes, “you aren’t like your loose sisters.”
My poor sisters still get the brunt of mother’s condemnation. Sadie, our middle sister, had a sex witch for a father and thus, through no fault of her own but much to Aurelia’s dismay, is also a sex witch. A sesso. She needs to be charged up sexually for her magic to work. Luckily, she found Ryder—the yang to her yin. And then there’s Chrys, who Mother always thought would remain at home forever to take care of her. Chrys, the late bloomer who bloomed enough to leave us all and move in with Carter.
“Chrysothemis was never loose, Mom,” I press, “and Sadie can’t help who she is. It hurts me”—I press my hand to my chest where the pain blossoms white-hot—“when you disrespect them like that.”
“What should hurt you, my dearest one, is the foul way they treat their own mother.”
“I want everyone in our family to get along.” Why can’t I just let this go like usual?
“As do I,” Alistair agrees.
“And I want your sisters to be more like you,” Mother says, looking at me. “But life doesn’t work that way, does it?”
Poor Mother. She holds her past heartaches close, but she’s been hurt so deeply that she created a hard outer shell to protect herself from more pain. People hate Mother, openly hate her, and I understand that, too. She can be harsh and unyielding but what they don’t see is the ferocity of her love.
I remember when Father disappeared. I was only six. I woke up from a horrific nightmare: Father screaming our names, pounding and kicking while enclosed in the grasp of a giant beast. It was before I knew what I was, and the terror that seized and squeezed my heart was almost too painful for me to bear. Like a hot poker stabbing me in my chest, over and over again.
That night, I ran into the living room, crying. “Iphigenia, what’s the matter?” Mother asked.
“It’s Daddy,” I cried, throwing myself on top of her. And even though she wasn’t a touchy-feely mom, she wrapped her arms around me, enclosing me in her warmth.
Breathing hard against my hair, she cried with me, her tears splashing against my cheek. “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”
But as comforting as her arms were, my pain only wound hers tighter. Soon, it was too much to bear and I struggled out of her grasp, running to my room, where I threw myself on my bed and sobbed for hours. Mother put her own emotions aside to comfort me again, crawling onto my bed and holding me. Stoic in her pain, sponging up mine as if she knew just how to give back to an empath.
This is the Aurelia no one sees, the one who devoted herself to her children after my father left. The strong woman who kept our family together, pushing down her own fears, stamping out her own depression and abandonment issues. There was something else, too. Our mother had a past, other children, another husband, long ago. But no one else knows. Only me. All of those locked-up memories and emotions make it difficult for others to empathize with the hard, cold exterior Aurelia presents to the world.
“I won’t stay out too late but I am going to Confections with Rhys tonight. I hope you’ll give me your blessing to do so.” I reach for the mashed potatoes while Alistair pats my mother’s arm.
Though I’d rather not lie, sometimes I have to. More often, I choose to withhold, which I still consider a form of lying. Deceit by omission. With Aurelia, I’m deceptive so she won’t be hurt. That’s what I tell myself, anyway. No need for her to know about the earlier vampire attack and have her worry and helicopter-parent me even more than she already does. No need to tell her that Rhys’s three cop cousins will be at Confections, too. Would that set her mind at ease or would she think they all wanted to gang-bang me? Probably the latter. For a woman so old-fashioned and uptight, she sure does think the worst of others. But, I remind myself, she’s seen so much in her past. And she only worries about me because she cares so much.
“That’s lovely,” Alistair adds into the pregnant silence, twirling the handlebar mustache he’s grown out to please my mother. “Rhys needs friends here.”
“Friends,” she scoffs, “is that what the kids are calling lovers these days?”
“Mother.” I stand up from the table. “I’ve done nothing wrong. Please do not make me regret telling you of my plans tonight. I’m an adult and I do not have to ask your permission.”
“While under my roof, you most certainly do.”
Placing my hands on my hips, I stand my ground, knowing that the last thing she wants is for me to move out, but she says nothing.
“Would you prefer I stay with Sadie for a while?”
“No. Of course not.” She helps herself to some green beans, remembering, no doubt, when I stayed with Sadie for months last year. “Sit down. And please don’t stay out too late.”
Rhys
I ring the bell at exactly nine o’clock. But my smile slips when Aurelia throws the front door open, not Iphigenia. The woman stands in front of me straighter than the broomstick in her hands. Her hair, which is normally a strawberry blond, has darkened to a bloodred and is actually whirling around her face, caught in a nonexistent wind. I look down at her feet and smother a chuckle. Here is a witch with untold power, and she’s using it to intimidate a man she fears is trying to date her daughter. And . . . she’s not wrong.
The chuckle dies in my throat.
I would indeed love to date Iphi, but that’s not why I’m here. My first priority is the welfare of my family and the town. To prevent or mitigate the horrors coming. Perhaps the queen witch of the Edge has picked up on this. My eyes do not meet hers, as if she can see my ulterior motives merely by looking at me.
“What are your intentions toward my daughter?” she spits out.
“Good evening to you, Ms. Holt. You look lovely as always.” I hold out my hand but she gives me the stink eye, refusing to take it.
“Rhys, wonderful to see you, chap.” Alistair hurries over, patting me on the shoulder. A moment later, Iphi appears and my heart bounces in my chest like a rubber ball. She looks absolutely stunning, of course. Her hair is piled on top of her head in an elegant, intricate updo, emphasizing a long neck that begs to be nibbled on. Yet I can’t help wondering what her hair would look like down. Like a mermaid’s or a woodland nymph’s. Something natural. Not tamed or forced into a smooth façade so unlike her true personality. I want her to let it fly, wild and free, whenever she wishes. I want her to embrace her passionate nature instead of forcing herself into the obedience her mother so obviously demands.
Her cat mewls at her feet, pushing his face into her leg. Iphi drops to the floor, sitting next to the cat, and it crawls into her lap. She lowers her head as they rub their faces together, both of them with closed eyes. It’s too fucking adorable. Lucky cat.
My jealousy of the animal is sudden, bitter, and wholly unconnected to my physical attraction for her. How different would things have turned out if I’d had a little Iphi in my neighborhood, doling out daily hugs to the feral strays me and Nola
n and my cousins were?
My playboy father left when I was still crawling, and my mother died right after Nolan was born, too beaten down by life and her choice in men to keep going.
Carter tried to help me and Nolan, but his mother didn’t want anything to do with two orphaned hellions, much less crossbreeds. When Thorn found out how abysmally we were being treated, he insisted on taking us in even though Thorn, all of fourteen years old at the time, was already feeding and raising Caspian and Dominic, plus himself. Still, he never looked at me as a burden or another kid to watch over.
Probably because Thorn and Dom remembered the idyllic life their parents had given them. Caspian was six when they were killed, so he doesn’t remember nearly as much. Maybe it’s better that way; he certainly seems happier for it. He never really knew what he was missing. Spending his formative years growing up on the streets with me and Nolan and his brothers, thinking that’s how life was supposed to be, made him even more adaptable.
As if Iphi realizes both her mother and I are standing there, watching her, she scoops the cat up into her arms and stands, presenting him to me.
I freeze. It’s one massive black cat. I have no idea how it’ll react to . . . what I am.
“Armageddon, meet Rhys. Rhys, this is Army. He’s my little love.”
“There is nothing little about that cat.” I dredge up a smile, and she giggles, setting him down on the floor with Aurelia tsking behind her.
“Goodnight, Mama.” She leans over to peck her mother on the cheek. “Night, Al. Don’t you two do anything I wouldn’t do and don’t wait up for me.” She slips by her mother and links her arm with mine, which immediately sends a rush of warmth down my spine.
Alistair chuckles. “Cute, Iphi. We’ll be good.”
“We most certainly will be waiting up for you,” Aurelia huffs.
Iphi is pulling my arm, practically dragging me down the driveway.
She makes an adorable sound when she sees my car. It’s halfway between a squeal and a hiccough. “That’s your car? For real?”
I lead her to the passenger side and open the door for her in answer.
“A freaking pale-yellow Thunderbird? Oh my god. It’s gorgeous.” She slides in and I close the door.
I love my car, but I would never have called it “gorgeous” before she sat in it. After I get in on my side, I lean over. “It becomes you.”
“This is literally my dream car.” She clips the seat belt in, leans back, and looks at me with genuine awe.
I only wish that look was aimed at me, not at my car, but I’ll take what I can get right now.
Chapter Seven
Iphigenia
“Confections is close enough to walk,” I say, trying not to ogle him in his all-black attire. Why do so many vampires wear all black? Or red, like Burgundy? They aren’t creatures of the night. Do they want to be?
“Maybe I wanted to show off my cool car. Earn some brownie points.”
I grin. The interior is a creamy white leather, pale and soft, like the inside of a shell after it’s been tumbled through the waves. Even part of the steering wheel is white and so is the dash. White and chrome. Wow.
“Did it work?”
“Take the top down and I may concede.”
Punching a button, the top slides open and I lose my train of thought yet again. The front door to the house opens and I already know what Aurelia is going to say.
“Quick, get me out of here,” I stage-whisper and he complies, starting the engine, and taking me away from the prying eyes of the ever-watchful mother hen.
“Why don’t you have a show tonight?” He quickly peeks over at me.
“We only have four shows a week during the summer season plus one matinee.”
“Is that due to attendance? Most people don’t want to go out on a weeknight?”
“Precisely.” I nod. “We perform on the weekend evenings with a Sunday matinee but during the week we only have two shows. They’re the least popular.”
“Why isn’t the circus open all year round?”
I shake my head. “A question I’ve been asking for years.”
“And?”
“Serlon insists that when the kiddies are back in school, no one will come to the circus but I think the real reason is because he likes to winter in the Caribbean.”
“Maybe you could run it during the winter?”
I wish.
There’s a small parking lot next to Confections, a sweet shop, that opened downtown a few months ago. It was started by a vampire with a sweet tooth, much like Burg. And since most vampires who indulge are plus-sized, it boasts body-positive affirmations with humor. “Love your booty, we do!” and “If you’ve got it, flaunt it.” Then there’s my favorite: “Those stares are because you’re gorgeous . . . get used to it.”
Rhys jumps out and opens the door for me before I can. Again.
“More brownie points,” I say, and he links arms with me and leads me inside.
At a booth near the back, the three Vidal brothers are already seated. There’s one space left in the booth and a chair pulled up at the end of the table. I make my way toward the chair but Rhys shakes his head and points to the booth.
Sliding in next to Caspian, I smile at each brother in turn, marveling again at how alike, yet different they all are. Dominic and Thorn sit across from me, and Rhys takes the chair.
“What would you like for dessert?” Rhys asks. It’s a sweet shop but you have to go up to the counter and order, then bring your own delight back to your table.
I rub my hands together in excitement. They have everything you could ever want here, all homemade. When they first opened, I planned to work my way through the menu one tasty treat at a time. That didn’t work, though. First of all, I didn’t have a huge sweet tooth to begin with, and second, once I tasted their upside-down chocolate cake, I didn’t want to try anything else.
“What are you guys getting?”
“How about we each get something different and we all share?” says Dominic.
Thorn rolls his eyes. “You would say that.”
Ignoring him, Dominic says to me, “Is there anything you don’t like?”
“What’s not to like?” Caspian pats me on the back.
“Walnuts or graham cracker crust or . . . anything?” says Dominic.
I shake my head vigorously, causing several painstakingly pinned curls to fly loose.
“Too cute,” says Thorn, “and a girl after my own heart. Bring it on, boys.”
My jaw starts to drop but I clamp it shut. Do these men openly flirt with all women? I can’t be the one bringing this out in them. I glance at Caspian and Rhys but they give no indication that they’re annoyed, so why not enjoy it? Just don’t get used to it, Iphi. This is not how the real world works.
They give their orders to Rhys, who doesn’t even write them down. I have no idea how he’s going to remember everything, especially after I add my coveted upside-down chocolate cake to the list. “Be right back,” he says, moving to the counter.
“So . . .” I look at the men, pausing on each ruggedly handsome face. “Why’d you all wanna meet me here?”
Thorn clears his throat, exchanging glances with the others. “Let’s wait until Rhys gets back before we answer that question.”
I shift in my seat. What’s he hiding? “Okay then. How are all of you working for the police department? What’s up with that?”
Dominic snorts but turns his eyes toward Thorn without answering.
“We all went into law enforcement because of,” he licks his lips and looks at his brothers, “an unfortunate incident with our parents.”
“Oh.” I put my hand to my mouth. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up anything painful.” The group’s agony is so palpable I shift in my seat to keep from bolting.
“It’s okay.” Caspian rubs my back, a quick but tender caress that sends little sparks of heat down my spine. “It was a very long time ago.”
> “Trackers,” says Thorn.
I nod, holding up a hand. “You needn’t say more.”
The Trackers are a group of crazed anti-Signum zealots who gave themselves that name because they track down Signum and kill them. They murdered our friend Jared’s parents and so many others. Trackers are proud to destroy the lives of the innocent, believing that all supernatural beings are inherently evil. Their logic is archaic and their lies are built on a perverted form of religion.
“We each have our own focus. Caspian, as you already know, is an amazing sketch artist.”
“That he is.” I smile at the man sitting next to me. Is he blushing? “But what made you guys move here in the first place?”
More loaded glances, and then Dominic clears his throat. “Our brother Rhys was moving here.”
I brush a curl out of my eye. “How is he one of your brothers?”
“It’s honorary,” says Caspian. “We grew up together. Technically, he’s a cousin but . . .”
“He’s more like a brother to us,” finishes Dominic. “And after he moved here to be closer to Carter, we talked Sheldon into hiring us.”
“And who wouldn’t want to relocate to the original Signum hotbed?” says Thorn. “But we all have different fortes, interests, even shifts.”
There’s obviously more to all of this and I could pry but I respect their need for privacy. They’re cops, after all. Maybe it has something to do with a confidential case. “Shifters,” I say aloud, trying it on. A vampire and his three shifter brothers slash cousins? How odd. But how can they be blood related? “So you and Rhys aren’t really cousins then.”
More glances around the table, and then Caspian speaks up. “We are, though no one really understands how exactly. Rhys’s mother was a shifter and his father was a vampire.”
“But cross-breeding is physically impossible!” I blurt. If I thought they were lying to me, I’d leave, but I don’t sense deception from any of them. Whatever they were told, they believe it.
Caspian shrugs. “A warlock made it possible.”
“Crossbreeds,” I whisper, shaking my head. Who would have thought? “Does that mean Rhys can shift, too?”
