Blood Bond asc-9

by Jeanne C. Stein

  A sliver of a moon dances on the horizon. Besides the stars, it sheds the only light, meager as it is, to illuminate the road. When the driver pulls off onto a side road, I stir and glance over.

  “Where are we?”

  He smiles but says nothing.

  Okay. Enough is enough. “I thought I was going to meet King Steffan.”

  The driver slows the car at the edge of a bluff and stops.

  He turns in his seat and lets his eyes lock with mine.

  Before he opens his thoughts to me, I know.

  And feel foolish that I hadn’t guessed.

  This dashing driver, this old vampire with the impenetrable mind, is King Steffan. “Very cute,” I say.

  “Are you angry?” he asks.

  I raise my shoulders. “Should I be angry?”

  “Well, you were promised a castle.”

  I wave a hand. “I’d settle for a ride in this beautiful old car over a visit to a stuffy castle anytime.” I brush a finger over the dashboard. “What year is it?”

  “It’s a 1929.”

  “And I suppose you’re the original owner.”

  He laughs. It’s musical and self-deprecating. “Yes. But you may change your mind when you see my castle. It’s not stuffy, I assure you.”

  He is studying me the way I studied him when I first got into the car. After a moment, he says, “You are not what I imagined.”

  “Which is?”

  He tilts his head. “After the stories I’d heard about you, I expected someone with a harder edge. Someone tougher. You look like the schoolteacher you once were. Not a bounty hunter. And certainly not like the vanquisher of half a dozen old-soul vampires.”

  “You’ve done your homework.”

  “Of course. Haven’t you?”

  “No.”

  He looks surprised. “And yet you agreed to meet me alone? You were not afraid?”

  “Half a dozen old-soul vampires, remember?”

  He laughs again at that. “You have confidence, Anna. And strength of conviction, I can see that. It pains me to think we may become adversaries.”

  “Then you know why I’m here. Why we are meeting.”

  He sighs. “Chael told me. I am sorry it is such a sad occasion that brings you to France. But as for the other, you must recognize that you are out of your depth in Europe. We do not accept your title or your Council. Now that I have met you, I see why others respect you. But you will find no allies amongst the vampires in Europe. They swear allegiance only to me.”

  “Then it’s you I’ll have to convince to give up your shortsighted plan.”

  He studies me another minute, this time letting his eyes travel from my face to my breasts and down my legs in a lazy, appraising path that is as obvious as it is insulting. “You are welcome to try. In fact, I think I insist on it.”

  Bristling, I draw myself up on the seat. “Not even in your wildest dreams.” Does it sound as juvenile to him as it does to me?

  “How provincial. You are engaged. To the shape-shifter, I know.”

  As if that is the only reason I could possibly reject such an opportunity. But his tone while condescending and scornful has an underlying hint of—disappointment. I try to probe for the meaning behind his reaction, but the mental brick wall is back in place.

  He reaches down and starts the engine. “I’ll bring you back to town—to your fiancé whom I imagine is getting restless waiting for you. But we will talk again. I think you and I have many things to discuss, Anna Strong.”

  I reach over and grasp his hand, forcing him to kill the engine. “So, let’s talk. Why waste time? I know what you are planning. You must know if you attempt to upset the balance between mortals and vampires, you will have to face the opposition of the Thirteen Tribes. We will be a formidable opponent.”

  This time, Steffan eyes me with nothing but a disdainful glare. The kind of expression I’d expect from a king. A dismissal.

  “I am not prepared to argue with you tonight. In fact, have you not more important matters to tend to? Your mother is dying. You are preparing for a wedding. When we speak again, I want your full attention.”

  The hair bristles on the back of my neck. “You may not like what happens when you have my full attention.”

  He looks hard at me, then moves my hand aside and cranks the engine over once again.

  This time I let him. Mentioning my mother reminds me that whatever Steffan’s plans are, I do have more important priorities. Europe seems to be in no imminent danger, even from one as arrogant as this vampire who calls himself a king.

  He pulls the car onto the road, makes a U-turn and we’re heading back for the city lights of Lorgues. We travel in stiff silence and it’s not until we’ve come to a halt in front of the café and I’m preparing to open the door that Steffan stops me with a hand on my arm. He’s looking at Frey who has risen to meet me. He leans close. His lips are warm on my ear when he whispers.

  Think carefully about your future, Anna. You could do better.

  I pull out of his grip, a cold anger rising. You overstep, Steffan.

  Frey is approaching the car, and I climb out to meet him.

  I don’t turn to see what Steffan is doing, but as the car engine revs, Steffan calls to me once again. Think about it, Anna, I could make you a queen.

  Then he is gone, leaving me with Frey on the sidewalk.

  Frey casts an inquisitive look, not catching Steffan’s last comment. Unfortunately from his place at the table, Chael does.

  A queen? Well, you have made an impression, he says when we rejoin him.

  Frey is frowning. He may have missed what Steffan said but not Chael’s reaction. “What’s this about a queen?”

  I wave a dismissive hand, sink into a chair.

  And fix Chael with a warning eye. Nothing. To Frey, “Some bullshit meant to impress. A bad joke.”

  Chael doesn’t wait to hear any more but stands as if ready to take his leave.

  Which makes me snap at him. You knew it was Steffan in the car. Why didn’t you tell me?

  It was Steffan’s wish to keep the first meeting low-key. I trust it went well. He pauses. I know you haven’t resolved the issue tonight, and I will let you know when Steffan wishes another audience.

  My temper flares. What issue? All that we determined tonight is that Steffan is an overconfident prick. When I meet with Steffan again, Chael, it will be on my terms. You can pass that on to his majesty and tell him I am the one who will be in touch.

  Chael’s eyebrows rise. He gives a little half bow. As you wish.

  And then he turns on his heel like a Prussian soldier and marches off.

  Frey shakes his head at his departing back. “Quite a character. Now.” He leans toward me, takes my hand. “It was Steffan in the car? What happened?”

  I fill him in as we sip wine. “Not much.” I describe the ride and where we ended up. Steffan’s comments to me about having no influence here but agreeing to listen to my arguments anyway. “We danced around like a couple of circus horses,” I finish with a sniff.

  “So the grand scheme never came up.”

  “Not so you’d notice. The only one who did any talking was me. I think this was a scouting party. Steffan taking my measure.” Immediately, I’m thinking of the ways his eyes traveled the length of my body, appraising, coming to a conclusion about—what? His last remark certainly caught me off guard. Was he baiting me? If he was trying to impress me, he failed.

  I don’t say any of this to Frey. I finish my wine. I want to forget Chael and Steffan and everything vampire. I want to go back to the estate, hug my mother and make love to Frey. I take his hand and press it to my cheek. “Let’s go home.”

  Whether it’s the heat radiating from my skin beneath his fingertips or the breathlessness of my voice, Frey raises no objection.

  CHAPTER 15

  NEXT MORNING, FREY AND I ARE THE LAST TO THE breakfast table.

  I’m glad no one asks why. It would be embarras
sing. Even an adult daughter doesn’t want to acknowledge that she’s late coming down because she and her fiancé were having sex. Lots of sex. Great sex. Sex so good I didn’t want to stop. When I feel color start up the back of my neck, I decide what I’d better do is stop thinking about it.

  I slink into a chair at the table and reach for the coffeepot. “Where are the kids?” I ask pouring myself a cup.

  Dad avoids my eyes. Shit. Were we making too much noise?

  Mom picks up the slack. “Gone next door. Trish and John-John arranged an early morning ride before Trish has to go to school.” She casts an apologetic eye to Frey. “I hope that was all right.”

  Frey smiles. “Of course. Trish mentioned their plans last night. And John-John has been riding since before he could walk.”

  Mom grins then. “They left hours ago.”

  I lower my head. Yikes. I glance at Frey but he seems oblivious. He’s buttering toast with the gusto of a man who’s just experienced an earth-shattering orgasm.

  I clear my throat. “So what’s on the agenda today?”

  Mom slips on her reading glasses and consults her ever-present list pad. “Well. After school you and Trish have to go into town to pick up the dresses. And you should call anyone in San Diego that you want to come for the wedding. And you need to decide who you want to officiate at the service.”

  “Which reminds me.” Glad for a chance to banish the pesky image of sex from my head, and maybe Dad’s, I jump up from the table and fetch the brochure we got yesterday from the consulate. “Have you ever heard of this group?”

  For the next hour we do our homework, not only going through the brochure but pulling up the website for the organization calling itself Gracefully Personalized Ceremonies. Even Mom, who I know would have preferred a Catholic ceremony, had to admit she found the philosophy of a non-secular yet devout exchange of vows fitting.

  “And the sooner those vows get said, the better,” Dad mutters under his breath.

  I wasn’t wrong. What did he do, come up to get us for breakfast? Did he hear us on the other side of the door? Shit.

  This time, Frey catches the subtext, too. His face reddens.

  Mom slaps at Dad’s hand. “Don’t be such a stick in the mud. They’re young. They’re in love. Don’t you remember how that was?”

  The doorbell rings and I jump up so fast to answer it, I almost knock my chair over. Frey is right behind me.

  “Did they hear us?” he whispers, following me to the door, his brow furrowed in dismay.

  “Must have.” I can’t help but laugh at his expression. “We need to be quieter.”

  “Understatement. Maybe we should lay off sex until after the wedding.”

  A snicker escapes my throat as I open the front door.

  Another delivery man. This one is holding a bouquet of sunflowers. A bouquet so big, he’s hidden behind it.

  “Mademoiselle Anna Strong?”

  I accept the bouquet. It takes two hands to hold it. Frey digs in his pocket and pulls out some euros. The deliveryman accepts the gratuity, tips his hat and heads back to his truck.

  “Did you do this?” I ask Frey, burying my face in the bouquet. “They are beautiful.”

  He shakes his head and plucks a card from the flowers. “Here.”

  I hand him the flowers while I tear open the envelope.

  The note is brief. Until next time. Steffan.

  I turn it around so Frey can read it. He grunts. “Chael didn’t exaggerate,” he says through a tight jaw. “You made quite an impression.” He takes the note, crumbles it into a ball, stuffs it into the pocket of his jeans. “Next time you meet with Steffan, I’m going.”

  I smile. “Let’s just tell my folks these are from you. For my mom, shall we?”

  He grins. “Good plan. Maybe it will win me a few points with your father.”

  I reach up and kiss his cheek. “And then maybe we won’t have to give up sex until after the wedding?”

  He laughs. “To keep from having to give up sex, I’d buy your mother a field of sunflowers.”

  I turn his shoulders and push him back toward the kitchen. “I believe you would.”

  The rest of the morning runs smoothly. I don’t know whether it’s the flowers or if Mom talked to Dad while we were out of the room about the way he raised an eyebrow in disapproval whenever he looked at Frey, but the storm seems to have blown over.

  John-John calls from next door. The neighbors have invited him to stay on and help groom the horses after Trish leaves for school. Noting the excitement in his voice, we happily grant him permission.

  Next, we contact the wedding people. They assure us that a wedding three days from now is tricky but certainly not impossible. They will email us a questionnaire about what kind of ceremony we envision. Once we’ve filled it out and mailed it back, we only need to meet with them for a short time before the ceremony to decide on vows.

  We call David and Tracey and tell them we’ve set the date. No shocked protestations about the short notice. They are as excited as we are. We go on speakerphone mode and Mom invites them to come out a day ahead and stay as long as they’d like after. There are certainly enough bedrooms in the villa. They happily accept. I let them know I’ll telephone my pilot next and arrange for them to be picked up in San Diego. I’ll have the pilot contact them with the details.

  Which I do.

  By this time, Catherine is in the doorway announcing lunch. I’m seated right beside Mom on the couch in the living room. I rise and turn to offer my mother my hand when she suddenly pales and sinks back onto the couch. Her pad and pen fall to the floor. My heart stutters in my chest.

  “Mom?” I lean over and feel her forehead. Stupid. My hands are so cold, any human flesh feels feverish. I look up at Frey and he takes my place beside her.

  “Anita?” His voice is soft. He takes one of her hands in both of his own.

  In the next instant, Dad is standing over us, too.

  Even Catherine has crossed the room to cluck at us, wringing a towel in her hands. “It’s too much,” she scolds. “She shouldn’t be out of bed. She should rest. Conserve her strength.”

  I look up at Catherine, at the concern on her face. It takes the housekeeper to make me recognize with a rush of anger that I never asked to speak with Mom’s doctor. I’d assumed she’d let us know if she wasn’t strong enough to deal with the task she’d taken on. I should have remembered how stubborn she can be . . . how unlikely to admit she might be tired or in pain.

  “Let’s take her upstairs,” Dad says.

  Frey sweeps Mom into his arms. She starts to protest that she can walk, but he doesn’t falter.

  She looks like a doll, small and fragile, huddled against his chest. I become conscious again of how much weight she’s lost. I follow them upstairs, listening as Dad stays behind to ask Catherine to prepare a lunch tray. I turn the bedclothes back and Frey lays Mom down. She settles back against the pillows while I slip her shoes off and pull a blanket up around her waist.

  She reaches out a hand and brushes a fingertip across my cheek. It surprises me to see that her finger comes away wet.

  I didn’t realize I’d been crying.

  “Oh, Anna,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

  Her words cut into my heart. Why should she be sorry? Bitterness stiffens my shoulders. I’m ready to lash out that I’m the sorry one, that I’ve manipulated her life in ways in which she’s not even aware, that I’ve been lying to her about what I am, about who Trish is, about every fucking thing that matters. I suck in a ragged breath.

  Frey’s soft hand on my shoulder stays my tongue. Once again, he reads me. Knows without words what I’m feeling, understands the guilt threatening to overwhelm my good sense. With a touch, he has grounded me.

  I sit beside my mother on the bed, wiping away the tears with the back of my hand. “You have nothing to be sorry for, silly. Look at the wedding you’ve made for Frey and me. Everything is perfect. Trish and I will g
o into town this afternoon and finish the shopping. Frey and John-John have final fittings tomorrow morning.” I tick off more items on my fingers. “We’ve chosen the menu and the cake, the party planners and florist will be here to decorate the morning of the wedding, our guests have been invited. It’s done. No wonder you’re exhausted!”

  Mom smiles. “I think we are done, aren’t we?”

  Catherine appears with a lunch tray. “Do you want me to stay with you?” I ask Mom.

  She waves me off. “No. You and Daniel go have lunch with your father. I’ll have lunch up here and take a nap. You wait, by dinnertime I’ll be right as rain.”

  I lean over and kiss her cheek. “Then we’ll see you at dinnertime.”

  Frey follows me out of the bedroom and I close the door softly behind us, beckoning him past the stairway and into our own room. Behind the closed door, I collapse against him.

  He holds me against his chest, stroking my hair.

  It’s a long moment before I can speak. “Thank you.”

  He doesn’t ask for what or mumble some meaningless conciliatory remark. He just holds me.

  It’s absolutely the right thing to do. He gives me strength but, once again, I find myself wondering if there isn’t something more for my mother that I can do.

  CHAPTER 16

  THE NEIGHBORS BRING JOHN-JOHN BACK IN TIME TO join us for lunch. His presence brightens the mood at the table considerably. He’s full of lively talk about the neighbors (real nice) and their horses (a breed called Arabian) and the ride he and Trish took out into the countryside (through fields of lavender.)

  He provides the perfect distraction, drawing Dad and Frey in with his enthusiastic chatter and leaving me alone with my thoughts . . . and my concern for Mom.

  After lunch, Dad takes John-John out to show him the winepress. Frey and I take glasses of wine to sit at the big table under the shade of a huge oak.

  “You were quiet at lunch,” Frey says, kneading the back of my neck with the palm of his hand.