by Kit Tunstall
“Never that, dear daughter.” He shook his head. “It is complicated.”
Anca blinked back another round of tears at his vague answer. She could continue prodding him for information she didn’t think he would give, or she could ease off and spend the next few days becoming acquainted with him. Surely, he would tell her everything before she left.
She nodded. “I see.” To her surprise, he kissed her forehead, tickling her skin with his beard and mustache.
“I promise I will give you an explanation soon, Anca. Tonight, I want only to enjoy your company and learn more about you.”
She nodded again and stepped away from him. For a second, the physical separation seemed to span miles. She forced a shaky smile. “All right…Papa,” she said the name hesitantly. When Kathryn spoke of him, she had always called him her Papa. It had become second nature to think of him that way.
Would he think it was too soon? Was it too soon to be calling him Papa? Part of her rebelled at her easy acceptance of the man standing before her. Too much time had passed, and they would never recover it. He had wounded her deeply with his rejection, whether or not it was intentional.
Yet, Anca felt an instant connection with her father. He had felt it too. She was certain he had. A week ago, she had accepted never knowing her father. Now that she knew differently and had a chance to know him, she didn’t want to waste it by imposing needless barriers and giving life to resentments accrued during a fatherless childhood.
She held her breath, awaiting his reaction. Her stomach clenched as the ticking of the clock seemed to grow louder. She was near apologizing for being so forward when he gathered her in his arms again and hugged her with bone-crushing strength.
When he released her, he didn’t say anything about it. He seemed to be determined to ignore the tears clinging to his lashes. Valdemeer cleared his throat. “Dinner is waiting.” He held out his arm.
Anca linked hers through his and walked with him through the salon. Her eyes locked with Demi’s as they passed him, and she gave him a small smile. She tried to say, “Thank you,” with her eyes. If he hadn’t come after her, she never would have known about her father.
As he fell in step behind them, his breath caressed her neck. “You’re welcome,” he whispered.
Her eyes widened. He had interpreted her thoughts just from her expression. A shiver raced up her spine. Demi seemed to know her intimately. How could that be? Was there such a thing as love at first sight, or was it just an instant attraction for both of them?
She was distracted from her thoughts as they entered the dining room. It was resplendent, with ecru silk wall hangings, thick carpets, and a cherry-stained, rectangle table long enough to seat thirty. Chippendale chairs lined each side of the table. Someone occupied the chair at the head of the table.
A stunning woman with cinnamon-red hair slid from the cushioned chair. She wore a flowing ebony caftan that did little to hide the voluptuous curves of her body. Her skin was olive, and her brown eyes glittered with green specks as she walked toward them. She seemed familiar, yet alien.
“Papa.” The smile that flashed across her face did nothing to soften her hard expression. “I had heard your other child arrived.”
Valdemeer inclined his head in Anca’s direction. “This is Anca.”
Anca swallowed heavily as those disconcerting eyes—so much like her own, she realized with a start—met hers. She forced a smile. “Hello.”
The older woman stepped closer, stopping just a few inches away. She held out her hands. “Anca, my dear sister.”
Anca’s eyes widened. She didn’t protest as the other woman folded her hands in a tight grip. “S-s-sister?”
She nodded. “Am I a surprise?” She looked sad. “Mother didn’t tell you?”
How could her mother not tell her she had a sister? How could Kathryn have left her other daughter behind when she fled Corsova? What about protecting her too? Anca opened her mouth, but she couldn’t find anything to say.
Demi stepped forward, and again, it was as if he sensed her thoughts. More likely, he sensed her tension. “This is Nikia, your half-sister. Katrine wasn’t her mother.”
“That’s a beautiful name.” She shook her head at the inane comment. What did one say to a sister she hadn’t known about?
Nikia nodded. “It was my mother’s choice. She insisted I have it. That was the last thing she said before she died.” She spoke matter-of-factly, but her eyes darted to Valdemeer and stayed on him for a long second. “She was so young.”
Anca frowned as the undercurrent of tension permeating the room suddenly increased. “I…uh, I’m sorry for your loss.”
Nikia shrugged. “It was long ago, and I never knew her. Papa did though.” There was a hint of slyness in her gaze. “He was there when she died so…unexpectedly.”
“Women still die in childbirth,” Valdemeer said stiffly. “Given Illiana’s state, it wasn’t entirely unexpected.”
Nikia nodded, but she didn’t dispute her father’s words, as she so obviously wanted to. Instead, she leaned forward and kissed Anca’s left cheek, and then her right cheek. “Welcome to the family, sister.”
“Thank you.” She pulled her hands free from her sister’s hold, resisting the urge to wipe them on her linen slacks. There was something insincere about her façade, and Anca had the irrational urge to wash her hands to cleanse them from Nikia’s touch.
Demi cleared his throat. “Shall we sit?”
Anca waited until Valdemeer and Nikia selected seats before she walked to the one on her father’s left. She smiled at Demi as he held the chair for her before taking the seat beside her.
She was bursting with questions, but she was reluctant to voice any with Nikia present. Something in the woman’s eyes paralyzed her tongue. Nikia was dangerous.
She blinked at the strange thought, wondering where it came from. It hadn’t felt like a thought that flowed from her mind naturally. Rather, it had seemed to hammer its way into her thoughts abruptly.
Nikia was the first to break the awkward silence once the servants filled golden goblets with dark-red wine and placed soup before Anca, Demi, and Nikia. “How is your mother?” The question was appropriate, but there was a sharp edge to her tone. “Is she still living?”
“Yes. She’s been ill.”
“Her heart?” Nikia asked blandly.
Anca’s eyes widened. “How did you know?”
She lifted a thin shoulder. “One of the servants mentioned your mother’s condition.”
She glanced at Demi with a frown. “News travels fast here, doesn’t it?”
“Exceedingly.” Nikia drained her glass and gestured to Geza, who stood by the doorway. He hurried forward to fill her glass again. “Will she recover?”
“If she avoids stress and follows her doctor’s orders.”
“It would be unfortunate if you returned to New York to find she had passed away during your vacation.” Nikia clicked her tongue softly. “You mustn’t tarry long here at Castle Draganescu.”
“She isn’t that ill.” Anca’s brow furrowed. Was she imagining the trace of warning she heard in her sister’s voice?
Demi spoke up in a firm tone. “Nothing will happen to Her Highness. His Majesty instructed me to leave a guard with her while Anca was away, to ensure her well-being. They will have arrived by now.” His eyes locked with Nikia’s, and there seemed to be a battle of wills.
Finally, Nikia blinked. “That is good news.” She set down her goblet and pushed away from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I have no appetite this evening.” She nodded to Valdemeer and Demi before walking around the table to stand beside Anca.
Anca turned her head and looked up at her sister, feeling the tiny hairs on the back of her neck prickle with fear. She flinched as Nikia caressed her hair. She arched her neck, seeking to escape her sister’s touch. She winced as Nikia’s nails dug into her scalp, restricting her movement.
“It was lovely to meet you, s
ister.” Nikia bowed her head and pressed her lips against Anca’s in a soft kiss. Then she lifted her head and stepped away. She walked out of the dining room without looking back.
Anca stared after her sister, disconcerted. Nikia’s parting hadn’t seemed very…sisterly. She was distracted when Demi touched her thigh. She smiled at him, struggling not to show her confusion.
“Pay Nikia little mind,” he said soothingly. “She’s a turbulent woman.”
Valdemeer sighed. “She’s jealous of you, Anca.”
She turned her head in her father’s direction, noting Demi’s hand remained on her thigh. As he stroked in slow circles, frissons of awareness darted through her leg. She shook her head. “That makes no sense.”
If either of them had reason to be jealous, it was she. After all, Nikia had lived with their father all her life, and had obviously lived in luxury. She was a princess. It was doubtful she had ever wanted for anything in her childhood, except maybe a mother. That was enough to kill any envy Anca might feel, because she had a loving mother.
He sighed again, more deeply this time. He toyed with the stem of his goblet, but he didn’t lift the cup to his mouth to drink. “She is upset because she wasn’t chosen to be my heir.”
“Is that all?” Anca shrugged. “You might as well know I’m not interested in the job, Papa. She can have it, as far as I’m concerned.”
He hesitated, and his eyes narrowed. He exchanged looks with Demi. When he spoke, he apparently chose to disregard her statement of disinterest. “It is impossible for Nikia to inherit the Protectorate of Corsova. She was not born at the proper time.”
Her eyes widened, and she read between the lines. “So, uh, you weren’t married to her mother, huh?”
Valdemeer appeared startled, but he nodded. “Don’t trouble yourself with Nikia,” he said dismissively. “I’ll deal with her.”
Anca was rattled by the way her father’s eyes darkened. She could sense his and Demi’s mounting tension, and was determined not to continue the conversation. As she searched her mind for a safer topic, she reached for the wine.
She took a sip and choked. It was thick and cloying, with a metallic taste. She reached for the linen napkin under the heavy silver cutlery, quickly wiping away the thick red liquid leaking down her chin. “I’m sorry.” She could feel her cheeks heat with embarrassment.
Valdemeer gestured to Geza. “Bring Anca water immediately. She isn’t accustomed to our native wine.”
She nodded. Within seconds, a crystal goblet of iced water appeared before her, and she drank deeply.
“It takes some getting used to,” Demi said, as she lowered the goblet. “Corsovan wine is more…robust than traditional vintages.”
She nodded, but didn’t respond. Robust was one way to describe it, she supposed. To her, it was more than robust. Corsovan wine tasted a lot like blood.
As the meal progressed, Anca fought back yawn after yawn. The days of travel had caught up with her, and she could barely keep open her eyes. She struggled to uphold her end of the conversation and answer Valdemeer’s seemingly never-ending stream of questions, but it got more difficult to form coherent answers.
He must have realized, because he pushed away his untouched plate and nodded to Demi. “Nicodemus will see you to your room now, Anca. If you’re inclined tomorrow evening before dinner, we’ll play a game of chess. I would like to see if you remember anything from your school club.”
Anca smothered a yawn with her hand and nodded. “It’s been years since I had time for a game. I’d like to give it a try.”
“Excellent.”
Demi stood up and pulled out her chair. “Come.”
She stood up, laying her napkin beside her almost full plate. The snack Demi brought her on the train had stuck with her. Coupled with her mounting exhaustion, she hadn’t had much of an appetite. Only Demi had done justice to the vegetables and lamb. “I’ll see you at breakfast, Papa.”
He shook his head. “I keep odd hours, Anca. It will be the evening before I’ll be free.”
“Okay.” Impulsively, she walked to his seat and leaned down to kiss his cheek. “Goodnight, Papa.”
He touched her hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “Goodnight, copia.”
“Child,” Demi translated in a whisper.
She stood up and followed Demi from the dining room and through the castle. Instead of learning the route to her room, she focused on the way his buttocks flexed in the tailored slacks.
A hint of alertness returned as some of her sleepiness ebbed, replaced by a stirring of sexual tension. Her body ached for his. Common sense didn’t offer much of a barrier to her desire. All the reasons she had thought of earlier to avoid getting involved with Demi seemed less important now.
She was so intent on her thoughts that she didn’t pay attention when Demi stopped moving and turned in her direction. She walked right into him before she could stop herself. Her breath escaped with a sigh as his arms came around her to steady her.
He was frowning down at her. “Are you all right, Anca?”
She nodded. Her stomach tightened, and she licked her lips. “Fine, Demi.” She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, which caused her chest to brush more fully against his. She put her hands on his chest. “Just fine,” she said in a husky whisper.
He cleared his throat. “Well…“ He trailed off as his eyes met hers.
Anca stared up at him, enchanted by the ruddy color in his cheeks. As she licked her lips again, with deliberate slowness this time, his cock hardened and pressed into her hip. She wriggled against him, smiling when he cupped his hands around her buttocks and pulled her lower body closer to his.
“What game are you playing?” he growled.
She shrugged as she moved her hand up to the back of his neck and twirled a lock of his hair around her finger. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I don’t think it’s a game.” She cuddled closer. “I want you, Demi. I felt it the moment I touched you. I saw us making love that night in my shop.”
He made a sound of frustration. “It’s too soon, meu dragostia.”
“Meu dragostia?” she repeated with confusion. “What’s that?”
“It’s Corsovan.”
Anca rolled her eyes. “Of course it is. What does it mean?”
“It was a slip of the tongue.” Demi shook his head. “I should leave you to sleep.”
She shook her head. “Tell me what it means.”
He sighed. “It would be best—“
Anca yanked gently on his hair. “I’ll just ask someone else if you don’t tell me.”
Demi’s mouth tightened. “Very well. It means ‘my love’. Are you satisfied now?” His face flushed a brilliant scarlet, and he refused to meet her eyes.
She blinked at the telling statement, and his even more revealing reaction. “You felt it too.”
He cursed. “I’ve always felt it, Anca. I’ve known you were my destined lifemate since before you were born. All my life, I’ve been prepared…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “Never mind.”
She frowned at him. “What? I don’t understand.”
He eased her away from him. “Don’t ask me to explain it all. That duty falls to your father or Ylenia.”
Anca’s head spun as she tried to absorb everything he said. “Please, I don’t understand what you mean, Demi. What’s a destined lifemate, and who is Ylenia? Is she my father’s mistress?”
Demi scowled. “Ylenia is the spiritual guide of our people. She will tell you what you need to know.” His expression hardened, and he dipped his head. “Goodnight.” He turned away from her.
Before he took a step, Anca put her hand on his arm. “Wait.” He stiffened, but he didn’t move forward. “I’m only trying to understand. Everything is so different here.” She took a deep breath, suppressing the sob that wanted to emerge. She was appalled at the urge to cry and blamed it on jet lag. “Everything has changed in the last three days. My only constant h
as been you. Don’t leave me.”
Slowly, Demi turned back to face her. His hand trembled when he stroked her cheek. “I will always be here for you.”
She bit her lip, overwhelmed by the tenderness in his expression. “Am I truly your love, Demi?”
This time, there wasn’t a hint of embarrassment in his expression. “Yes. I love you, Anca.”
A tangle of conflicting emotions whirled through her. Pleasure at his words, mingled with fear. What did he expect from her? In New York, if a man she had known three days told her he loved her, she would run away as fast as she could. She would write him off as another crazy and move on.
She didn’t doubt Demi’s sanity or sincerity. Looking deep into his dark eyes, she could see the honest emotions reflected back. More than that, she could feel his love emanating from him in waves. She could almost see it and wondered if being in Corsova had honed her psychic abilities.
“I don’t expect you to love me.” His voice was hoarse, but he spoke levelly. “I didn’t plan to tell you anything yet.”
“Why not?” She bowed her head. “Are you ashamed of loving me?”
“Never,” he said forcefully, “but you must choose me.” With a gentle hand, he nudged up her chin. “It wasn’t my place to burden you with my emotions.”
She shook her head. “I don’t understand. If we’re destined to be together…” She trailed off, unable to accept so absurd a concept. Sure, she was attracted to him, and felt a deeper emotional connection with him than any man in her past, but destined lifemates? What an archaic concept. It was almost as ridiculous as arranged marriages.
“Destiny orchestrates what should be, but no one can force love if none is felt.” He stroked her cheek. “We must all be free to choose what our heart wants.”
She swallowed. “You’ve chosen me, have you?” She winced at the hint of skepticism in her tone.
He didn’t seem offended. “I was certain we belonged together, but meeting you removed my last trace of doubt.” Demi sighed. “You haven’t been raised as I have, to expect our union. This is too much to spring on you. Rest now, and we’ll talk later—whenever you’re ready.”
