by Michele Hauf
Bea sighed.
Would it have been better to be half vampire and suffer the mere disgust the sidhe had for the blood drinkers? She didn’t know anymore. She didn’t know anything. She was wrong. Different. Disgusting.
Even her husband couldn’t completely accept her. If she had been half vampire, it would have been easier for Kir to accept his fate to remain her husband till death did part them. Perhaps that was why he’d not come after her?
A ripple in the water flashed silver, then wavered to a turquoise ribbon that dispersed away from shore. A spatter of water droplets sprayed Bea’s face. She sneezed and blinked as something rose above the surface. Her attention riveted as another something, and another, also surfaced.
Bea shuffled back against a slick, mossy boulder, her bare feet two steps from the water’s edge.
Bobbling in the clear waters, three sirens stared silently at the faery hugging the boulder. Long, silken green hair swished about their shoulders, frosting the water surface in slick spills. Their skin matched the mossy stones and their eyes were as silver as Malrick’s eyes. Gills at their necks and the tops of their breasts breathed in and out.
“N-nice day, ladies,” Bea tried carefully.
She needn’t fear an attack from creatures who existed in the water. As long as she didn’t go in for a swim, she should be safe. Should be being the key words in that thought.
“Been walking all day without rest. I was thirsty. Just getting a drink.”
The thin one in the center blinked and a milky sheen slowly peeled back from her eyes. “Take freely from our home.”
Bea wrinkled her lips as realization stabbed at her. She’d been drinking from their home. Where they swam and did all sorts of bodily function kind of stuff.
She wasn’t thirsty anymore.
“We offer you respite,” the middle siren said. She was apparently the leader, for she floated in the fore. “You look as if you have been on an arduous journey.”
“I have,” she said, pleased that they could communicate in a language she understood. “That obvious, eh?”
Though she wouldn’t mention the most trying challenge of the day had been untangling herself from a meadow of bramble vines after she’d lain down to rest a bit.
“I’ve...been sent away from my father’s home. He doesn’t want me there. I’m trying to find my way back to the mortal realm. Do you know the way to a portal?”
All three shook their heads no. “Why does your father not wish you in his home, dark one?”
Bea leaned forward, cocking an elbow on her knee. “He hasn’t been a big fan of me since the day I was born. To get rid of me the first time, he married me off to a werewolf in the mortal realm.”
The sirens gasped in harmony.
“Oh, that was a good thing. The new husband is fine and faithful and he really likes sex.”
The mermaids blushed, if she could consider them growing greener in the cheeks and neck a blush.
“Everything was going swell until my husband’s pack decided to send me back to Faery because Malrick didn’t honor the wedding deal.”
“Oh, Malrick,” the center one said. “He’s so dashing.”
Bea didn’t want to consider her father dating a mermaid, but it wasn’t strange when in Faery. And he did like to mix it up with the breeds. A lot. Would she have been happier born with fins and gills instead of a thirst for ichor and blood? Swimming wasn’t her strong suit, so nix that.
“You know my father—er, Malrick?”
Two of them bobbed their heads eagerly. The third growled at her sisters, revealing short, pointed teeth. Okay, some tension there. Wasn’t as if Malrick was the most compassionate lover, surely.
“I’ll put in a good word for you with my father if you can direct me to a portal,” she tried.
“Oh!”
The two sisters who had not exclaimed slapped their hands over the other’s mouth. “We surely don’t know,” one said quickly. The other agreed.
Bea could smell a liar when they all tried to hide that lie in unison.
“Darn. And here Malrick has been looking for a new consort. Or so I hear. King of the Unseelie, you know. Big-time boyfriend material there.”
The one who wanted to speak, but whom the other two were determined to keep quiet, wriggled against her sisters’ grasps but to no avail.
“Why do you want to return to the mortal realm?” the middle one asked while she held a firm hand locked across her sister’s mouth. “It is distasteful and odd. There are entire areas covered in dust without a drop of water to be had.”
“I love my husband. I miss him. And, well, I am trying to find my mother. She’s a demon.”
All three blanched and the one whispered, “The Wicked.”
“I know, right?” Bea couldn’t completely get behind that statement, though.
Why did a demon have to be a bad thing? Her mother’s DNA ran through her. Did that make her a bad person? “What are you doing in this part of Faery, wicked one?” the other sister observed. “You’ve gotten out of exile.”
“I was never exiled.”
Although, when she thought about it, maybe the mortal realm had been Malrick’s means to exiling her in a manner he felt was less threatening than the unknown horrors she guessed The Wicked experienced.
“I’m not wicked,” she insisted. “I’m just Bea.” She tapped her lips with a finger. “So I wonder if my mother—Sirque is her name—”
One of the sirens shrieked so loudly Bea’s ears popped. Another dived under the surface, her tail flapping the air. And the third growled like a dog and, fangs bared, lunged for Bea’s throat, fixing her bony, clawed fingers about her neck.
Chapter 25
Far from fully recovered following the banishment, Kir’s back ached with every step he took. The cooling autumn air should have soothed his lacerated skin, but instead it felt as if it were cutting through his flesh again with dull claws. He strode through the front doorway and turned to invite Sirque inside. She dipped her head and entered, her horns inches from slashing the wood door frame.
A chill traced his forearms, and Kir knew it was a visceral reaction to having allowed a demon to cross his threshold. Yet he would be wise not to judge. His hatred for demons had been instilled by observing his father’s affairs. But his heart had turned. Not all such creatures were worthy of his scorn.
And if he showed any hate toward this woman, that would bleed through to his wife. And he loved Bea, no matter what.
“You’ve been through a trial,” Sirque said as she noted the cuts down his back.
“I was banished from my pack. There is a ritual...”
“I am aware of it. Your species claims such familial love among their packs, and yet they can be unforgivingly brutal to their own. Why were you banished?”
“I chose to leave of my own accord because my pack betrayed me. Why don’t you wait in the living room. Right through there. I’m going to run up and put on a shirt.”
“You will heal more quickly if you leave it off.” Sirque walked by him into the kitchen. “Take all the time you require, wolf.”
He would love nothing more than to relax and rest and allow his body to restore, but he hadn’t time. The longer he was away from Bea, the less she might believe he would come after her. He couldn’t allow her to think that.
Striding up the stairs, at the top where he avoided the crushed railing splinters, he paused in a sunbeam and looked over his hand. The bond markings were pale. He squeezed his fingers into a fist. “Wherever you are right now, Bea, know that I am not far behind. I will trek worlds to find you.”
He took a quick shower and slipped on jeans, but no shirt.
Thanks to the wolfsbane, the wounds would scar, unlike a usual wound that healed to fresh, unmarred skin. It was a ritual that had been passed down through the centuries. Now the scars were the flag of disrespect he must wear so that others would know he’d been banished.
“Whatever,” he muttered
, and padded barefoot down the stairs. It didn’t matter what other wolves thought of him. The only opinion that carried any weight with him now was that of his wife.
Bea’s mother had come to visit? All the way from Daemonia? For what reason? And why now? The mystery intrigued but only because the answers could help his wife. He would spare her some time before rushing blindly off into Faery.
In the kitchen, he grabbed an energy drink and tilted the whole thing back. “Can I offer you wine?” he called.
“Yes, please. Something dark.”
“Something dark.” Like the demon sitting in his living room? He selected a dusty bottle of Malbec from the rack on the counter, bit out the cork and poured two goblets.
Sirque sat on the easy chair where he usually sat, a regal queen upon her throne, crowned with twisted black horns. She still wore the half veil down to her nose, but he could see her eyes, for it was sheer. Red irises glowed at him. Sulfur touched his nose. Any other creature might not detect it, but werewolves lived and died by their sense of smell.
“How did you hear that Bea was looking for you?” he asked as he handed her the goblet.
He did not sit, only because he wanted the air to circulate across his back. So he stood before the bookshelves. His gaze wandered to the sword on the wall. He’d give anything to have Bea sneaking about the house right now, naked, sword in hand, jumping out at him as if he were an intruder.
“Word from all realms reaches Daemonia quickly,” the demoness offered. “I’ve a lackey who reports to me all items of interest.”
“Why have you never come forward to visit Bea until now? How could you abandon her? Don’t you realize what a tough life she’s had living with Malrick, who has only given her disdain all her life?”
Sirque bowed her head. The great horns glinted, as if with mica flecked upon hematite. “Malrick has not treated her well? Bastard.”
Did he detect true concern in her tone? “Had you expected differently?”
She shrugged. An odd gesture coming from a horned being. Too...human.
“Bea has been treated like a pariah for being a half-breed. Growing up, she has always believed she was half vampire.”
“Vampire?” Sirque shuddered. “Why so?”
“Malrick would never give her the truth. She has a hunger for ichor. She drank ichor when in Faery, and here in the mortal realm, she drinks my blood and blood from humans.”
“Such a taste cannot be for survival. And if so, it was not something I could have passed along to her. Although, I do favor the taste of blood.” Sirque tapped a long black fingernail against her pale lip. “It is a delicacy I tend to indulge.”
“Bea seems to think she needs it to survive. When she drinks it, she says she feels renewed.”
“I assume she takes blood during a sexual encounter?”
Kir lifted his chin. In a sense, he was talking to his mother-in-law. The long-missing mother of his wife. But still. This topic of conversation made his skin shiver.
“It is the skin and sex that is required for my survival,” Sirque explained. “Bea gets such contact while taking blood, yes?”
“Yes,” he said. “Perhaps that’s how it was in Faery. I don’t understand, though. I know she doesn’t do it like that with humans. And the last time she took blood from me, I let it spill into a cup before she drank it. There was no skin contact.”
“Is she growing weaker?”
Kir shrugged. “She can’t utilize her glamour since coming to the mortal realm. And there was the miscarriage. That took a lot out of both of us.”
“I am sorry to hear that. Children are...” The demon bowed her head quickly.
“Why does Bea need blood?”
Sirque rose, setting the goblet on the glass table. Her long, pointed black fingernails tinged the delicate glass as she let it go. She strode toward the French doors overlooking the backyard, a grand thing of darkness, though oddly desiccated.
“I am an afferous demon,” she explained. “Skin contact, the warmth of the vita flowing through the blood, is what I thrive on. And sex? Well. What better way to be served the life-giving vita than through the intertwining of bodies, skin against skin?”
She turned to gauge his reaction. Kir didn’t swim for the hook. Her eyes moved slowly down his body, lingering at his abdomen, where some of the lashes had cut around from his back, and then lower. She was checking him out, and it made his skin crawl.
“Is she insatiable?” the demon asked.
“Uh...”
Sirque nodded, seeming to know the answer already. “Now that she’s away from the confines of Faery, her demon side is rising up within her. And her sidhe half grows weaker. The demon in Beatrice seeks vita. She, like me, thrives on skin contact.”
Bea was insatiable. Had been since their wedding night. So the blood hunger wasn’t a necessity but rather an acquired taste? Perhaps that was why he hadn’t developed a blood hunger from that initial surprise bite. He could hope so. Well, she wasn’t vampire. And he’d never known a demon bite to give a werewolf a blood hunger.
“Apparently, I passed on my innate need for vita to Beatrice,” Sirque said. “Though I would make a wager it is not as strong as mine, since she has Malrick’s ichor running within her, too. Faery ichor and demon blood. When she bleeds, what does it look like?”
“I...” He almost said he hadn’t seen her bleed, then the horrible night he’d found her beside the bathtub returned to his thoughts. “It looks like ichor,” he managed softly. “Maybe a little darker. I thought it looked foggy.”
“Hmm. Interesting. I’d expect it to be black by now. Well, as I’ve said, she is new to this realm yet. It’ll take some time for the demon within her to place its stake.”
“It matters little to me what color she bleeds. I am only concerned for Bea’s welfare. For her heart. I love her, Sirque. And it tears me apart that she had to fight her way to me. What happened between you and Malrick? Why did you abandon your daughter?”
The room fell silent. Sirque’s shoulders tightened, lifting as she tilted her head back. Kir was pushing, but he had every right to an answer, as did Bea.
“The afferous demon tends to drain her lovers rather quickly.” She stroked a pointed fingernail down her neck. Her eyes teased seduction while also veiled with a subtle evil. “I’m told there is a species who can withstand my excessive needs, but I don’t know what that is. So, I am always searching for a new species to test him, or her, out. So to speak.”
Kir raised a brow.
“Werewolves don’t do it for me. I ruled your sort out mortal decades ago. It’s why I’ve retreated deep into Daemonia. There are thousands of breeds and species buried within its decrepit bowels.”
“Why not stop? It seems a dangerous quest, if not distasteful.”
“Distasteful, perhaps to one who does not require the vita as I do.” The demon ran a finger over her bottom lip, her head tilted in thought. “I’ve had many children, you know. Like any female, I have emotions and dreams and desires.” She turned away from him and whispered, “All I desire is to hold a child in my arms.”
“Then why don’t you? You’ve had many? Have you abandoned them all?”
Sirque lifted her chin and the veil shimmered upon her face in the dull evening light. “If I kept the child—any of my children—I would drain them, or vice versa. Afferous demons feed off one another. Each caress, every hug, every motherly touch, would bring death that much quicker.”
“Then don’t get pregnant.”
“But I want a child!” The demon’s hands fisted at her sides and her horns seemed to grow wider, something he thought was a trick of the light.
He didn’t know what to say to that. He could understand the need for family, the desire that could be so strong it would press a person to do desperate things. The worst image he could not chase out of his soul was that of Bea sitting before the tub, hands covered in ichor. He’d lost a little of his hopes and dreams that day.
Y
et if Bea was half demon like her mother, would she then drain her own child of its life? Surely the faery half of Bea would quell the demon’s nature to feed upon its young. The thought of the mother feeding off its infant sickened him.
Sirque paced back toward the window. “Every time I get pregnant, I think that maybe this time the father’s genes will vanquish mine. I will be able to hold my child. And then the babe is placed in my arms and I can feel the vita tickle across my skin and all I want to do is feed. I didn’t want to abandon Beatrice. I never want to abandon any of them. I simply have no choice. To walk away allows them to live. I give them life.”
“Life yes, yet life as an orphan. Is that not far crueler than never giving the child life in the first place?”
“Is it too much to ask to be a mother? To know unconditional love? It is a universal desire, wolf. You see only evil in me. I know that. But I do have a heart. And it does bleed.”
And in that moment he forgot that the woman standing before him was some hated species. He even forgot about the horrid horns that marked her so plainly other. Sirque was a woman with the same desire as many women: to hold her child in her arms. How sad that she was cursed with such a wicked need.
“You’ll find the one who can give you a child to withstand your dark needs someday,” he muttered.
She laughed softly. “My daughter must love you. You are kind when you’ve no reason to be so. Kindness is something I rarely witness. Thank you, Kirnan Sauveterre. Do you love my daughter?”
“With all my heart. That’s why I left the pack.”
“At a steep price.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll heal.”
“Prideful wolf. But well-earned pride, I am sure. Where is Beatrice?”
Kir sighed. He quickly explained the pact made between pack Valoir and Malrick, and how the Unseelie king had dishonored the agreement.
“Your pack kidnapped my daughter and sent her back to Faery? That is abominable. Do you know how to travel about Faery? How to enter?”
“No, but our pack was tasked with guarding a portal deep in the city. I was going to give that a try.”
