His brothers groaned and expressed as much disbelief as he had. Danton asked, What do you know about her?
She’s almost thirteen. She has my hair and eye color and has recently discovered being able to shift to stone.
Half-witch and half-gargoyle? Mattias said. Sounds like full trouble.
Lucan grunted. Indeed.
What happened with Veronique? Mattias asked.
Dead, Lucan replied. Fuck. I forgot to ask about what happened. I would have reveled in hearing every detail of the final brutal moments of her life. Hell, I wish I had been the one to end her.
You need to be careful, Danton warned. Despite your hatred of Veronique, she’s that woman’s sister and your daughter’s mother. You can’t ask about her death and then gloat in the experience before them.
I know, I know, Lucan agreed. He’d have to be careful of not prodding for the salacious details of Veronique’s end.
Killing Veronique would have brought you no comfort in the long run, Danton said. Especially now that you know you have a child with her.
Damn it, why did his older brother have to make sense? Perhaps. He growled. That vindictive witch never should have kept this from me.
It’s just like her, though. Mattias said. Where’s the girl?
In Salem.
Are you going to meet her? Mattias asked.
I’m debating what to do.
You have to meet her, Danton said.
True. She’s your blood, Mattias added.
Lucan exhaled with a rough breath. He had a feeling they would say this, and perhaps that’s what he had to hear from his older brothers. The shock still gnawed at him with the rawness of a fresh abrasion.
I need time to think. And adjust. I just found out that I have a daughter out there with a woman I despised. Even if this girl is half-me, she’s also half-Veronique. And I don’t know what the hell to do with this news.
Come out and join me for a flight, Mattias offered. It will help you clear your head.
No, Lucan declined. I need to fly alone to sort through this mess.
He exited Vamps and gauged the weather. April was a fickle month in New England. It could provide sunny, spring days or cold, harsh, windy ones that eschewed the idea that winter was over. Tonight, a cool breeze occasionally fluttered through the night sky, brisk, but still comfortable enough for flight.
He passed a graveyard. Dark shadows cast by the sway of foliage over the tombstones did nothing to ease the turmoil within. Mattias was right. He needed to fly. The comfort of the wind cooling his wings and the freedom of flight would soothe his fractured grip on reality.
After climbing over a fence, he sought concealment under the shadows of a willow tree. Moonlight sifted through, seeming to highlight him like a beacon. With a quick glance around, he ensured he wasn’t being watched. Then he shielded himself with gargoyle magic and shifted into winged gargoyle form. Spreading his wings, he flapped them and reveled as they sliced through the air bringing him up to the tranquility of the night sky.
He soared over the ocean, which was calm compared to the tempest within. He sought clarity in the vast tapestry of sea and sky spread before him. The distant twinkling of the stars provided no answers; neither did the mysterious glow of the moon. Yet, being free from the curse and able to explore his options out of imprisonment offered some comfort.
This changed everything.
He still couldn’t wrap his head around it. Only in his early thirties, he was still young and in his prime by gargoyle standards. How could he suddenly be a father to a child? He’d spent her entire life cursed by her mother.
He didn’t know how to raise a child. And to have this bomb dropped on him so soon after his newfound freedom? Crushing. He yearned to explore. To experience. To make up for all those years he lacked free will.
He flew farther out to sea, seeking guidance through the cobwebs in his brain, but all he found were half-coherent utterances of disbelief. With each beat of his wings, Elise’s words repeated like a mantra in his mind: He was a father.
Although, he’d been ignorant of that fact, he couldn’t dismiss it. With that role came great responsibility. Tremendous responsibility. Could he handle that?
He found an outcrop of rocks and a hidden spot within them to keep him shielded from humans. Then he shifted to stone to brood and contemplate his options.
He could walk away and forget he ever met Elise. Why should he trust her anyway? She could be lying. She likely was. Deception was natural for Veronique, why not for her sister?
But, why would Elise lie to him? She’d want something. What could she possibly want from a gargoyle shifter who didn’t even have a place to stay? Although he and Mattias had mentioned searching for an apartment, they hadn’t taken the step to start looking. Why bother when they could spend each night soaring under the stars?
It didn’t make sense and the curiosity irked him.
Lucan pictured Elise’s face. He’d been attracted to her and cringed as he recoiled on remembering how he’d planned to seduce her. What would she do after they fucked—turn him into a salamander? If he’d learned anything from Veronique, it was to avoid getting too close to any woman—especially a witch.
A growl within vibrated his stone. She hadn’t been interested in him at all. She only approached to deliver a notification—hell, practically a birth announcement of a child he’d fathered thirteen years ago. Another blow to his ego.
A shimmer of light pierced the darkness and slowly bathed the horizon in a golden glow. The sun soon warmed his stone and he shifted.
Fuck it. He had to at least meet his daughter and see her for himself. It was better than the torment of wondering and debating every scenario.
I’m headed to Salem, he notified his brothers. I’m going to meet my daughter. If she exists, he added to himself. He’d know when he met her, right? Somehow, he should know his own flesh and blood.
As he soared near the shoreline, he basked in the morning sun, warming his wings. Once he distinguished the House of Seven Gables along Salem Harbor, Lucan turned and headed inland. It didn’t take long until he spotted the hotel. The scent of the sea grew more discernible as he descended.
He found a quiet spot in a park and took to the cover of trees where he shifted to human form. Reaching into his satchel he often wore to stash his clothing and shoes, he dressed in his usual all black.
This was it. He strode into the hotel, heart pounding, echoing his trepidation with each slow step.
After notifying Elise of his arrival, he returned to the park. He sat on a bench and stared out at the boats dotting the harbor. Elise had said they’d meet him here. When he spotted her name on one of the vessels, he smiled. The boat’s owner must have loved someone with her name.
“Lucan?”
He turned when he recognized her voice. She wore a white peasant blouse and jeans today with flat black shoes. He detected her scent. Outside of the club with all its competing odors, he detected the clean, natural fragrance. Although it was one of a witch—an aroma he thought he’d forever associate as evil after Veronique, yet it didn’t strike him that way. Elise’s scent reminded him of spring in France, the bountiful time of flowers in bloom. When he caught her gaze, something caught in his throat.
Nerves. It had to be the anxiety of meeting his daughter.
He cleared his throat. “Thanks for coming.”
“Of course,” she said.
His gaze traveled to the fair girl at Elise’s side. Well, not exactly. Half her body was hidden behind Elise. She had hair as dark as his and a bridge of freckles across her cheeks. Her scent was unique, an herbal one with a hint of nutmeg.
Elise stepped aside and faced the girl. “Marguerite, this is your father, Lucan.”
Her eyes were cast down, but she raised them slowly to his face. He met dark eyes that matched his own, but the rest of her face was all her mother—and Elise, he supposed. The delicate, slightly upturned nose and high cheekbones. She was
slender with a willowy frame and stood about six inches shorter than Elise, likely little more than five feet. Since she had gargoyle blood in her—no, if she had gargoyle blood in her, she still had another growth spurt or two ahead.
He couldn’t deny the resemblance to himself—and her mother. He swallowed. “Marguerite, it’s my pleasure.”
Her mouth fell open. “I know you’re a gargoyle, but—you’re massive.”
He chuckled. That wasn’t the first time he’d heard that. “So I’ve heard.” He stood six-and-a-half feet tall and loomed over most humans. His natural muscular physique was one that many bodybuilders sought to acquire themselves using dangerous substances. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
She stared at him, scanning his features, likely noting the same similarities he’d done as he looked at her. “You’re my father?”
“Yes.”
She squinted at him. “Why haven’t I met you before now?”
The accusation in her voice was clear. He exchanged a glance with Elise. Hadn’t she explained what had happened?
Elise said, “You know what happened, Marguerite. I explained it before we left France.”
Marguerite kept her eyes on him. “How do I know it’s the truth? I want to hear from him.”
Lucan said, “I’m sorry I haven’t been a part of your life. But, I didn’t know about you until yesterday.”
“Why not?”
“Your mother never told me. We hadn’t exactly parted on good terms.”
She gave him a pointed look. “Is it because you’re a jerk?”
“Marguerite!” Elise said.
“No, it’s all right. She has every right to ask that.” He faced his daughter. “Is that what your mother told you?”
Marguerite shrugged. “I heard what she did to you. She was wrong to do that. But, she must’ve had a reason. A strong reason.”
She studied him in an unnerving way that made it even more disconcerting, since her eyes were so similar to his own.
“What did you do to her?” Marguerite added.
He glanced out to the harbor, fixing on the lighthouse at the end of Derby Wharf. As he inhaled, he tried to formulate a response. How could he explain it to the person most affected by this complicated mess between her parents? Someone who was so young and vulnerable?
After he exhaled, he began, “Your mother and I were young when we met, not yet twenty. We were together for a short while and had little experience in romantic relationships. She expected more from it than I did.”
He didn’t want anything beyond a short-term fling and still didn’t, but he wasn’t going to tell that to his preteen daughter. She already eyed him like he was an insect—with a combination of fascination and repulsion.
Shit, did that mean there would be boys like him hitting on her one day, if not already? He was not ready for all of this. He had no idea how to be a father—especially to a girl of that age.
Marguerite kept her gaze pinned on him. He doubted she blinked. “Then what happened?”
He rubbed his forehead and smoothed one eyebrow. “It got rather heated. I pushed her away and she got angry. And, apparently her fury is not to be underestimated.”
Marguerite clucked her tongue. “True. I can vouch for that.”
What exactly did she mean by that? He studied her body language seeking clues. “She didn’t hurt you, did she?” That bitch better not have ever laid a hand on Marguerite.
Marguerite expression tightened. “She didn’t beat me or anything like that. But, she’d never win a mother-of-the-year award, since she barely took any interest in me.”
And now she was gone. Was that better or worse for Marguerite?
“I’m sorry to hear that. If I knew about you, things would have been different.”
She tilted her head and studied him. “Would it have?”
He straightened. “Yes, of course.”
“How can you be so sure? I’m sure you’re not crazy about a daughter showing up from out of nowhere.”
Lucan felt Elise’s gaze piercing him with curiosity. He glanced around while formulating a response, noting families with young children. They probably were having a wonderful day at the park. No unexpected bombshells. No tension. “Naturally, I was surprised...”
“And since you must have hated my mother for what she did to you, you probably hate me, too.”
“No.” He raised a hand palms-forward. “That’s not true.”
“It should be. I mean, if someone cursed me for so many years, I’d despise them and everyone associated with them.”
“It’s not that simple,” Elise said. “The situation is utterly complicated.”
“Don’t offer excuses for him, Auntie,” Marguerite said. “If he hates me, I get it. Maybe Mom was right and he is a jerk.”
What? Lucan hadn’t seen that coming. Obviously, he had no clue as to what girls her age were like or how he should deal with them. Coming here might have been a bad idea.
“Marguerite!” Elise said. “You promised to have an open mind.”
“I did,” she replied. “And I know what I see.”
Shit, what the hell had he said or done that set her off?
“I don’t hate you, Marguerite,” he replied, trying to keep his voice steady. “I came here today because you’re my daughter and I wanted to have the chance to finally meet you.”
“Your obligation is done.” She planted her hands on her hips. “Nice to meet you—Father,” she added with contempt. “I’m going back into the hotel.”
After she turned and headed away from them, Lucan blew out a harsh breath.
Elise wrung her hands, appearing flustered. “I’m sorry. I had no idea she’d react that way.”
He watched his daughter stride back toward the hotel and tried to piece together how that disaster had unfolded. “That’s all right. She has every right to dish it out. I wasn’t expecting that reaction, but I don’t blame her.”
“I’ll talk to her. It’s the stress of all the changes. And with puberty starting, her hormones don’t help matters.”
Lucan resisted shuddering. Teenage girl hormones? No, he was definitely not prepared to deal with that.
He took a deep breath. But still, he was her father, and her only parent. He had to suck it up and do the right thing. “Maybe we can try again. I’m sure this was tough on her and she needs some time to adjust.” And, hell, so do I.
“Yes, that would be wonderful, Lucan.” She took his hand and squeezed it and gave him a grateful smile.
He gazed at where their hands met. A strange heat tingled as calmness spread through his hand. He raised his gaze to her face and when their eyes caught, he couldn’t pull away. His heart quickened and seemed to pulse with an echo through his body. An image of her naked beneath him invaded his mind. He pictured himself burying himself slowly into her warm, welcoming body, watching her expression as he filled her.
A slow burn suffused her cheeks. Elise released his hand and stammered, “Um, uh, merci. Ah, au revoir.”
She hurried toward the hotel without looking back. He stared at her as she walked away. What had just happened between them? That was definitely something—significant.
No, wait a minute—what the hell was he thinking? He couldn’t go there. She was that bitch’s sister. His daughter’s aunt. Off limits in every possible way. And the last woman on earth he should ever feel a modicum of interest in.
This situation was already difficult enough. He wasn’t going to twist more threads into a tangled web. Maybe after a night of rest, he could see things more clearly.
The next morning didn’t bring much more clarity since Elise had invaded his dreams with sensual invitations. It was foolish, though. What he’d fantasized could never happen in real life. Still, his response to Elise’s scent and touch confused him.
He’d promised he’d try again with Marguerite, so after he had something to eat, fuel for the flight, he returned to Salem. The flight calmed the frayed edges
caused by a night of contemplation of questions with no clear answers.
When he entered the hotel, Elise was already in the lobby. She hurried over to him. The bouquet of her fragrance washed over him and he inhaled more deeply to hold on to it. What was it about her?
She held onto one of his biceps and stared up at him with troubled eyes. “She’s gone. Marguerite ran away!”
Chapter Four
ELISE HAD BEEN SEARCHING for Marguerite since she woke and found the note. She must’ve run out during the night. After searching the nearby streets, she returned to the hotel, knowing that Lucan would arrive soon. She paced the hotel lobby, maneuvering around visitors and their bulky luggage.
She bit her fingernails, a terrible habit, but not one she would try to tame at the moment.
Lucan steered her outside the hotel. The brightness of the sun beamed down on her like a spotlight as she shielded her eyes with her hand.
“What do you mean she ran away?” he demanded. “When?”
“While I was sleeping. She left a note and said she was leaving. She didn’t say where she was going.”
He heaved his chest out with an exhale. “At least that means she wasn’t taken. Why do you think she left?”
Elise glanced around. The wharf extended out to where a lighthouse perched and dozens of boats dotted the harbor. Marguerite likely didn’t head in that direction without access to one of the vessels, so she must have headed inland.
“She was upset when we returned last night. I told her it was natural to have mixed feelings about meeting you, and that she should try to have an open mind today.”
When she turned to face him, his expression had hardened with a grim look.
“Shit. It’s my fault, isn’t it?” he said. “I made things worse.”
“No, it’s—well, everything. This is a difficult time in a girl’s life and it’s been exacerbated with all the changes—not only with her parents, but with her body as well.”
Lucan ran his hands through his hair. “I don’t have any idea about preteen girls.”
Confusion marred his features and she yearned to ease his distress. “I know this is difficult for you as well, but I’m glad you came to meet her. It means a lot to Marguerite—even if it doesn’t seem that way right now.” She put her hand on her heart. “It means a lot to me, too.”
INFLAME: (a gargoyle shifter and witch romance) (Underground Encounters Book 8) Page 3
