Before Mal could speak, Vann sauntered into the room. “Hey,” he said, “sorry I’m late.” He stopped and looked around. “Wow, I’m picking up on a lot of tension, in here. What did I miss?” His gaze stopped on Elizabeth, and he broke into a wide grin. “Hey, Professor! Fancy meeting you, here! I didn’t know you were ‘friendly’ with my brother!” He used finger quotes for emphasis. “Small world, huh?”
Seph felt a knot form in the pit of his stomach. He did not have to look at Elizabeth to know she felt mortified right now. The mediator in him wanted to do damage control, but he found himself too stunned by these back to back revelations to even speak.
Cyril was the one who broke the awkward silence. “Well, this has certainly been enlightening,” he said with a dry sniff. “Elizabeth, my dear: before I ring for the first course to be brought in, I feel I should ask if you’ve slept with any of my other sons, or if it’s just these three?”
Shock swept through the room. Drew choked on his wine. Don shielded his eyes with a hand, looking like he wished he could teleport to another planet. Mal and Vann sat with their mouths hanging open. Seph, however, felt anger bubble up inside him. He struggled to keep it in check, fists clenched on the table. “Really, Father?” he said quietly, and looked at the Vovin patriarch.
“Spare me your platitudes, Seph,” Cyril replied with a bored sigh. “When I told you to find mates, I expected you to look for women who possessed a modicum of dignity worthy of bearing the heirs to our great lineage. Instead, you and your brother Mal bring…this.” He curled his lip as he looked from Gwendolyn to Elizabeth. “A pair of cheap harlots.”
“What the fuck did you just call me?” Gwendolyn demanded, nearly toppling her chair as she stood up. She jabbed a thumb at herself. “I’m no whore – I’m the choreographer for some of the biggest names in the music industry, you rotten bastard!” She threw her napkin down on the table and raised her hands. “That’s it. I’m out.” Turning on her heel, she stalked out of the dining room. She could be heard on her phone as she made her way to the front door, calling for someone to come and pick her up.
“Charming,” Cyril said, and gave a thin smile. “Try to do better, would you, Mal? I realize that may be asking a lot.” He looked at Seph. “At least yours had the decency to get an education – although I can’t see how Medieval Studies are of any importance. I’m concerned about your futures, not about the past. They may be good for breeding but I see no other redeeming qualities in either.” He grimaced, looking from Seph to Mal. “You have disappointed me, the both of you.”
Seph shook his head. “I can’t believe this,” he muttered. He turned to Elizabeth who had remained silent, staring straight ahead with her lips pressed together in a tight line. Only the splashes of bright red coloring her cheeks gave away the rage Seph could sense roiling inside her. “I’m sorry, Elizabeth.” He pushed back his chair and stood. “Come on. I’ll take you home – you shouldn’t have to take this.”
He reached to help her with her seat only to have her brush him off. “It’s all right,” she said. She got to her feet, smoothed her hands down her dress. Lifting her chin, she turned and presented Cyril with a smile. “Now that I’ve been thoroughly shamed and insulted, I just want to take a moment to thank you – Mr. Vovin – for being the living embodiment of the same male-dominant society represented in the course I teach. You say you want to focus on the future, and yet you have the antiquated vision of women as chattel, not as independent thinkers in charge of their own bodies and decisions but as livestock good for – what was the word you used? – oh, yes: breeding. Seph said that you loved his mother, but I wonder how any man can truly love someone he considers as nothing more than his personal property.” She picked up her wine glass. “A soulless, mindless vessel, waiting to be filled with your precious seed.”
Seph felt his own heart racing. He expected Elizabeth to hurl the glass at his father, or even across the room. Instead, she set it back down carefully and walked out without another word or a backward glance. Grimacing, Seph went after her. He followed her upstairs and watched as she began to pack her suitcase. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I told you he could be short and a little abrasive, but I had no idea he would go this far.” When she did not reply, Seph moved closer. “Elizabeth. I like you.”
“I like you, too, Seph.” She stopped and looked over at him. “But I can’t be a part of this family. I couldn’t when I spent the summer banging your rock star brother in the back of a tour bus, and I couldn’t when I had sex with your brother who gives the best massages in town.” She shook her head. “You can say the past doesn’t matter, but it does.” She pressed her hand to her heart. “It does, to me. And no matter how much you try to counsel me about it, it’s not going to change the way I felt tonight.”
Seph looked down. “You deserve someone more chivalrous,” he said quietly. “A man who will fight for your honor, even if it means going up against his own family.”
Elizabeth smiled. “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” she said. “You did the best you could, and I appreciate it. I know enough about Dragon history to understand how hard it is to stand up against your clan. But I won’t ask you to break from them for me.” She finished stuffing her clothes in her bag and zipped it shut. Turning back to him, she stepped in close, reaching up to stroke his cheek. “Like I said, it wouldn’t have worked. I’m not ashamed of what I’ve done, for sleeping with your brothers. It’s your father I can’t be around.” She chuckled and gave a rueful shake of her head, red curls bouncing around her milky shoulders. “The woman you settle down with is going to have to be a lot stronger and tougher that I am, to put up with his shit.”
Seph responded with a gentle snort. “Yeah,” he said. “I guess so.” He looked into her eyes. When he had first met Elizabeth, he had believed he had found the perfect mate. It’s not her fault it didn’t work out, he thought. “You want me to drive you home?” he asked. “We can go somewhere else for the holidays, finish out the year together someplace far from here. Costa Rica, maybe?”
“I think it’s just better if we end it, here,” Elizabeth said, a note of regret in her voice, but he could also hear the ring of truth in her words. Why prolong the inevitable? “I’ll call a cab.”
“I’ll ask Fritz to drive you back,” Seph said. “You may never get an apology from Father, but at least you can get a ride home from his driver.”
His half-hearted attempt at a joke made her chuckle. “Okay,” Elizabeth said, nodding. “I’ll take it.” Leaning in, she kissed him softly on the lips before stepping back. “You’re a good man, Seph. If nothing else, you’re not your father’s son. You’re better than him.” She smiled. “You can do so much better.”
Seph helped her take her bag downstairs. He had Paul call Fritz to bring the car around as they waited in the front parlor. The doors to the dining room had been closed, he noted, and he could hear sounds of silverware clicking against china and the murmur of voices. He sniffed, but could not smell Mal. Hopefully, he went after Gwendolyn, Seph thought. He felt sorry for her, too, and also relieved that his other brothers had not brought dates to the house. Three fewer women to be humiliated tonight.
He escorted Elizabeth out to the car. They shared one last kiss before she slipped inside. Seph closed the door. The finality of it made his heart ache – not because he had fallen in love with her, either. What happened tonight made him realize how conflicted he felt over this desperate search for a mate just to appease his father and to stave off the fear of being separated from his clan. It’s so impersonal, he thought, as he watched the car drive off into the cold, snowy night. I might as well be drawing names from a hat, at this point.
Of course, he would never say that to Asha. She took Wings of Love seriously. She believed in it. Maybe it worked for everyone else, but Seph began to think he might be the exception. He winced at the thought of having to tell Asha about tonight, and how things had fallen through with Elizabeth. That’s it. I just have
to accept the fact that I am going to have the distinction of being the first Dragon to fail to find a mate through an agency with a 100% success rate.
For some reason, the thought of disappointing Asha shook Seph, filling him with the same despair he had felt as he listened to his father tear down Elizabeth’s character. Seph’s hands formed fists at his sides as he replayed that whole ugly scene in his head. God, how I hate that man, right now! He looked back at the stately manor, with its glowing windows and the Christmas decorations swaying in the breeze. He had grown up here, but tonight his childhood home had become a house from Hell. Cyril had never been particularly warm or affectionate. The term “shrewd businessman” had always suited him best. This evening, Seph saw a new side of him. In all his years as a therapist, Seph had never met a Dragon who behaved with such calculated malice. Because they come to you as part of a couple. Seph knew that a Dragon needed a mate to temper him, to teach him how to be tender and compassionate; the legends that depicted his race as monsters had been about those who had never found companions – or in his father’s case, lost them too soon. Father’s been alone so long, his heart is completely hardened. Seph raked his hands back through his hair. “My God,” he mumbled out loud to himself. “Is this what I have to look forward to, if I don’t find someone?”
He shivered, and not from the chilly bite of the wind. I can’t do this anymore, he thought. I don’t want to subject another unsuspecting woman to Father’s cruelty. He’ll never approve, no matter who I choose. But I also can’t rush any more women through some unsuspecting gauntlet, bringing them home to meet a man who is just going to belittle them. “How am I going to resolve this?”
Tilting his head back, he sighed at the stars above, his breath a cloud of white against the black sky. Everyone always came to talk to him about their troubles; who did he have, to listen to his? As if in answer to that mental question, he found himself picturing a familiar face with kind, dark eyes and lips plump like ripe berries as they curved into a knowing smile. Asha. A warmth began to blossom in his gut. Yes, he could talk to her. He could tell her about his predicament, confide in her, and ask her for advice. He trusted her. He liked her. Seph understood the Dragon heart once it had been given to someone; Asha understood the Dragon heart still searching for a place to belong.
Chapter Seven
“I’m going back to the city,” Seph announced the next morning, as he stood in the kitchen next to Drew and helped himself to a cup of coffee from the pot on the counter.
“Because of last night?” Drew asked, lifting his own mug to his lips and taking a sip. He and Seph had always been the early risers of their clutch, up before their brothers and sometimes even Father.
“More or less,” Seph admitted. He leaned back against the cupboard, dressed in jeans and a cable knit sweater. “I didn’t sleep very well last night.” He grimaced.
“To be honest, I think that scene in the dining room completely exorcised the Christmas spirit from this house.”
Drew sighed. “Yes, that was a mess.”
“I just felt so helpless,” Seph went on. “I’ve been struggling to come to terms with the things Father said to Elizabeth and Gwendolyn. From a professional standpoint, I know that it came from that dark place inside him that we all know about…but it doesn’t excuse it.”
Mrs. Carson, already busy preparing breakfast, turned to face Seph. “Pardon me for eavesdropping,” she said, “but I understand how you feel, dear.” She lowered her voice. “We were all a bit surprised by the exchange – speaking for myself, my heart went out to those two young ladies…but a greater part of it went to you, as well.”
Seph raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Wow,” he said, after swallowing a mouthful of coffee. Mrs. Carson had always spoken her mind freely, damn the consequences if Father ever found out; more than likely he knew anyway, but let it slide because he had always said how much he loathed breaking in new staff members. “Thank you, Mrs. Carson. I appreciate your concern.”
“I just wish you’d reconsider staying,” the matronly cook said. “It’s always good to have my boys together for Christmas.”
“We love you, too, Mrs. Carson,” Drew said, and leaned over to kiss her cheek.
Seph did give it further consideration. Unfortunately, he found his decision made for him shortly after breakfast. He had been in the library, looking for a book to read to pass the time. He had felt the Vovin patriarch’s presence without looking up. “Good morning, Father,” Seph said.
“It’s been brought to my attention that you have considered going back to the city,” Cyril said without preamble. He had dressed in a dark blue, three-piece suit with a black tie. He pulled out a gold pocket watch with the Vovin Clan crest engraved on the back and looked at the time. “If you leave now, you’ll miss the afternoon traffic.”
Seph turned to stare at him, surprised. “You’re telling me to go?”
“I am releasing you, yes,” Father said. He tucked the watch back into his waistcoat pocket. “If you aren’t feeling in the holiday way, it would be pointless to make you stay.”
It almost sounded like compassion and understanding – two things Seph had never really associated with his father. “I appreciate that,” he said.
“Just bear in mind that time is running out,” Cyril went on. “You still need to find a wife, Seph – or this will be the last chance you will ever have to spend Christmas at Tamerlane.”
His incentive leaves much to be desired, Seph thought sourly. “I understand,” he said.
“Good.” With a thin smile, Cyril turned and headed out of the library. “Safe journey, my son.”
And just like that, Seph knew he could not stay. Father’s arrogance, his demands, and his brusqueness seemed to permeate every corner of every room. Seph packed, said good-bye to his brothers and the staff, wishing them all a good holiday. Then he was on his way, steering his car along the winding road leading away from Tamerlane. He glanced in the rear-view mirror, seeing the house grow smaller the further he moved away from it. He thought about Father’s thinly-veiled threat, that this could be the last time he ever saw his childhood home. Steeling himself, Seph turned his attention back to the road ahead and gripped the steering wheel tightly. Maybe it’s better if I never come back.
He lowered the window and let the cold winter air hit his face and ruffle his hair. Breathing deeply, he willed his mind to clear itself of the negativity from the last twenty-four hours. Part of Seph wanted to defy his father. I am in control of my own destiny. All this urgency to find a mate had stirred something within him, though. Dragons have biological clocks, too. Some of his clients had talked about how they had felt overcome with the need to reproduce not long after meeting their intended partner. Seph had never given much thought to parenthood. Now, he found himself considering it – and not just because of Cyril’s decree. One thing’s for certain: I will be a much better father to my children than he had been, to us!
As he returned to the city, he took in the festive decorations on every light post and in the storefront displays. The sidewalks bustled with activity as last-minute shoppers rushed about. Corner street vendors sold cups of hot cider or paper cones filled with cinnamon-toasted almonds.
Seph stopped for a family trying to make its way to the other side of the street by way of a crosswalk. Bundled against the cold in thick coats, hats and scarves, the children clung to their parents’ hands so as not to be separated in the chaos. The father paused to scoop up his little boy and settled him on his shoulders for a better view over the crowds. It made Seph happy to see such love and caring, but at the same time he felt a pang of bittersweet regret. Those children would grow up with cherished memories of the holidays. When they grew up, they might even take their own kids out shopping on Christmas Eve, to see the lights and visit the department store Santa Claus. Screw Tamerlane, Seph thought. You should consider starting a few new holiday traditions of your own.
Thinking of traditions made him remember Th
anksgiving with Asha and her family, and he smiled. Something like that, only with friends. His brothers would always be welcomed to join him, too, if they found themselves put out by Father – either by their own choice, or because they had failed to find mates. Yes, if Cyril decided to disown all five of his sons, they would survive being cut off from the main Vovin Clan. We’ll make a new one of our own.
Seph continued to drive around town for a while. He considered stopping at the delicatessen for a few things before making his way back to his apartment. Wouldn’t it be funny if Asha showed up again, and asked you to join her family for Christmas? Seph snorted at the notion. Right – lightning doesn’t strike twice, so don’t get your hopes up. Still, it would be nice. He wondered how Asha celebrated the holidays. Would they have a tree covered in lights and homemade ornaments that they would decorate together? Would they sing carols, drink hot cocoa, and build snowmen in the front yard – all those wonderful cliché things he had seen in movies and television specials, but had never experienced for himself?
In the end, he decided to go home and order something for delivery; Chinese, perhaps. He pulled into the parking garage; bag in tow, he took the elevator up to his floor. As he made his way through the hall to his door, he thumbed through his keys, humming to himself. Some of his neighbors had hung wreaths on their doors, or sparkly garland and lights around the framework. He reached his corner condo, devoid of festive decorations. That’s part of your problem, he realized. You help others to make their lives warm and bright, but your world is cold and dark and dismal. He let himself in and closed the door. Tossing his keys into a tray on the foyer table, he headed for his bedroom to drop off his suitcase. He toed out of his shoes and tossed his coat over the foot of the bed. He took a moment to stretch, grunting softly. He reached up and kneaded at his neck and shoulder in hopes of relieving some of the tightness knotting there.
Tornado: A Paranormal Romance (Savage Brotherhood MC Book 1) Page 17
