“Did you get it, Ethan?” Xier asked his hand outstretched, waiting.
“Sorry to say, Sir, no. Someone beat you to your treasured tome again.” Ethan took one look at Xanti and choked back laughter. “Oh Christ,” he said as he played with the blond bristles covering his chin. He opened the fridge and grabbed the leftovers of a sub he’d started for breakfast. His mouth full, he almost lost it looking at Xanti.
The son of one the most powerful vamps in Europe stood slouched in a ten-gallon hat, leather chaps covering his designer jeans. Today’s florescent pink T-shirt pick read, It’s Better To Be Thought Of As A Fool, Than To Speak, And Remove All Doubt. Either way, Ethan knew there was no mistake; Xanti owned the title of village pilchard.
The vamp even told Ethan he wanted his fangs capped in gold and that he’d found a dentist to do it. He’d told Ethan when he smiled, he wanted people to think of… Ethan had knocked him out cold and walked away before he sullied one of his favorite pirate’s reputations.
“Howdy, Hoss.” Ethan scratched his nose with his middle finger as he passed Xanti.
“Do you see what I mean, Maestro?” Xanti whined. “I don’t want him to go to the States with me. I am capable of going alone.”
“You’re not capable of going to the bathroom alone!” Ethan blurted. He turned his attentions to the Maestro. “So where we going and why, Maestro?”
“New York, Ethan. It appears I am a grandfather.” The Maestro shot a cross glare at Xanti.
Ethan looked at Xanti in a whole new light. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“Ethan!”
The Maestro’s voice startled him.
“What?” Ethan asked holding back laughter.
The Maestro raised his voice one more octave. “Bring my grandson home. I want to raise him.”
Ethan’s lips twisted. No babies, nope I didn’t sign up for babysitting. Or kidnapping. Then out of the blue that random dream he’d had a few months back whacked him over the head. Tall, sultry creature with giant blue eyes left him dazzled. Why couldn’t we have been having sex instead of putting a bassinette together? Could this lead him to her? “What about the mother?”
The Maestro turned his black eyes on Ethan and gave a subliminal suggestion using his voice and eye contact. “You’re a persuasive man, Ethan. You know what women want, and you know how to get it, unlike Hoss.”
“Father!” Xanti squealed.
Xier lifted a hand to his son that said, “Shut up,” without words. He turned to Ethan. “Use your charms, but don’t come home without a baby. Your money is in the account, and I believe your plane, you left at JFK Airport on your last jaunt.”
“Come on, Xanti. I’ll let you pack my bags.” Ethan swiped the younger vamp’s hat and headed back to the fridge, laughing.
****
In London, André St. James sat glued to his telly, his eyes widening by the second as he watched the day’s highlights of the baseball games state-side, only baseball wasn’t what came across the screen. The number one pick revealed his niece making her grand entrance into the world and his sister-in-law leaving nothing to the imagination about the birds and the bees and the end results.
“Jovan? Oh, Auntie Jovan?” André yelled with a lilt in his voice to his wife.
Jovan sauntered into their den wearing only long blonde soaking wet curls. Most of her soft sensual curves were covered by the sun-kissed tendrils. Lady Godiva didn’t look this freaking hot.
“This better be worth it. We’re running late mon mari. And Savanah and Julian will be home any second.” Jovan gave André a devilish grin that reeked of sex as she did a slow spin showing off her backside.
“Cherié, that was a cheeky shot, literally. We’ll be running even later if you don’t get dressed. Before I lose myself in you, look at the telly.” He handed her a robe to cover up all the distracting areas her scrumptious body offered. And with her abdomen ripe with his child, her breasts full, firm and in his face, there was no better aphrodisiac.
Not a second after he wrapped Jovan up, Savanah and Julian raced in, spilling packages into an already crowded room of suitcases and travel bags.
“Did you hear the news or has anyone called?” Savanah asked breathless. “We caught it at the pub. Isn’t it wonderful?”
Jovan put her index finger to Savanah’s lips. “Shush, Peanut. Look someone just delivered a baby at a baseball stadium. How sweet.”
“As I tried to say, Mum—”
Jovan clamped her hand over her daughter’s mouth. Her face inches from the television, Jovan backed up a step. “Cripes, could they have gotten any bloody closer with the zoom lens?”
“Jovan, look closer.” André tapped on the screen.
“Close enough, thanks.” Jovan noticed her husband wipe his eyes and shake his head. “What?” She asked. “André, are those tears?”
“Oh, mon amour, anyone look vaguely familiar?”
“Sort of looks like—oh—my—Goddess—Lucian and is that—Serina?” Jovan swung around fast, her wet hair whipping her husband in his face. “I’m an aunt! You’re an uncle!” Tears fell faster than spilled milk. She yelled, “Savanah, you’ve a cousin.” Then she began to laugh. “Serina’s going to be upset when she sees this and the extra ten pounds the telly added to her bum. She’ll be more upset she didn’t have a shave before going to the game.”
Julian tossed in, “Please tell me that’s a Tootsie Roll next to them on the ground.”
“Jules! Mum! You’re both so bad! I’ll call home and check on everyone.” Savanah headed for the phone.
“Hey, hold up! Is everyone packed and ready for the flight home? Passports? All those measly little bottles, pygmies would die for, all set to go? You know, three ounces or less, locked away in quart-sized plastic zip-up bags, so we can board our plane without getting yanked out of line? Stripped naked? I wouldn’t mind seeing you naked again.” André pinched Jovan’s butt as she passed him.
“You had your chance, Mister.” Jovan bared her teeth.
Savanah enjoyed the antics between her parents. Their love for each other never faltered, in fact, it only strengthened each day. Oh, how she wanted to find love like theirs. Her face twisted. One-hundred-thirteen-years-old and not even a bloody boyfriend. “If, the airlines so much as lose one item I’ve packed, Papa, I’m turning them all into hotdogs and setting them in front of Takeru Kobayashi. Mum? Don’t pack your blow-dryer ’til the very last sec. Jules, same goes for my transcripts. I’ve got some work to do on the flight.”
“You mean this one?” Jovan wiggled the red dryer in her face. “I thought you bought a romance book yesterday to read on the plane.” Jovan paid her no heed and packed the blow dryer right under her little nose.
“Mum!” Savanah yanked the life-saving device out of her suitcase. “That wasn’t funny. I can’t walk out of here with my hair wet. God forbid it’s humid. My hair alone will take up more space than your belly.” Savanah ducked as her mother tried to swat her. “I packed that book. A person could die of a broken heart reading the first chapter. I’m already in a mood.”
“That you are.” André grabbed Savanah’s hand. “Come on, we’ve got a few hours to kill before we head to Heathrow. Let’s get some air, and we’ll bring your Mum home some chips.”
“You brown-noser,” Savanah teased.
“Savanah, at one-hundred-thirty-four years of age, I’ve learned how to stay on top of your mother and her moods.”
“That’s more than obvious, Pops.” Savanah giggled when his hand connected to her backside.
****
At a brisk pace, André and Savanah kept up with the hustle and bustle of the crowded walkways along King Charles Street, Parliament Street and before they realized it, they’d landed on Victoria Street in front of Westminster Abbey and just like the surround-sound of a theatre, clicking sounds amplified the airway as cameras flashed and tourists took their memories home with them.
“No matter how many times I see this pla
ce, it awes me.”
“Me too, Papa. Are you sad that you were never crowned king?”
“No. Are you? You’d have made such a generous queen, Savanah, so beautifully loyal to those you love. Some days regrets fill me, never for me, but for you. My selfishness took that option from you before you even understood what it meant.”
“Papa, your sacrifice kept Uncle Lucian, Aunt Serina and Aunt Raven safe. I hold the greatest respect for your choice. It must have been difficult to turn down such an offer from Queen Mattie in her time of need. She was beside herself after the fiasco the night they tried to stone Aunt Serina. Thank Goddess Aunt Serina’s mother turned back the sands of time to save her daughters and find Devona.”
“Pregnant, let’s not forget, by a vamp. ’Tis such a shame the baby was kidnapped and never found. And please, Savanah, never mention that woman’s name again. She cursed us for a century. No children. What type of hag does that?”
She squeezed her father’s hand and dragged him toward the church. “She’s got issues. Come on, Papa. 'Tis been so long, since you and I were here together.”
Inside the Abbey, history closed in around Savanah like a dried up flower stuck between the pages of a diary. Surrounded by family and friends forever encased in different tombs, she found it hard to breathe, but as they passed through the Chapter House, to the centre room where the coronation throne sat she took a moment to enjoy the phenomenal craftsmanship of the stained glass windows. Each so different. Each a window to someone’s soul.
Eyeing the renowned chair as they entered the abbey, Savanah lost her brilliant grin. It reminded her more of the electric chair. It would have been, had her father been seated at it. She knew vampires couldn’t run a country, although she’d heard rumors France did just that around Louis XIV’s time. Various stories surfaced that the Sun King proclaimed himself that to cast off suspicions of his family and their nocturnal, carnivorous habits.
And in her courtyard sat King George III with his porphyria and links to vampirism, so who was she to throw stones?
“Do you still have the tiara your uncle Jonah gave you when you were little?”
Savanah’s smile hinted of devilishness. “Last time I saw it, one of my porcelain dolls wore it. I’m not much into the beauty queen routine anyway, and I’ve no need for it. I meant what I said—no regrets.”
“You are my little queen, Savanah.” He ruffled her hair. “There were days when I could have crowned you myself.”
“Papa, you’ve never been upset with me a day in your life.”
“That, little girl, is because you always flashed me with that damned light trick you and your mum do. I never stood a chance.”
“Just so you’re aware, you still don’t.” The smile she flashed could’ve won her the beauty queen pageant. Savanah stood to offer her father a hand up. Behind her, a hand tapped her shoulder. Her shrill screech ended the silence in the church. In an instant, she had become the object to gawk at by other tourists.
Savanah turned and ended up face to face with the one person she wanted vanquished from this atmosphere. Mr. Pinky finger in the flesh. Behind her now, André placed his hands firmly atop her shoulders for support.
“Hello, Savanah. I hear you’re leaving soon for America. I’d hoped we could talk before you left.”
Stringy blond hair, sunken eyes with no lashes and more cartilage than skin on his nose and no firm ass—hell no ass period, Savanah wanted to kick her own for actually dating this pencil dick. “How in bloody hell did you know we were here?” She backed up into her father’s arms.
“I hate to admit it, but I followed you.”
“Oh, so now you’re stalking my daughter? Didn’t we put a restraining order against you? Nowhere near her up to five hundred ridiculous meters or something? I suggest, Radcliff, you scurry your bony ass out of here before the ceiling comes down atop of you, or I do.”
“Ah, the doting papa.” Radcliff pointed between the two of them. “Isn’t it funny you two look more like siblings than father and daughter?” The frail man scoffed.
“What do you want?” Savanah chided.
“Just keep in mind I want recognition in your display come opening day.”
“You bastard. You did nothing to deserve it. Uncle Julian and I did all the work, the research, the hunts, everything. The only thing you did was plant your DNA into my mummy—and I don’t mean mother!” Savanah balled her fists into knots, ready to take a swing at him if he got any closer.
“Savanah, Lord St. James, I’ve kept my mouth shut about your family secrets, including Uncle Julian’s once a month fur coat and Lord Lucian’s disappearing acts. I’ll have my name on the credits come opening day or your family will be plastered on the front page of every tabloid.”
André grabbed Radcliff’s shirt collar in a fitted rage. “I’ll plaster your emaciated excuse of a body across the rails and watch with a smile on my face as the trains roll over you again and again, severing you into tidbits for the stray dogs to scarf up.”
Radcliff jerked out of André’s clutch. “No Princess!” He enunciated her title slowly, as he bowed. “That’s but a warning. You’ll meet the real bastard if my name doesn’t appear anywhere in the credits. I better get a piece of that display.” And with that, he squared his shoulders, turned, and ran. All that was missing was the tail between his legs.
Eyes wide, Savanah turned to André. “Papa?”
“Let me take care of him.”
“Can we leave? I can’t wait to get out of here and get home and see the new baby.” And get the hell away from that moron.
About to step into the tube, André warned, “Mind the gap.”
No matter how many times she’d heard the phrase, it made her smile, and she did as asked. She peeked down watching her footing for the gap between the car and the railway tracks.
****
The engine’s deafening roar came to an abrupt halt when the tires touched down on the tarmac. The 747 bounced twice, leaning left and then right before its balance was regained and it taxied back to the gate. The bottle of water Ethan had to his lips jammed into his frenulum with the jerky landing. It broke open the tender skin between his upper teeth and lip. The backwashed water in the bottle turned pink. Cursing under his breath and impatient, he waited for the light above him to flash saying it was okay to move around the cabin. Looking ahead at the bathroom/closet, Ethan tried to decide if he wanted to subject himself to the aromas and the claustrophobic anxiety he knew he’d get if he didn’t have someone in there to distract him. Nature called regardless of what he did or didn’t want. He made his way up the isle and stood outside the door. As he waited for the next available closet to open, Ethan eyed a blonde woman headed in the same direction. Ah, company after all! Gorgeous. Long legs, tiny ass, b-e-l-l-y! Baby on board. “Hello pretty, Momma!” Ethan purred in the tall blonde’s direction, regardless of her maternal condition.
“Move your arrogant arse.” Jovan covered her mouth as she shoved past him in a rush.
Ethan scratched his head. “I got here first.” He smiled until he saw the woman gagging and then the loud wet belch a second before…
Jovan vomited down the front of Ethan.
“What the f—why?”
“I said move.” Jovan offered no apology, shoved past him and closed the door in his face.
****
“Ouch!” Savanah yelled hopping on one foot.
A bottle of ginger ale in hand for his wife, André asked, “What is it, Peanut?”
“Some guy just drove over my toes with his carry-on.” In the never-ending custom’s line, she noticed a blond man with a cute tight butt that filled his jeans out nicely. He was tall enough for her liking and in a major huff to get through customs. Savanah noticed she wasn’t the only one he bounced off as he budged the lines.
“Hey!” She yelled, her temper ruffled, “Watch where you’re bloody going.”
Ethan turned to face the music and the moment he did his eye
s were drawn like iron to a magnet to a tall woman in a baseball cap with thick pig tails sticking out of each side of her head. Dark sunglasses rested high on her cheekbones. Looking at her from head to toe he wondered where she got the money to purchase her clothing let alone a plane ticket. Her jeans had to have been a religious relic, holier than thou. Both her knees peeped through, and all the way down the length of her long slender legs, more holes than material were noted. Her flip-flops weren’t designer’s, but he did notice her manicured, hot, neon-pink toenails. Hard not too. High maintenance. Maintenance he decided he wouldn’t mind maintaining. Her T-shirt fit snuggly, sporting his team’s arch rival, The Evil Empire, along with two lick-your-lips, sensuous mounds of flesh. Opposites attract, right? A second scan revealed she wore no rings on her delicate fingers. His eyebrows rose.
“Did you hear me?” Savanah raised her voice. “Watch where you bloody go, you giant bull.”
“You watch where you bloody go, you giant cow,” he mimicked in his British accent.
“That is by far the worst imitation of the British impersonation I’ve yet to withstand.”
Beautiful or butt-ugly, he no longer cared. “Then don’t talk to me.” With a quick bow, he flipped her off, spun on his heels and got back in line.
“Tell me you didn’t just do that!”
Ethan spun around and with a roguish grin saluted her a second time. “This what you meant?” He headed back toward the customs gate.
That someone would treat her in such a manner—her blood roiled. If he wasn’t so rude or a giant moron… Oh, Savanah stop. You’re desperate. Some bald clown with a giant, brilliant-red bulbous nose would probably look good right now. Or not. Unwilling to give an inch, and having to get the last word, engraved into her very being, Savanah pressed through the lines of tightly woven people where she found no one willing to let another air bubble squeak by, let alone a body.
“Excuse me,” came out countless times as she wormed her way to the front of the queue. “Please, that’s my husband up there.” She lied. Once behind him, she slapped his shoulder hard.
Eden's Charms Page 3
