by Aja James
Benji nodded in all seriousness and wrapped his arms tighter around his father’s neck, burying his face in the warm, comfortingly smelling nook between his father’s chin and his shoulder. For a few moments, the boy was silent, as if contemplating the truth of what Gabriel had imparted to him.
And then he said in a small, shy voice, “Can we go see Nana?”
Gabriel almost stumbled a step as a surge of fury charged through him.
Why did Olivia do this?
Make him share custody with a woman he’d never even met! Barely ever heard of until this point!
He always knew that Olivia had lived a separate life from him in the first few years that they’d been married.
They were like friendly roommates who shared the responsibility of taking care of an infant they both loved dearly. He’d never questioned her comings and goings during that time.
He knew she had lovers and considered him as more of a close relative than a red-blooded man with feelings, desires and needs, and he’d never pressed her in any way to see him differently. He’d wanted her to rebuild her self-confidence and feel secure in his devotion without condition.
For a while, she seemed to get better, seemed to be happier. But she never truly saw him until the very end.
Though she’d been discreet about her extramarital affairs and never flaunted them in his face, she hadn’t tried to hide her relationships either. At least she’d refrained from bringing men home with her. To Benji, Olivia and Daddy loved each other, were friendly and affectionate, and they both adored their son.
Gabriel was quite certain that Olivia had never introduced Benji to any of her lovers, least of all the boy’s real father.
But apparently, she’d brought this Nana Chastain home or had brought Benji out to meet with the woman. And amazingly, both mother and son had managed to keep Gabriel in the dark all this time.
His prolonged silence was making Benji squirm with nervousness, as if the boy felt his father’s inner turmoil.
Gabriel lowered Benji to his feet as they reached the car and helped him into his booster seat in the back.
Trying to keep his tone light, Gabriel said, “So you really like this Nana, huh? I’d like to meet her too.”
Benji raised his eyes to look inquiringly into his father’s face as he got buckled in.
When he could detect no trace of unhappy emotions, he shared exuberantly, “Nana is Olivia’s Angel. Mine too. And yours too, Daddy.”
“Really?” Gabriel asked encouragingly, “how can you tell?”
Benji impatiently waited for Gabriel to get into the driver’s seat before answering, visibly excited by the topic of conversation, as if he couldn’t hold in the juiciest secret in the world any more.
“She’s really really pretty,” the boy gushed with enthusiasm, “she looks like an Elf princess from Lord of the Rings! Olivia is a human princess, but Nana is a fairy princess. She’s magical.” The last he said in a hushed whisper, full of awe and reverence.
Then he added, “Olivia said Angels are shy. She said if I told anyone, Nana would disappear.”
Ah, Gabriel thought. So that’s how Olivia managed to keep the secret between the two of them.
“So where does this Angel live?” Gabriel asked in the same light tone, though his hands tightened involuntarily on the steering wheel as he started the engine.
He could see Benji’s shrug in the rear-view mirror. “I dunno,” the boy answered. “We always met her in the Park. Olivia would pick me up from school sometimes and take me there.”
“Central Park it is, then.”
Gabriel pulled his tin can of a sedan out of the funeral home’s parking lot and headed in that direction. He was determined to meet this Nana face to face before the day ended.
Heaven help her if she denied him.
*** *** *** ***
Sergei Antonov regarded the sleek, expensively-clad woman sitting across from him in the deep-seated, mohair sofa with undisguised lust, muted respect and just a hint of buried fear.
Never let them see you sweat, as the Americans were fond of saying.
As the Russian mob boss with dominion over Greater New York City, the trickle of fear inching like a meandering leech down Sergei’s spine was a first-of-its-kind sensation. Since escaping from persecution in Russia to the U.S. by stowing away on a human trafficking boat at the age of ten and working his way through any means fair or foul up the mafia ranks, he’d cultivated a healthy respect for pain and death along the way, but had never feared them.
What was sitting not four feet in front of him, however, promised fates far worse than death in her pitch-black eyes if he did not tread carefully.
“I expect you are satisfied with our rapidly expanding network of clubs,” Sergei started with somewhat feigned self-confidence.
Never let them see you sweat, he repeated in his head.
“Three well-established hubs in the City, two starting in Jersey and D.C., and let’s not forget the growth internationally.”
“You expect wrong,” the woman answered softly, in a husky feminine voice, the kind that purred, evoking images of twisting bodies in the throes of orgasm.
The edge of malice underlying her tone did not escape Sergei, however.
“In our agreement, I provide the funds,” she continued, “you provide your reach and influence, and together, we grow our little enterprise from one seed to a hundred, a thousand trees that flow rich with the blood of men.”
Strange, how she could sound so poetic while talking about death and destruction, Sergei reflected.
“And yet,” she said, pausing briefly to pick a nonexistent spec of lint off her Valentino overcoat, “there are only a handful of clubs thus far in half as many cities. Hardly the explosive growth you promised me.”
This discussion was not going well, of that Sergei was clear.
He knew by pure instinct that this was not the time to negotiate. It was not about asking for more funds, for she seemed to have an infinite supply. It was not about asking for more time, for her patience was obviously wearing thin. If he did not come up with a creative solution to accelerate the expansion of the fight clubs, she would simply choose a different partner—after disposing of her current one.
Sergei was nothing if not creative.
“I have a plan,” he shared with a spark of conspiracy in his eyes as he leaned forward, elbows on knees, to fully capture her gaze. “Right now, the growth of the clubs is generated purely by word of mouth, exclusive and shrouded in secrecy. If we want to truly accelerate the expansion, we must make it viral.”
She tilted her head slightly at an angle and considered his words. “Interesting. Go on.”
“The Internet reaches where our vast, yet limited networks cannot,” Sergei continued, his confidence bolstering, “and with the right technology platform, the best coders, we can create a virtual fight club that spans the world instantaneously. As the addiction and frenzy spreads, real fight clubs will spawn themselves everywhere at once. We just need to lay down the ground rules and keep close tabs on where and how they get established so we can maintain control and help remove barriers if need be.”
The woman’s gaze glowed with both appreciation and unholy excitement at Sergei’s plan.
“We will need to market the fights properly, won’t we,” she suggested, quickly latching onto the idea. “Make sure we have the best fighters and the most gruesome displays, the bloodier the better.”
“Leave that to me,” Sergei responded, nodding in agreement. “It just so happens that a prized specimen joined our club last night. Unknown yet whether he’s a repeat or a one-off. But we shall be persuasive. He will make a reappearance very soon.”
Faintly, the woman stretched her lips into a smile of anticipation, revealing just the tips of her brilliant white upper teeth, including two razor sharp canines.
“You have video footage, I assume.”
Sergei stood smoothly, surreptitiously letting out a long-h
eld breath as he did so. Looked like he passed this round. His partnership status was still secure.
“Right this way,” he said, holding out an arm to usher the woman forward, as she stood gracefully as well, though Sergei was careful not to touch her person. “I believe you will be duly impressed with the ferocity of this particular fighter.”
She craned her smooth pale neck toward him as she walked past and speared him with her black eyes over the rim of her designer sunglasses, which she had retrieved from her Prada handbag to perch on her perfect nose.
“Haven’t you learned by now how to manage expectations? Be careful that you don’t promise too much.”
“Then I shall let the lady judge for herself,” Sergei said smoothly, his self-possession in tact. He knew enough to discern when she was teasing and when she was truly displeased.
Right now, she was in a good mood.
The video was sure to put her in an even better one.
“On occasion, despite the rules that bind us, destiny reveals an alternate path. Only the courageous, the faithful and the stalwart succeed in walking this path to the end, wherever it may lead.”
—Excerpt from the Lost Chapters of the Ecliptic Scrolls.
Chapter Four
The sun was already starting to set over Central Park, and there had been no sign of the mysterious Nana Chastain all day.
In a corner of Gabriel’s mind, he knew that expecting her to show up just because he wished it was foolish. And yet, he expected her appearance nevertheless and even felt justified in his building resentment when, hour after hour, she remained unseen.
Gabriel had spent the past several hours entertaining Benji with the bounties of the Park and its surrounding winter festivities.
Delighted with this unprecedented length of devoted attention from his father in a very long time, Benji had smiled, chatted, and laughed with a carefree joy that contrasted sharply with the cold ball of sadness and loss growing within Gabriel, the emotions seeping into his body with the icy chill of winter.
Now he sat alone on a bench surrounding the Wollman Rink, keeping an eye on Benji as the boy tried to stay upright on his rented ice skates, while Gabriel’s own thoughts, long suppressed, flooded his mind with brutal clarity.
For almost two years, he’d known that Olivia’s battle with cancer would end sooner rather than later. That she’d held on for so long was a rare surprise to her doctors.
They’d pretended that life was normal for as long as they could despite the drugs and radiation, the increasingly frequent visits to the hospital. Olivia had wanted it that way. She’d even quit her job as a portrait photographer at a well-established studio in Manhattan and went independent when she’d found out about the illness. She’d wanted to stay home and spend more time with Benji.
Ironically, it was as if the illness had awakened her from a sluggish slumber and infused her with new vitality. She’d stopped meeting her lovers.
Stopped seeing him.
Olivia became a stay-at-home wife who greeted Gabriel when he finally trudged home from work, often past ten at night, her welcoming smile brilliantly on display despite the mess she’d made of the kitchen trying to save yet another failed recipe in her brave but doomed efforts to cook.
Gabriel couldn’t wrap his head around it, but the truth was: finding out she had only a short time to live had made Olivia happier.
What took them all by surprise was the appearance of the second cancer that accelerated her decline dramatically. But even then, she was unworried about the prospect, though she sometimes seemed harried as if she were making plans but didn’t know if she could see them through.
And if what the attending physician said was right, Olivia had passed without pain, with nary a worry to line her face. In fact, as Gabriel recalled—the shock of her death easing enough to allow memories to surface—Olivia had died with a smile on her face.
She’d looked incredibly relieved, finally at peace with herself and the world.
It had hurt to look at her. To know that death had given her the comfort he never could.
“Daddy, Daddy!”
Vaguely, Gabriel heard the distant echo of Benji’s shouts from the ice rink. He looked up to see his son waving his arms in wild excitement, his cheeks glowing red from the exercise as well as a grin of sheer, undiluted joy.
It was then that Gabriel noticed the tall blonde woman standing behind Benji, her hands on the boy’s shoulders as if to help him stay vertical on the slippery ice. But even from the distance, Gabriel could see that she held Benji also with familiarity and affection.
Dark blue eyes steadily held his gaze as she inclined her head briefly in greeting.
Before he knew what he’d done, Gabriel had already bounded from his seat and closed half the distance between the bench and the ice rink, maintaining the woman’s gaze without even a blink of distraction.
Some unreasonable part of him feared that if he took his eyes off her even for a second, she’d simply disappear.
A few long strides later, Gabriel was not three feet from the woman holding his son, her gloved hands tightening ever so slightly on the boy’s shoulders as if he were her shield.
“Hello Gabriel,” she said, her warm, rich voice low and familiar.
It sent shivers of awareness throughout Gabriel’s body.
Why did he feel he’d heard her voice before?
Staring intensely at the woman’s face, he barely prevented himself from staggering off balance when the recognition hit.
He’d seen this face before.
Where or when he could not recall, but he knew he’d met her before. Hers was not a countenance one could ever forget.
Benji swiveled his head back and forth between the towering adults and tried to understand why they weren’t ecstatic to see each other.
Here were two of his favorite people in the world, meeting for the first time. Weren’t they supposed to smile and hug and chat happily while swinging Benji between them? Olivia had said Nana would be his new mother and Daddy’s new “partner.” Didn’t that mean Daddy would treat Nana just like he treated Olivia?
Crossing his fingers, Benji waited for the adults’ next move.
Finally, Gabriel seemed to snap out of his personal fog, but as he parted his lips to speak, his cellphone buzzed in the back pocket of his jeans. It took several vibrations before Gabriel turned with a soft “excuse me” and answered the phone.
It was the funeral home. The ashes were ready for pickup, but they would close in thirty minutes, so he’d better hurry. Gabriel made his mono-syllable replies in clipped tones, rushing the conversation to an end.
But when he turned back around, the mysterious Nana Chastain was nowhere to be seen.
*** *** *** ***
Running away was a cowardly thing to do, and not an action Inanna took lightly, if ever she did before.
But she simply wasn’t ready for the encounter.
It had to happen sometime, of course.
Sometime soon.
She shared custody of Benji with him, for Goddess’ sake. The sooner she established an amicable relationship between them the better.
Safely behind the darkened windows of her Aventador, Inanna leaned her arms forward on the steering wheel and knocked her forehead none too gently against it in self-disgust.
The problem was that she didn’t want to be amicable. She wasn’t even sure she wanted a relationship. She just wanted the man himself.
Over her, under her, all around her.
Inside of her.
She wanted his body, his sex, his blood, his seed. All the carnal, sexual, lustful things her long-ago childhood tutors had tried to discipline her against.
For the most part, she’d been an angel in this regard. She’d never suffered from urges she couldn’t control, was always a master of her own emotions and actions. Sexual intercourse was not something she took lightly, and over all the millennia of her solitary existence, there had only been a few partners
and only for short durations.
For all her self-discipline, she might have been mistaken for a Pure One.
But she was Vampire. Her nature now boldly and undisputedly asserted itself. It made her long for that which she should not. Made her fangs elongate with thirst and need. Made her body hum with the recognition of its mate.
Determined to get herself under control, Inanna raced away from Central Park, putting as much physical distance as she could between herself and her dark longing.
Upon arrival at the Cove, Inanna was all about business.
She rode the hidden lift from the sixty-sixth floor of the Chrysler Building to the no-public-access level two floors above. Everything above the sixty-sixth floor was sealed off to the general populace. Most people thought there was only an abandoned tower above the last floor; they would never have guessed that the five stories above were actually the converted three-level headquarters of the New England vampire hive.
Inanna got out on the floor where the Chosen resided when they chose to stay at the Cove rather than their own lodgings and where their “business” meetings were usually held, unless the Queen decided to hold court at the Penthouse Atrium.
“You’re late,” Maximus grunted as Inanna rounded the last corridor to one of the main conference rooms where the leader of the Chosen, with his ever-present pet panther Simca, herself and Ryu, the Queen’s personal Assassin, were to meet.
Inanna let her eyelids droop to half mast, giving Maximus a lazy look. “That seems to be a favorite phrase of yours,” she greeted in return.
“Don’t wind him up,” Ryu said with a sideways smile from where he lounged bonelessly on one of the luxurious leather chairs, looking like Simca’s feline twin.
Inanna almost grunted at the warning. More than anyone else in the Chosen, Ryu Takamura took great pleasure and pride in winding their Commander up whenever possible. The only other person who could compete was Devlin.
“What is your report?” Maximus demanded immediately, just as Inanna’s butt hit her seat, which she wisely chose to be across the large conference table from the pesky and possessive panther.
