Frey has my right hand, the one where Sani’s ring now sits after being displaced by the brilliant diamond that I can’t keep my eyes off.
Frey catches me glancing down for the tenth time and laughs, squeezing my hand. “So you like it? It’s not too old-fashioned?”
“God, no, it’s gorgeous.” The words pop out before I can censor the reply. After all, I am Anna Strong. Vampire. Bad ass. Getting sentimental over an engagement ring is out of character. But it’s so beautiful. My eyes seek Frey’s. “You’ve made me happier than I thought possible. I almost feel human again.”
He drops my hand and puts an arm around my shoulders. “You are human, Anna. More human than ninety percent of the mortals I know. You just happen to have another aspect to your nature. It’s a big one. But it’s only one part.” He holds up my left hand and lets the sun play on the ring, sending sparks of rainbow light dancing. “You’re like this diamond. It takes all the facets of this ring to make it brilliant. It takes all the facets of your nature to make you who you are.”
I’ve never been a sappy romance-novel type of gal, but I swear, Frey may turn me into one. We’ve known each other from the very beginning of my existence as a vampire. Has he always felt this way about me?
Frey tugs on a strand of my hair. “Too much? What are you thinking?”
I pull him over to guardrail, out of the way of other boardwalk strollers. I pull his head down and wrap my arms around his neck. “I’m thinking I’ve wasted too much fucking time.” And then I kiss him, putting all I am, all I hope to be for him and all I promise our life together will be into that kiss.
I must have done a good job because the way he kisses me back makes my face flush, my blood heat and my toes curl.
* * *
DAVID, TRACEY AND JOHN-JOHN ARE SITTING ON A bench watching a mime, big double-dip cones melting in the bright spring sunshine. John-John spies us and thrusts his cone out toward Frey.
“Want some, Azhé’é?” he asks.
Frey leans his head down and takes a lick. “Good stuff.”
David looks over his head at Frey and me. “How’d it go?”
Tracey rises from the bench, digs a hand into her pocket and pulls out a dollar. “Why don’t you put that in the mime’s tip jar?” she tells John-John.
He happily complies. While he’s gone, Tracey says, “I’ll take him to see that clown over there. Give you three a chance to talk.”
David gives her cheek a kiss. “Thanks, Trace.”
John-John bounces back and he and Tracey leave to visit the clown making balloon animals farther down the boardwalk.
David moves over so Frey and I can take a seat. “What did Harris harangue you about this time?”
“The same,” I reply. “Warren Williams’ death. Judith Williams’ disappearance. Things Frey and I know nothing about.”
I wonder how Frey feels about the easy lies that spew from my mouth. At the same time, lying to mortals is what our lives as supernaturals are all about. I know he understands that.
Frey has his arm around my shoulders again and he squeezes. “Harris has two major open cases that he can’t close. It’s no wonder he’s grasping at straws.”
David is like me—not so generous in his appreciation of Harris’ predicament. “I told you, Anna, you should file a harassment suit against him. He has no right to keep bothering you.”
“Well,” Frey says. “Maybe this is the end of it.”
David takes my left hand and holds the ring so he can examine it. “This is one beautiful ring. You’ve set the bar high for the rest of us bachelors.”
“Are you thinking of asking Tracey—?” I stop in mid-sentence, remembering what David said yesterday, remembering that Gloria may still be in the picture.
“No.” He lets my hand drop, fixes me with a steely gaze. “Just saying, if I was thinking of asking anyone to marry me, I’d have to go some to top this ring. How many carats is it—two, three?”
“Two and a half,” Frey answers.
I look at my ring again. I knew it was a good-sized stone but two and a half carats?
“The stone was my great-grandmother’s,” he continues. “I had it reset for Anna. The original setting was pretty ornate.”
I can’t believe I didn’t think to ask about the ring. Frey is a schoolteacher and it never occurred to me to think how much a ring like this would cost. “Your great-grandmother’s stone? Frey, I’m honored. I’ll treasure it always. And when John-John finds someone to marry, we’ll pass it to him.”
David chuckles. “What about when you and Frey have children? There may be a daughter you’ll want to have it. Or another son.”
Of course, David would assume there might be children in our future. It’s obvious Frey can procreate and we’re certainly young enough. It’s the other biological imperative, that I’m vampire, that makes it impossible. Something unknown to David.
Frey picks up the thread smoothly. “Maybe. We’ll have to let nature take its course.”
David stretches his arms over his head. “Well, judging by what a good kid John-John is, I’d say you’re a great father.”
I see a subtle shift in Frey’s expression, sadness clouds his eyes. “I can’t take much credit for that,” he says. “John-John was raised by his mother.”
David’s expression changes, too, sobering. “I’m sorry. I know Anna told me that John-John lost his mother recently.”
Frey shrugs. “Yes. An accident. But Anna and I hope to make a good life for John-John. No one can take the place of his mother, but he’ll always know he’s loved.”
There’s a brief pause, a kind of silent acknowledgment of John-John’s loss, and then David says, “On a different note. When’s the date?”
Frey and I look at each other. We hadn’t discussed it yet.
David smiles. “Just remember—if Tracey and I aren’t invited, there’ll be hell to pay.”
Frey holds out a hand to David. “Might even have to tag you for best man duties.”
David returns the handshake. “It would be my pleasure.”
A squeal of laughter from down the boardwalk captures our attention. John-John is running back toward us, a balloon animal clutched in his hands.
“Look,” he says. “It’s a horse. Just like mine at home.”
And Frey and I exchange another look. Another question we’ve yet to answer. Home. Just where will that be?
Frey kneels down to examine the “horse” made from brown and yellow balloons while I sit back to watch them. It occurs to me that I can’t wait to let my folks know about Frey and John-John. That we’ll have to call them when we get back home this afternoon.
That it scares me how much I love Frey. And how perfect my life seems at this very minute.
That I wish I believed it could be like this forever.
My cell phone chirps. I dig it out of the pocket of my jacket and glance at the caller ID.
“You must be psychic, Mom,” I say. “I was just about to—”
“It’s your dad, Anna.” His voice is sober, serious.
My back stiffens.
“Dad? Is everything all right?”
There’s a hesitation, dead air on the line as ominous as any threat of peril. My heart races. “Dad?”
His breath catches. “It’s your mother, Anna. I think you need to come to France. Now.”
“What’s wrong?”
Frey looks up at me. He must see the fear and uncertainty in my face because his pales. He stands up and steps close.
I listen to my father’s next words. Tell him we’ll leave right away and disconnect.
“What is it, Anna?” Frey asks, touching my arm.
I don’t recognize my own voice. “My mother. She’s dying.”
CHAPTER 7
THE NEXT HOURS ARE A BLUR OF ACTIVITY THAT for a time, at least, dulls the pain. I call my pilot, arrange for him to file a flight plan. John-John and Frey have passports but they’re in Monument Valley so we plan a layov
er in Farmington, New Mexico—the closest airport large enough to handle my jet. A call to Frey’s friend Officer Kayani and he agrees to pick up the passports and meet us at the airport, a good two and a half hours from their home.
At first I thought it might not be good for John-John to be exposed to a situation so close to what he’s recently been through—the loss of his own mother. But when Frey and I sat him down and explained that I had to go to France because my mother had been taken very ill, his only question was when were we leaving? Whether he had picked up on my fear and sadness or whether it was just a child’s intuition, he seemed to know his presence and that of his father was something I desperately wanted. I never loved him more.
At two, David and Tracey arrive to take us to the airport. Frey and John-John never had a chance to unpack so it was simply a process of loading their suitcases into David’s Hummer. I finished my own packing just as David and Tracey got to the cottage and my single duffle was the last item to get put in.
Jimsair, the private terminal at Lindbergh Field in San Diego, is set apart from the main airport structure. When we pull up, I go inside to let my pilot know I’ve arrived and he sends a baggage handler out to the Hummer to transport our luggage to the plane. On a pleasure trip, it never fails to impress me how much nicer it is to travel by private than commercial jet. Today, though, all I can think about is how it will get me to my mom that much faster.
My mom. Dying of cancer.
We board after saying good-bye to David and Tracey. John-John gets treated to a tour of the cockpit by my pilot as Frey and I settle ourselves in. The cabin of the plane seats six and we swivel seats around so that we can all three fly facing each other. When the jet engines roar to life, the copilot brings John-John back to us.
He’s sporting a pair of wings on the collar of his jacket.
I smile a thanks to the copilot and lift John-John into his seat. He points to the pin. “Look. Just like the pilot.”
I buckle him in and give his cheek a kiss. “Just like the pilot.”
Frey and I buckle in, too. “Watch out the window, John-John,” Frey says. “You’ll see we fly right over the ocean.”
Excitement shines in John-John’s eyes and he turns his face to press it against the glass.
Frey takes my hand. “I don’t know what’s going to happen in France, Anna,” he says. “But you’re not alone. We’ll face it together.”
Tears sting my eyes. A few hours ago I was so happy. I felt positive about the future. Couldn’t wait to tell Mom about Frey and John-John. Well, I’m going to get the chance now. But not in the way I envisioned.
It’s a relatively short flight to New Mexico. Frey asks the pilot to call ahead. We are told Kayani will be waiting for us when we arrive at the terminal.
Security allows him to come on board. He’s in his Navajo Nation Police uniform, looking as crisp and tailored as the last time I saw him. He sweeps a round-brimmed hat off his head. His eyes are serious. Frey told him the reason for our trip on the phone and he expresses his sympathy to me.
For John-John, he has a smile and a hug.
He hands a manila envelope to Frey. “Travel safely, sida,” he says. “I will take care of the house and horses while you are gone.”
Frey reaches out his hand. “Thank you for making such a long trip. Anna and I appreciate it.”
Kayani smiles. “Not nearly as long as the journey you are about to make.” He drops Frey’s hand and turns to me. “Be well, Anna. I wish the best for your mother. I will remember her in my prayers.”
He stoops and speaks to John-John in Navajo. John-John nods solemnly and holds out his arms. Kayani embraces him, and in that simple act, it comes rushing back to me how close Kayani, John-John and his mother, Sarah, used to be. I have no doubt he once looked forward to the three of them being a family the way I look forward to Frey, John-John and I forming that bond. My heart knows it can’t be easy for him to see the three of us together.
Impulsively, I follow him to the doorway of the plane. I take his hand. “Thank you, Kayani.”
He looks toward John-John. “Take care of the little one. I want only for him to be happy.”
“I will. And you will always be a part of his life. Frey and I will see to it.”
He releases a breath. “Hágoónee’, Anna.”
“Hágoónee’, my friend.”
* * *
WE PUT JOHN-JOHN TO SLEEP IN THE BEDROOM AT THE tail of the plane and Frey and I sit close on the small couch opposite the bar. The jet was outfitted by an old-soul vampire who spared no expense—the bar and tables are teak, thick carpets run along the floor and up the sides of the fuselage, all the seating accommodations are of the softest leather. In the bedroom, there’s a full bathroom, queen-sized bed and a dressing table. Where there might be mirrors, original oil paintings fill the spaces. Avery, the bastard, appreciated his luxury.
Now Frey and I are the beneficiaries of his decadence. For a long time, I refused any of the inheritance due me because of the right of blood vengeance. Avery, an old-soul vampire who pretended to want to mentor me when, in fact, he wanted nothing more than to control the Chosen One, betrayed me. I killed him in defense of my own life. Slowly, over the last eighteen months, and because with Warren Williams’ death, there was no one else to do it, I took over handling the estate myself. I kept the jet for my own use, agreed to my parents inheriting his winery in Provence and kept Avery’s hilltop estate in La Jolla. But other things, his money, for instance, went to dozens of charities and foundations, donated anonymously. His art and a hidden treasure trove of ancient artifacts showed up mysteriously in the collections of museums around the country.
Now there’s just the house, shut up, furniture shrouded with sheeting, a caretaker on premises to see the landscaping is tended to and the place secure. I haven’t decided what to do with the property—it’s in one of the most expensive areas in San Diego with a view that sweeps the Pacific—but in the back of my mind, I envision it being Trish’s legacy. And now—my eyes drift toward the bedroom—John-John’s, too. A brick-and-mortar security blanket available to them for college, setting up their own households, hell, anything they want.
I know I’ll never live there.
Frey strokes my hair, bringing me back. “What are you thinking?”
I snuggle close, legs drawn up, head on his chest. “We’ve come so far to get here. When I introduced you to my family, I wanted it to be perfect. I’ve brought them so much unhappiness. Withdrawn almost completely from their lives. This—us—was to be a happy thing. Another grandchild. An extended family . . .”
My voice drops, strangled by a wave of emotion that chokes off the words.
Frey gathers me in his arms. “I think you may be misjudging the impact our being together will have on your family,” he says. “For your mother, in particular. It’s every parent’s dream to see her child happy. When she sees you with me, with John-John, she will see what I see. A woman loving and loved. I think this is the best present you could give her.”
“How do you always know what to say to make me feel better?” I ask, smiling into his chest.
There’s a rustle of movement from the bedroom. I sit up. “It may frighten John-John to wake up in a strange place. Maybe we should join him, stretch out for a while.” I glance at my watch. “We still have hours before we reach France.”
Frey stands, takes my hands, pulls me to my feet. “One thing,” he says.
He tips my head up, draws me closer, and kisses me. “I love you, Anna Strong,” he breathes.
For a moment, I have to remember where we are, who we’re with, why we’re on this trip. His kiss ignites such passion in me, I can’t keep from pressing my body against his, wanting more, wanting him inside me, wanting to taste him.
Frey senses the need. His arms tighten around me. “Patience,” he whispers. “We have all the time in the world.”
I suck in a breath, pull back, let my blood cool. “Keep reminding me
.”
He takes my hand and we walk back to the bedroom, cocoon John-John between us on the bed. I lay down, but I’m too keyed-up to sleep. Twenty-four hours ago I thought my life was perfect. I should have known better. That’s when my dad called.
John-John cuddles closer.
I wrap the blanket tighter around him and snuggle him against my chest. He never seems to mind that my skin is cold. It’s almost as if he’s trying to share his body warmth with me. To make me warm.
I put my head to John-John’s chest, listen to his heartbeat—steady, strong. I concentrate on it, and my mind starts drifting. In spite of all the uncertainty ahead, and with the soft rhythm of John-John’s heartbeat in my ear, I’ve soon fallen asleep.
* * *
BETWEEN ONE FUEL STOP, THIRTEEN HOURS FLYING time and the crossing of nine time zones, we touch down at the Cannes Mandelieu Airport about nine a.m. There are airports closer to my family’s estate, but they either don’t have runways long enough to accommodate the jet or there are no facilities for parking the plane. I’ve given my crew the choice of either flying back home and waiting for my call or taking a paid vacation on the Côte d’Azur. Two confirmed bachelors. Guess which they chose?
I’ve been here three times before. I think it’s one of the most picturesque airports I’ve ever seen, ringed by verdant hills on three sides and the sea on the fourth. We’re guided to the hangar by a yellow-vested member of the ground crew who in turn is greeted by the pilots, first off. A customs agent comes on board, checks our passports and wishes us a pleasant stay.
I wish it were so.
Then the pilots supervise the unloading of the bags. John-John, Frey and I deplane to a beautiful, soft-breezed spring day, the cloudless sky the color of the Mediterranean. John-John is all big eyes and breathless excitement. I let Frey take him ahead to the terminal while I give instructions for the bags to be taken inside, tip the baggage handler, make sure the pilots have my parents’ telephone number and slip envelopes with some spending money to my crew.
One of the first things I learned upon deciding to accept responsibility for an airplane was that having a crew ready and eager to fly for you is essential. Paying them well is a budget stretcher, but it’s worth it at times like this.
Blood Bond (Anna Strong Chronicles #9) Page 5
