by Kristie Cook
“Mom?” I asked. “Is that a yes?” No answer. “Mom?”
“Alexis? Are you still there?” came her voice.
“Sophia?” Winston said, his eyes darting around the room to identify the source of her voice. “Sophia! Is that you?”
“Call me back on my phone,” Mom whispered, and then I saw her hand reach across the screen and disconnect our call.
I slipped out of the room and called her on the phone, figuring she wanted more privacy than FaceTime gave us.
“Where in the hell did you find this guy, and who does he think he is?” Mom demanded with a rancor I rarely heard from her.
“Um . . . well, we found him buried in a foundation of an old bank,” I said, and I told her the story. She remained so silent when I finished, I thought I’d lost the connection. “Mom?”
“Nineteen-thirteen, you said?”
“Yes, that’s what Terry told us. The foundation was poured in 1913 and the building finished in 1915.”
“Impossible,” Mom gasped. “He died in December 1911.”
“I did not die,” the vampire yelled, apparently hearing her. So much for her plan of privacy. “I was turned!”
“What are you talking about, Mom?” I asked as I walked toward the basement steps, as far from the vampire as possible. “Who is this guy?”
Again she didn’t answer for a long moment.
“I’m on my way,” she finally said instead of answering me.
“What? You’re coming here?”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can. I believe the new jet is here and available, and if it’s not, I’ll make it that way.”
“Mom, you’re talking crazy. You don’t need to come all the way over here.”
“Yes, I do. I’ll be there soon. Just . . . try to keep him calm in the meantime. Don’t let him leave!”
“Who is he?” I asked again. “What does he mean to you?”
She blew out a breath, and her voice came out shaky, as though she wasn’t quite sure she believed her own words. I nearly dropped the phone when she said them.
“If he’s really who he says he is . . . Winston was my husband.”
Chapter 17
What?
“Your husband? You never said anything—”
“I’ll explain when I get there,” she said, and the call fell silent. I looked at the phone screen: she’d hung up.
I tapped the phone against my chin, wracking my brain for any mention of a Winston or a husband. The only marriage I knew about was with her true love, a story she’d disclosed only a few years ago. What was his name? Otto? Orville? Something like that. Not even close to Winston.
“Sophia!” The vampire’s voice grew louder and more demanding.
I crossed over to the door and had barely entered the room and opened my mouth when his blue eyes darted to me and turned bright red as they filled with rage.
“Who are you? What did you do to my Sophia?” he demanded. Without a thought to warn me, he sprang from his wooden box and suddenly stood in front of me, the blood already building his strength. He was nearly as tall and as broad as Tristan. His large hands clamped on my shoulders, and he lifted me off the ground. His nostrils flared, and he dipped forward, his nose at my throat, where my pulse thumped excitedly. He inhaled deeply, and then hissed, “Amadis.”
He pulled back enough to look at my face, studying it as though trying to determine if I were really my mother. His fangs slipped out from under his upper lip, which curled up in a snarl. Hunger and desire filled his eyes. The need to drink consumed his mind. His mouth opened wide with the thought of diving for my throat, so I shot electricity at him.
Tristan or Charlotte—or both, and maybe Terry, too—must have acted at the same time. I suddenly stood on my feet again, and the vampire was in the center of the room, his arms stretched over his head and his wrists and ankles in shackles. His eyes widened as they scanned the room.
“You Amadis whores,” he bellowed. “I should have known!” His gaze fell on Tristan. “Not you. I know you. Seth. Evil reincarnate himself. Why do you stand there, man? Help me out of this bloody mess!”
When Tristan refused, the vampire became more irate. His eyes remained a frightening red. He threw his body back and forth and side to side, trying to free himself from the silver chains. When we attempted to ask him questions or to explain what had happened to him, he yelled and hollered more profanities at us. I opened my mind to discover the same anger and blasphemies running through his head.
“That’s enough,” Tristan growled, paralyzing him so we wouldn’t have to listen to the clank and rattle of the chains any longer. “Charlotte, muffle the room. I’m done listening to this.”
He grabbed my hand and left the room, pulling me all the way up the stairs with him. His jaw muscle twitched as he sat at the kitchen table with his fists in front of him. I found a bottle of beer in the refrigerator, cracked it open, and pulled a few swigs before giving him the rest. He downed it in one gulp.
“If Sophia hadn’t said what she did, I’d have hurt him a lot worse for his rude behavior toward you, and for how he treated Char and Terry, too,” Tristan finally said.
I placed my hands on his shoulders and squeezed, then rubbed his back. “For a British man of his time, you would have thought he’d be more of a gentleman.”
Tristan let out a harrumph. “He’s Daemoni. What do you expect? He’s lucky I didn’t kill him, because killing a Daemoni is all I’ve wanted to do since Dorian disappeared. He just needs to give me an excuse.”
I leaned over, wrapped my arms around him, and rested my chin on his shoulder. “As much as I’ve wanted to murder them, too, you know this vamp has nothing to do with Dorian’s kidnapping.”
He didn’t reply for a long moment. I hugged him tighter and pressed my lips against his neck until he finally relaxed under my hold. He lifted his hand to my wrists under his chin and gave them a squeeze.
“Look at you, talking me down,” he said. “That’s a switch.”
“We’re a team,” I murmured in his ear. “If we don’t have each other’s backs, then who will?”
He reached around and pulled me into his lap, but as soon as I was comfortable against his chest, Charlotte and Terry entered the kitchen. Worry lines creased Char’s forehead.
“How am I not surprised this is the kind of man your mother would fall for?” she said after she grabbed a beer for herself and sat across the table from us.
Terry poured herself a glass of wine and brought a beer each for Tristan and me before joining us at the table.
“I didn’t even know about him,” I admitted, and I asked Char, “Do you think he’s the real deal?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I wasn’t assigned to protect your mother when she’d been with Winston, so I only know what she’s told me about him. Like the fact that he died from cancer. So I can’t say if this bloke is him or not. All I can say is he better not hurt her. For his own sake. If he does . . .”
“Vanessa’s idea of finding a fresh foundation is sounding better and better, isn’t it?” I finished.
Charlotte and Tristan both lifted their beers to clink with mine.
“Where is he?” Mom demanded as soon as she entered the safe house a few hours later, Charlotte right behind her. Char had picked her up at the airport since she couldn’t flash, and she’d needed a protector’s escort.
I looked over Mom’s shoulder at Char.
“I told her everything,” the warlock said. “At least, what little we know.”
I couldn’t imagine what had been going through Mom’s head for the entire trip. I knew how I’d felt when Tristan had returned after seven years, but that was nothing in comparison, and she still didn’t know if this vampire had really been her husband. She’d had to wonder for the whole plane ride over, making it excruciatingly long even at warlock speed. Of course, for all I knew, maybe he’d meant nothing to her. Maybe it had been a marriage of convenience. She’d never bother
ed telling me about him, after all. On the other hand, she’d been shocked to see him on the screen. She hadn’t expected him to be alive in any kind of condition. So she certainly had to have questions galore, but Charlotte didn’t have many answers to offer. All we really knew was that he was one pissed off vampire.
“Take me to him,” Mom ordered Char. “Now.”
Tristan and I followed Mom and Charlotte down the stairs, and Vanessa followed us. She hadn’t wanted anything to do with reviving the vampire—as tough as she was, she had a weak stomach when it came to those kinds of things—but she’d promised to be there when Mom arrived. As the only other vampire in the house, she could be a big help if things went wrong. The rest of the team stayed in position at the top of the stairs, ready to act as well.
We all stopped in front of the door. The room remained muffled, so we heard nothing coming from inside. A check into the vamp’s mind told me he continued to throw a grade-A vampire fit. Charlotte grasped the doorknob, but paused and looked at Mom with her brows high.
“One more time—” she started.
“I know,” Mom nearly growled, her impatience obvious. “He’s dangerous. If he’s who he says he is, he’s always had a bit of a temper.”
“Well, now he’s got that temper as a vampire,” Char said. “Be prepared for anything.”
Mom gave her a single, sharp nod, and after another moment of hesitation, Charlotte twirled her free hand in the air while twisting the knob and throwing the door open. Winston was in the middle of another round of cursing, but fell silent when his gaze found Mom in the doorway.
“Sophia?” he nearly whispered. “Is it really you?”
Mom simply stood there, her mouth hanging open. We all stood back a few paces, carefully watching both of them, prepared to act if necessary, but they only stared at each other in silence. Eventually Mom’s hands moved up to cover her mouth. She took one step into the room and to the side. Another step farther in and to the other side. Winston remained perfectly still as she studied him, only his eyes moving as he drank in the sight of her.
His whole demeanor changed. Anger no longer pulsed off of him in hot waves. The profanities and threats cleared out of his mind, revealing something else. Wonder. Confusion. Disbelief.
“Sophia?” he said again, his voice lower than a whisper.
Mom let out a little noise like a hiccup. She took a step closer. “Oliver? My Oliver?”
The vampire’s face lit up in a grin, his eyes melting into a sparkling blue, dimples punctuating his lifted cheeks.
“Sophia,” he said, and this time it wasn’t a question.
“Oliver!” She crossed the last few steps to him in a blur and threw her arms around him. Her body shook in what I assumed to be sobs.
Oliver. That had been the name of her true love. Tears dared to prick my eyes. But wait . . .
I looked at Charlotte with wide, inquiring eyes. She only shrugged. I didn’t particularly want to piss the vampire off again, especially with Mom in the danger zone, but someone somewhere was missing something.
“Um . . . Mom?” I hesitated. “This isn’t—”
She turned her head away from his chest and toward me, with tears streaming down her cheeks and a smile on her face.
“It is, honey,” she said as she tightened her arms around the vampire. “This is Oliver Winston Chambers. He prefers Winston, but he’s always been my Oliver to me.”
“And he’s—”
She reached a hand up and pressed it against his face. The vamp who had been threatening to eat us all alive only a few minutes ago leaned into her hand, and if a vampire could have googly eyes, he did.
“He’s my soul mate.”
Memories of them together before he’d been turned and before she’d gone through the Ang’dora played in Winston-Oliver-whatever-his-name-was’ mind as though they were yesterday. To him, they practically felt that way. He was the real deal. And the way Mom pressed herself against him, I couldn’t deny it. Only true love could overcome the stench of his clothes so she could stand to be near him.
“Unchain him,” Mom ordered, and she looked up at him. “I can trust you.” She didn’t make it a question.
“We have much to discuss,” he said as he lowered his head. She stretched up on her toes to kiss his lips.
Wow. This is beyond weird. I hadn’t seen Mom with a man since I was in my teens, and she’d never been outwardly affectionate with any of them. Now, however, she looked as though she couldn’t help it.
“First thing is your conversion,” she said to him.
Thank goodness no one had removed the shackles yet. Oliver Winston’s body stiffened, and his eyes hardened. But for only a brief moment.
“If that’s what it takes,” he said, his eyes softening as they continued to stare at Mom. “Anything for you, love.”
Nobody moved to release him from the chains until Mom insisted, and even then she had to give a direct order. I held my breath when Charlotte and Tristan freed the vampire. His arms came down and looped around Mom’s waist. He lifted her so her face came level to his. So her throat was in reach. His eyes darted down to the pulse he could see and smell in her neck, and palpable tension returned to the room. My own heart raced as I worried about my mother.
“Oliver,” she whispered, and his gaze returned to her face. “I have never stopped loving you.”
“Nor I you,” he replied before bringing her in for a real kiss.
If this weren’t my mom and a Daemoni vampire who’d been down for a hundred years, I’d have probably been in tears. This was better than any romance book or movie ever. Definitely better than any I’d written, and my books had been called the best paranormal romances of all time. But it was my mom, and he was a Daemoni vamp. A thirsty one.
“Sophia,” Char said, thankfully being the first to speak up and interrupt them. “The conversion?”
Mom pulled away from the kiss and looked over her shoulder at us. “We need to talk first. Doing it now would be a form of coercion. He deserves to know everything beforehand.”
“Agreed,” Char said, “so how do you want to do this?”
“I want you to leave us alone,” Mom answered easily. “All of you out.”
Char, Tristan, and I exchanged a look. We weren’t budging.
“Out,” Mom repeated.
“Sophia—” Char and Tristan both began.
“That’s an order.”
“Mom,” I started.
“I will be fine. He won’t hurt me. Will you, Oliver?”
He cocked his head, but his nostrils flared, and he surely inhaled the Amadis scent all over us. “I’m confused, but I will never hurt you, Sophia. Never again.”
We still didn’t move, but eventually Mom forced us out. Tristan, Charlotte, and Vanessa took turns guarding the door, and I stayed at the top of the stairs, trying to listen to their minds. Mom yelled at me every time I entered hers. Then she mentally yelled at me some more when I wasn’t in her head, because she knew it meant I’d moved to Winston’s. Eventually I gave up the fight, pulled out of their minds, and waited.
Hours passed. Charlotte released the muffle on the room every so often, long enough so we could be sure Mom hadn’t started screaming for help or anything, and then she’d replace it to give them privacy. Finally, after the sun had risen the next morning, Mom came out of the room, pulling Winston with her by the hand.
“He needs faith healing,” she said, “but the Daemoni energy has been eliminated.”
Char and I rose from our seats on the stairs in surprise.
Mom shrugged. “Love can conquer anything. It was fairly easy, even on my own. In fact, we talked through much of it. Right now, though, he could use a shower and some clothes.”
While Winston cleaned up, Mom told us his story. When she’d thought he had died, he’d actually been turned, and his master had taken him away. His master hadn’t told him about Mom being an Amadis daughter, but had instead convinced him that he could never
be with her. But he couldn’t stand to be away from her. He followed her to the States, but always talked himself out of approaching her, afraid he wouldn’t be able to overcome the desire to drink her dry. He’d decided to convert to Amadis, knowing he could never live like a Daemoni, and hoping he might be able to be around Mom then. But before he could take the necessary steps, the Daemoni staked him and buried him alive.
I’d never seen Mom so happy. So in love. For a long time when I was younger, I’d believed she wasn’t capable of love, and now she practically swooned. She stayed with us as Sheree worked with Winston through his faith healing, and when they weren’t doing that, Mom and Winston spent nearly all of their time in the bedroom. I didn’t want to think about what exactly they did in there—she was my mom—but I couldn’t help but feel happy for her.
“Their story is amazing,” Blossom said one evening as we both cleaned up the kitchen after dinner. She stared out the window where Mom and Winston huddled together on a bench in the backyard, gazing at the stars.
“And yours?” I asked, nudging her in the ribs with my elbow.
“It’s not nearly as romantic.” She sighed before looking at me with a shy smile. “But I do really like Jax. I mean, more than like him. There’s been this connection since the beginning, you know, and we have so many things in common, but lots more not in common, which is okay because that’s what keeps things interesting. And he’s really sweet, and his body . . . wow, his body . . .”
She became uncharacteristically silent, and I suppressed a chuckle. I knew exactly what Jax’s body looked like. All of it. It didn’t compare to Tristan’s, but I could understand why Blossom would be impressed. The man-croc lacked nothing except for hair.
“So,” I said, bringing her attention back to the kitchen, “is it serious?”
She gazed out at Mom and Winston again. “Not like that. But I think I want it to be. I just don’t really know how to cross the line with Jax. He’s not like any other man I’ve ever been with.”
I dried the last wine glass and put it away, and a thought occurred to me.