by L.H. Cosway
“Ah, you’re awake,” she said, frowning when she saw the tears running down my face.
“Where is Ethan? Who brought me here?” I asked frantically, my heart racing.
“Please, calm down,” the woman urged. “You don’t want to go upsetting yourself.”
“Where is Ethan?” I repeated. “Where’s my baby?”
“I have no idea who you’re talking about, Miss, but if you would just get back into bed …”
“I’m not getting back into bed until somebody explains where I am!” I shouted.
“You’re in St. Frances’ Psychiatric Hospital,” she answered. “Now please, at least sit. You shouldn’t have removed the IV. Just look at the mess you’ve made.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Psychiatric hospital?”
“That’s right. You’ve been here for quite a while,” she said as though I was stupid not to already know this.
Suddenly, my head hurt, a terrible ache pulsing in my skull. I put my hands to my temples and sat down on the threadbare armchair by the window. What the hell was going on? Why was I in a freaking psychiatric hospital? And where the hell was everyone? I wanted to ask the orderly more questions, but the pain in my head was too much.
Everything started to feel strange, and weird ideas took shape in my head. Like, was this reality and whatever I thought my life had been up until now just a dream? Grief swelled in my chest, and I started to cry again. The orderly looked at me uncomfortably, said she was going to get some cleaning supplies, and left the room.
This couldn’t be real.
I couldn’t have lost everything. Or did I even have it to begin with? Were all the vampires, witches, and warlocks just a figment of my imagination? Did I somehow go mad with grief after Matthew committed suicide and get admitted to this place?
No. Everyone was too vivid for me to have made them all up. I could see their faces, remember the way they smelled, the little nuances they each possessed. My brain might be a colourful place, but it wasn’t that colourful. But then I started to think about how much Rita resembled my sassy side, and how Finn and I had almost the exact same sense of humour, the way Gabriel reminded me of how sometimes I could be terribly shy, and I wondered in horror, did I make them all up?
The idea that it could be true, that I was just some madwoman in a psychiatric hospital made me feel like the walls were closing in on me. I had to get out. My heart hurt. I stood on wobbly legs and left the room. Walking through the long hall, a few other patients watched me go by, but they didn’t try to stop me. Nobody stopped me.
When I found a side exit, I pushed open the door and allowed the fresh air to wash over my face, and I felt the sunlight caressing my skin. I stepped out onto the grass and felt like I could breathe again as the cool blades of grass tickled the soles of my feet. The grounds of the hospital were vast, so I kept walking, feeling like if I walked far enough, I’d be able to escape my brain and the awful things it was trying to make me believe.
Two older men were sitting on either side of a wooden picnic table playing chess. I stood still for a long time, just watching them make their moves and chat about nothing important. Then my gaze was drawn farther afield, to a bench in the distance where a man sat alone. His hair was blond, and the sun glinted off it, making it seem as though it was sparkling.
Hope caught in my lungs.
My feet were moving of their own accord now, and the tears from before started up again, but for a whole new reason this time. I stopped several feet away as the man lifted his arms, and in his hands was a baby girl with blonde hair, a shade lighter than his. She couldn’t be more than a couple of weeks old.
She let out a little gurgling sound when he lifted her, and he laughed as he lowered her back down onto his lap. He cradled her in his arms, rocking her back and forth, and I stood there transfixed, unable to move. I took a step, and he froze, his head turning slightly to the side.
His voice was full of affection when he called, “I was wondering when you were going to wake up.”
My legs wouldn’t hold me up anymore, and I fell to my knees. I was wrong. It wasn’t all a dream. It was real. There was once a time when I would have wished for vampires and magic to be a dream, but not now. Now my heart belonged to the world I discovered, and I wouldn’t survive if it was taken away from me. More importantly, my heart belonged to the man sitting on the bench four feet away and the baby he held in his arms.
Ethan stood and walked to me. I stared at my hands, unable to look at him. He tipped my chin up so that my teary eyes met his.
“I believe you two have yet to meet,” he said, holding my baby girl out to me.
From the very moment I laid eyes on her, I knew she was mine. I felt it like butterflies under my skin. I took her in and was met with big, bottomless blue eyes, and perhaps it was the sheer emotion of the moment, but I laughed and cried at the same time.
“She’s so beautiful,” I whispered, afraid to touch her in case she broke.
“Just like her mother,” Ethan said, shifting her into one arm so that he could help me off the ground and lead me over to sit on the bench. He placed her in my arms, and a wave of emotion washed over me. She felt so small and delicate.
How could someone so breakable be destined to become a ruler?
“She doesn’t have my blood,” I realised suddenly. I didn’t get the same feeling from her that I got from Rebecca.
“No,” Ethan said. “I suppose we can count ourselves lucky that she doesn’t.”
Cool relief washed over me.
A long time passed as we sat in silence. I was fascinated by her little hands and her tiny feet, by her ridiculously golden eyelashes and the porcelain shade of her skin. You could certainly tell she was a dhampir because no human baby had ever had such vibrant, perfect features. Or maybe I just felt that way because she was mine.
“I don’t understand why we’re here,” I said, at long last breaking my reverie.
Ethan leaned forward and ran a finger down our baby’s cheek, his arm tight around my shoulders. I didn’t ever want to leave this moment.
“The doctor I had you seeing,” he started to explain in a gentle voice, “he does a lot of work for supernaturals, but in order to go unnoticed by the human population, he uses this hospital as a front. Half of the building is a normal, functioning psychiatric hospital and the other half is a supernatural hospital. I had you kept in the human half to keep the vampires from smelling your blood. You had a C-section, and I fed my blood to you intravenously to help you heal.”
“Ah, so that’s why I don’t have any scars. You know, I thought I’d had a mental break when I woke up here. How long have I been out for?”
“A month. The longest month of my life. For a while, we didn’t know if you would make it,” he answered, and there was a vulnerability in his voice.
I turned my head so that I could kiss his cheek. “I’m sorry you had to go through all that.”
He pulled me tighter into his side. “Don’t be sorry. I’d go through it a thousand times more if it meant I could have the both of you.” He paused. “So, what do you think we should call her?”
I gave him a surprised look. “She’s been alive a whole month and you haven’t even given her a name?”
“I wanted to wait for you. I thought you’d like to choose.”
I stared at her and wracked my brain for names, then gave her a little kiss on the top of the head when I came to the perfect decision. “I think we should call her Darya,” I said. “In honour of my mother.”
“I like that choice,” Ethan agreed. “Darya Cristescu.”
I smiled at him and he nuzzled my cheek. I rested my head on his shoulder and when I looked at Darya again, I found she’d fallen asleep. I breathed in deep and closed my eyes, letting the feeling of wholeness wash over me. For so long I felt alone in the world, but now I had a family. It might have been a difficult road to get here, but as Ethan said, I would go through it all a thousand times more just
to have this one moment … right now.
END.
Thank you for reading Sunlight. Please consider supporting an indie author and leaving a review. If you’d like to read a bonus epilogue from Ethan’s point of view, make sure you’re signed up for my newsletter HERE. The bonus epilogue will be sent in my April newsletter <3
P.S. If you are eager to read more about Tegan and Ethan’s daughter, Darya, as well as other characters in this universe, keep an eye out for Foretold (A Tribane Institute Novel) coming soon from L.H. Cosway!
Six of Hearts Sneak Peek
If you enjoyed The Blood Magic Series then you might also like L.H. Cosway’s highly acclaimed Hearts Series, available now in Kindle Unlimited. Read on for a sneak peek of book #1, Six of Hearts.
BLURB:
When Jay Fields, world-renowned illusionist, walks into her dad’s law firm Matilda is struck speechless. Not only is he one of the most attractive and charismatic men she’s ever met, he’s also a mystery to be solved.
Jay wants to sue a newspaper for defamation, but all is not what it seems. Matilda is determined to discover the true story behind Jay, however, when he becomes an unexpected roommate, she is not ready for how he will wheedle his way into her affections and steal her heart.
The man is a mystery wrapped in an enigma, and though she can’t yet see the bigger picture, Matilda can’t resist following along for the thrilling and heart-stopping ride.
EXCERPT:
Making my way down the narrow staircase that leads out of the building and onto the street, I bump into a tall man with golden-brown hair. I wouldn’t normally notice a man’s hair so specifically, but this guy has some serious style going on. It’s cut tight at the sides and left long on the top, kind of like a sexy villain in a movie set in the 1920s. I stare up at him, wide-eyed. He’s wearing a very nice navy suit with a leather satchel bag slung over his shoulder. Even though it was the first thing I noticed, his hair pales in comparison to the wonder that is his face. I don’t think I’ve ever been up close to such a handsome example of the male species in my life.
Why can’t men like this write to me online? I ponder dejectedly.
Because men like this don’t even know the meaning of the term “socially awkward,” my brain answers.
My five-foot-something stares up at his six-foot-whatever, and I think to myself, what’s a prize like you doing in a dive like this? Actually, now that I’m looking at him, he does seem vaguely familiar, but I can’t put my finger on where I’ve seen him before.
Probably on the pages of a fashion magazine, if his looks are anything to go by.
If it hasn’t already been deduced from the fact that I can’t even find a date using the romantic connection slut that is the Internet, then I’ll spell it out. I’m useless with men, and I’m talking all men. Even the nice approachable fellows. And I’m not looking at a nice approachable fellow right now. I’m looking at a “chew you up and spit you out” tiger.
Rawr.
Since the entrance to the building is so narrow, we have to skirt around each other. I give him a hesitant smile and a shrug. His eyes sparkle with some kind of hidden knowledge as he lets me pass, like beautiful people know the meaning of the universe and are amused by us ordinary folks who have to bumble along in the dark.
I’m just about to step out the door when the tiger starts to speak. “I’m looking for Brandon Solicitors. Do you know if I have the right place?”
I step back inside.
He sounds like Mark Wahlberg when he’s letting his Southie roots all hang out. His deep American accent makes me want to close my eyes and savour the sound. But I don’t do that – because I’m not a complete psycho.
“Yeah, this is the place. I work here, actually. I’m the secretary slash receptionist slash general dogsbody. It’s my dad’s firm,” I reply. Too much information, Matilda. Too. Much. Information.
The tiger smiles, making him better-looking, if that’s even possible. And thankfully, he doesn’t comment on my fluster. “I have an appointment with Hugh Brandon at nine. I’m Jay,” he says, and takes a step closer to hold his hand out to me. My back hits the wall, his tall frame dwarfing mine. I don’t think he realises just how narrow this space is, and now I can smell his cologne. Wow, it’s not often that I get close enough to a man to smell him. And Jay Fields smells indecently good.
“Ah, right. Jay Fields. Yeah, I have you pencilled in. You can go on upstairs, and Dad will take care of you,” I reply, shaking his hand and letting go quickly so that he doesn’t notice my sweatacular palms. “I’ve got an errand to run.”
He stares at me for a long moment, like his eyes are trying to take in my every feature, but that can’t be right. When he finally responds, it’s a simple, “I won’t keep you, then, Matilda.”
God. Why does the way he says “keep you” in that deep voice have to make my heart flutter? It’s been literally thirty seconds, and I’m already well on my way to developing a crush.
He makes some keen eye contact with me, then turns and continues up the stairs to the office. I’m already on the street when I realise I hadn’t offered my name, and yet he knew it. Perhaps he’d been browsing our website. Our offices might be shoddy, but I always make sure to keep our online presence up to scratch. There’s a picture of me, Dad, and Will, the other solicitor who works for the practice, on the “About Us” page.
So if he knew who I was already, why did he ask if he had the right place?
Miracle of all miracles, was he actually, like, chatting me up or something? Be still my beating heart. Or is he just the friendly, chatty type? I consider these questions as I walk inside the café three buildings down from our office and order two lattes to go. I briefly think about ordering something for the tiger, aka Jay Fields, but he might be one of those picky coffee drinkers, so I don’t.
When I get back, I find Dad’s shut himself inside his office with Jay, and the next appointment is already waiting to be seen. She’s a middle-aged woman wearing a neck brace. I haven’t had the chance to look at her information, but I can imagine what she’s here for. Some sort of accident claim.
What I really want to know is what Jay’s here for. Yep, I’m already wondering about this man way too much. I remember him calling up last week to make the appointment, and somehow I neglected to ask him what kind of a claim he wanted to make. It’s weird, too, because I have my set spiel for appointments, and I never forget to ask for all the information I need. It’s almost like my subconscious knew I was speaking with a gorgeous man, thus rendering me double “F-ed”: frazzled and forgetful.
Knowing Dad will want his caffeine fix as soon as possible, I knock lightly on the door and wait to be let in. Dad calls for me to enter and I do, opening the door with the paper coffee cup in my hand. Jay’s sitting in the seat in front of Dad’s desk, his hands clasped together over his head as he lounges back, casual as you please. I can feel his eyes on me as I walk to Dad and give him his beverage. He seems a little out of sorts, so I put a hand on his shoulder and ask, “Everything okay?”
Dad looks lost in his own head for a minute, and I have to repeat the question a second time to get him to answer me.
“What? Oh, yes, everything’s fine. Thanks for the coffee, chicken,” he mutters.
“It might be me who’s the problem,” Jays puts in. “I just presented your old man with a case he’s not sure he wants to take.”
I look at Jay now, my brow furrowing. Who the hell is this guy? What he’s said has piqued my curiosity, though, so I close the door and fold my arms. Unless I’m needed to take notes, I don’t normally sit in on meetings with clients, but Dad’s demeanour has put me on edge, my protective instincts kicking into gear.
Jay grins in a way that makes me think he’s pleased with my attention. “Oh, now she’s curious.”
Okay, this man might be beautiful, but he’s also kind of strange.
“Did you want to make a claim against someone?” I ask, because Dad still isn�
�t talking. I suppose he’s still considering whatever Jay’s case is.
“Nope. I want to sue someone,” says Jay, all matter-of-fact.
“For what?”
“Defamation of character,” he answers before pulling a newspaper out of his bag. He flips through it, folds it open to the page he’s looking for, and hands it to me. I glance down at the tabloid, scanning the bold headline that reads, “Illusionist Jay Fields Causes Death of Volunteer.” I let my eyes drift briefly over the article, which features a promotional picture of Jay holding up a six of hearts card. Oh. Now I remember where I know him from.
A couple of weeks ago The Daily Post broke a story about an Irish-American illusionist with a new show coming to RTÉ. He was filming an upcoming episode when a tragic accident hit. I scan the article before me, recalling the details. A couple of hours after wrapping up the filming of an episode where Jay was paying homage to Houdini by re-creating a version of his “Buried Alive” stunt, the volunteer who’d taken part had died of a heart attack.
What Jay proposed to do was to put the volunteer, David Murphy, into a hypnotic state whereby he would only breathe in very little air, allowing him to be buried for twenty-four hours in an empty grave and not suffocate in the process. An impossible feat, many would say. The volunteer was given a panic button, and if anything went wrong, he could press it, and he’d be immediately dug up. In the end the panic button wasn’t needed, and he miraculously managed to survive the entire twenty-four hours underground. However, when he went to bed that night, he suffered a fatal heart attack and died.
Needless to say, the tabloids caught on to the story and began posing questions about whether or not Jay’s stunt had somehow caused David Murphy to have his heart attack. After all, being buried alive is quite the traumatic experience.
The piece before me, written by a well-known crime journalist named Una Harris, who was the one to break the initial story about Jay, is certainly extreme. It delves into Jay’s background in America, where she claims he spent a year in a juvenile detention facility for assaulting a man on the street. Before that he’d been a runaway, squatting in derelict buildings in Boston.