I finished in the time promised and was dressed and leaving my room in another five, my hair still damp as I tugged on the cable-knit cardigan I preferred at home. I jumped back as a door opened and two kids half my age ran into the hall, wrestling and laughing as they fought over a toy.
“Conner, Dugan,” I growled playfully as I grabbed them both by the back of their shirts and shook them. “Don’t you know to look where you’re going?”
“Sorry, Uncle,” Conner said meekly but I knew not to trust the kid.
“Pah,” I said and released them. “Sure you are, you wee demons. Better not find the cookies I’ve stashed behind the Connacht claymore in the library. Go bother that sister of mine.”
My nephews were off like a bullet, cheering me as they raced towards the library. Deirdre would scold me later for spoiling them, but she never held it against me for long.
I felt my phone buzz in my back pocket and stopped before the entrance to the parlor room, where my aunt waited for me. It was from Merlin. I rolled my eyes—the man had snuck away with Ella and hadn’t thought to wake us to let us say goodbye. It was uncivilized, letting a woman leave without at least thanking her for such an enjoyable evening. I swiped my phone to open the message just as my aunt’s assistant stepped out of the room, looking at me with a glare.
I’d deal with Merlin later, I decided, as I shoved my phone back into my pocket and walked into the parlor.
“Romulus.” My aunt said my name even as she still stared out the window overlooking Central Park.
I went to her side and kissed the back of the hand she offered me. “Aunt Genevieve,” I said with respect, before joining her in looking over the park. My father may technically be the head of the legacy of the Connacht family, but my aunt was the true leader of the syndicate of lycans. She was ancient, a grown woman even when my father had been whelped. She wore the black of mourning, a severe dress which covered her entirely save her face and hands.
“I hear Dortmore finally challenged you,” she said as she crossed her arms.
“I won easily,” I said, careful not to gloat. “He is young and bitter at his lack of position in our family. I believe the moment I accepted the challenge, he realized his mistake.”
“Yes, he is not known for his brawn.” My aunt smiled as she spoke. “It is good that you did not humiliate him too much.”
“Yes, Aunt Genevieve,” I agreed. Dortmore was an idiot, yes, but he was still family.
“Tell me about the woman.”
I risked a look out of the corner of my eye at my aunt. She still held a look of stone on her ageing face. I looked back out over the treetops, thick and green but with hints of gold telling of the approaching autumn, as I thought about my answer. Aunt Genevieve was not a woman I risked offending or upsetting, nor would I ever attempt to lie to her.
“She is . . .” I started, but trailed off. “She is a challenge. A temptation, but . . .”
My aunt looked up at me, a small smirk on her lips. “You’ve found a mate at last?”
I shrugged, looking inward as I struggled with my thoughts. “I want to say yes, but I have concerns. And she’s not one of us.”
“Hmmm,” she replied. “And your other concerns? What makes her so different than the women you’ve bedded in the past?”
“Brom and Merlin also desire her,” I explained. I’d open up to my aunt in a way I would never dare with my father or mother. “We . . . have never shared like this. I am afraid she is a plant—an agent that has been put into play in order to destroy our friendship and alliances.”
“It is true that your friendship irks the elders.” She sighed and pulled away from the window, taking a seat by the cold hearth, and poured two cups of tea. I followed her and accepted the black tea, though I preferred coffee. At least she didn’t put any sugar in mine. “The heirs to each syndicate have never been as friendly as you three. Indeed, it was entirely a surprise when you three declared loyalty to one another so many years ago. You say that they desire her as well?”
“Yes, Aunt,” I said, and wondered what she thought. I wouldn’t ask though—she would either tell me, or I would always be left to wonder. She sipped her own tea, her green eyes still vibrant, though her hair had long faded from strawberry to white. She should have looked severe and intimidating, but she had always held a soft spot for me—a love for me that my own father did not hold.
“It should please you to know that I’ve not heard any whispers of conspiracy,” she finally offered. “Your father has accepted that you could defeat him and claim the legacy at your desire. He would not move against you, even if I sanctioned it. If she is an agent, she is not one of ours.”
I ducked my head, more relieved than I could stand.
“That does not mean she is not one of theirs,” she cautioned me, and I looked back up, meeting her eyes. “What do you truly know of her, other than she calls your soul to her?”
“She has said those she loves call her Ella,” I said, and felt a blush rise on my cheeks. “She made us swear to let her leave her mask on. She had family that she arranged to have stay the evening at the estate.”
“So you could tell me everything about her body, but not who she actually is?” my aunt teased me, and I blushed hotter, cursing my Irish fair skin. She reached over and patted my wrist. “I too have been caught up by desire, mo chroi.”
I swallowed thickly and nodded. “It feels like fate, aintin,” I said quietly, and slipped back into the childhood Gaelic, “and it’s terrifying.”
“Such is all love.” She spoke with pain and I was reminded of her own loss. She could have held the Connacht legacy had she chosen, but she’d been too broken with grief at the death of her husband and only child, and my father had taken up the mantle. If my uncle and niece had been murdered by a vampire or warlock, I was certain it would have been different—she’d have wanted revenge. But it had been bad luck and coincidence, their plane crashing shortly after takeoff. The engines had failed after encountering a flock of geese. There had been no survivors and no one to blame except the universe.
“Do you know of her family? Or her lineage?”
“She’s a warlock,” I answered, and recalled what she had told Brom. “But something else as well. I believe her to be part shifter, though she didn’t tell us explicitly. She smelled like ... I don’t want to say sulfur, because that’s not quite right. But there was something heated under the warlock potential.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Potential? She has not accessed her magic?”
“Not that I could sense, and Merlin suggested so.” I shrugged and leaned back, the mug warm in my hand. “I know that Brom fed from her and he felt . . . sparky this morning.”
Her eyes went wide and she set her cup and saucer down, the Irish porcelain clattering.
“Do you have any idea who her family is, Romulus?” she asked, her voice grave and serious.
“Only that they were there last evening,” I said, frowning. “Why?”
“I will come this evening, and you will act as my escort,” she declared, evading my answer. She reached for the delicate bell on the table and rang it once, her assistant coming in before the sound had finished echoing. “I will attend the final night of the masquerade, Rosie. See that I have an appropriate outfit to wear.”
“Yes, madam,” Rosie said with a bow and left.
“Aunt?” I pressed, and she held up a hand.
“You will point her out to me this evening,” she ordered, and I nodded.
“Of course, Aunt,” I agreed, and set my cup next to hers. “What has you shaken though? She’s just a woman.”
Green eyes pierced me, and I was stuck in her gaze like prey facing their death. I could not move, even had I wanted to.
“It is most likely nothing,” she said at last, her voice softening from the harsh tone of earlier. “But I must be certain.”
“Would you tell me?” I asked, more nervous than when I feared Ella was an agent meant to destroy us.
“No, my boy.” She shook her head and we fell into silence, both left alone to our thoughts.
“Do you know the story of Suanach Aoife, Romulus?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. I looked up at her and she watched me with cautious eyes. I shook my head slowly.
“Suanach Aoife came from Tir Na Nog, the beautiful flame,” she recited, her focus fading as she recalled the story from her memory. “She often visited the Summer Lands when not in the fairy realm, but every few years she would visit the mortal world. One such occasion, a king captured her in a cage of pure iron. He was taken by her beauty and she had rebuffed him, never taking a mortal lover.”
I sat, enraptured by her story. It was not one I had ever heard before and she had a way with storytelling. Those from Tir Na Nog were not meant to be trifled with, the ancient beings of old.
“He was a fool,” I said, and she gave me a look that chastised me for interrupting.
“I agree,” she said as she continued, her voice a bit stronger. “He forced himself on her and he died in her flames. But she conceived a child—her only child. She could not bear the sight of him and set him in a basket and gave him to the waters of the river which flowed out of Tir Na Nog. A druid found him and named him Taliesin, and he became a powerful warlock who became the adviser of the king history knows as Arthur. He had a lover, who bore him a child, and his mother returned. She cautioned him to drown the child—her power was not meant for mortals. But he could not bring himself to kill the babe and hid her away.”
“He sent her east, where she lived across the oceans in a foreign land. There is not much known about her time there, except that she had a family. Even her name is lost to time. But her power is hinted at in poems all across ancient Europe and is always paired with a caution of her flames. The last account of her lineage was in Alexandria, at the great fire.”
“That was nearly two thousand years ago,” I said, not understanding what this had to do with anything today.
“Indeed, and thank goodness for that.” She nodded, and looked to the portrait of her grandfather over the hearth. “But still, the tale is one that shouldn’t be forgotten. Our forefathers, even in the other clans and syndicates, fear that Suanach Aoife’s line still exists. Over thirty years ago there was talk, though nothing could be proven about the woman. A warlock was tasked with discovering her lineage and he fell in love. But he died before he could tell anyone the truth of his wife. And I have often wondered if he would have, even if she were descended from the beautiful flame.”
“You think Ella is connected to her?” I asked before laughing, and I shook my head. “Dearest Aunt, I promise you what I scented of her was not an ancient power. It was closer to that of a fox spirit’s scent.”
She looked at me and smiled woefully. “Good,” she said. “It is said that his child has died, either way. Lost at the same time as the father.”
“And the mother?” I was curious and my aunt shrugged elegantly.
“Disappeared shortly after the birth of their child,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. I stood and kissed her cheek. “I look forward to meeting this woman who has captured so many hearts.”
“She could never replace you, Aunt.” I smirked as she rolled her eyes at my cheek. I left, looking over my shoulder once to see her staring towards the window, deep in her own thoughts, as I pulled out my phone to finally read Merlin’s message.
Something happened last night between the syndicate leaders. Something that has them freaking the fuck out. Chappie’s Deli at 3pm with Brom.
I frowned as I read the message, typing out a quick acknowledgement as I thought about what could have happened to stir the hornet’s nest, stories about beautiful and dangerous flames slipping from my thoughts as I snagged a set of keys and headed towards the garage.
Chapter 18
Brom
The plastic deli chair creaked as I sat in it and I glared at the smug warlock sitting across from me, his hoagie raised halfway to his mouth.
“Not up to your standards, fancy man?” he asked, before taking a large bite. I refused to give him the satisfaction of rolling my eyes.
“It is fine,” I answered succinctly, and eyed the sandwich in front of me. It was called the Chappie Special and was recommended by the warlock, and now I questioned the sanctity of taking his advice.
Still, it would be rude of me to not eat something I ordered and I carefully lifted the sandwich to my mouth. I took a bite, and was pleasantly surprised at the flavors.
“Good, right?” Merlin asked, smug, and I swallowed down the bite.
“It is sufficient,” I said, but still took another bite.
“High praise from you,” the warlock said, before continuing to eat his own.
Romulus had yet to arrive but the lycan would hardly fault us when he was the one running late. We ate in silence and I allowed myself to enjoy the sandwich more than I would let the warlock know. He’d be unbearable if he knew, and I’d never get him to eat anywhere else. The man lived on junk food and yet was half the size of a bear, it was mind-boggling.
The bell above the door chimed as it opened, the breeze slipping into the small dining area and carrying the familiar scent of the lycan. My back was to the door but Merlin raised his hand in a wave and, some minutes later, the man finally joined us and tossed a small white ticket with a bold number on the table.
“So what’s this shit stirring up the elders?”
I appreciated Romulus at times like this, getting straight to the point. I set my sandwich down and wiped at my mouth with the flimsy napkin. It clung to my hands and I sneered at it with distaste, but sat back and looked between the two men.
“It seems that Madam Jupiter Coulis-Bediver has announced her stepdaughter’s eligibility for marriage,” I said simply.
Both Romulus and Merlin frowned at me in confusion. “She’s got a stepdaughter that no one knew about?” Merlin asked.
“No, I think we did,” Romulus said as he rubbed his chin, thinking hard. “Isn’t she a . . . simpleton, for a terrible description of it?”
“Madam Jupiter has long bemoaned the fact that her second husband’s daughter requires the utmost attention and care and has not been able to handle the stress of society,” I answered, and reached for the red plastic cup filled with water, rather than the soda Merlin offered. “It appears that now Madam Jupiter is looking for a husband for the girl, selling more the legacy than the actual marriage.”
“Well, that’s fucked up,” Merlin said, staring at me with his mouth half-full. “If she’s not got full mental faculties, how the fuck can she be married off to some piss-arse shithead who just wants the power her legacy offers?”
“Morally? It’s quite objectionable, I agree,” I said honestly. “But legally, it seems . . . possible. And you know there are many in the syndicates who will take advantage of such a marriage.”
“That’s some bullshit,” Romulus said. The deli man called out his number and he retrieved his order. “But what’s that got to do with us?” he asked on his return, digging into his food.
“It is something we will be forced to consider, since none of us are married,” I pointed out, and handed a stack of napkins to the lycan when the sauce dripped to the table.
“My dad’s trying to match me with Madam Jupiter’s eldest daughter,” Merlin pointed out, bunching up his empty paper with a sneer.
“I had the dubious pleasure of meeting Titania last night when I pulled our Ella away from her,” I said with some sympathy.
“I don’t care how much power she offers in marriage,” Romulus said, glaring at his plate, “I’m not marrying anyone. Fuck, even if Ella offered herself in marriage, I don’t think I could—it wouldn’t feel right. Like I was caging her, keeping her all to myself.”
“Indeed,” I hummed, as I thought of the woman. Feeding from her had been illuminating, nearly literally. My blood sang with the power I had tasted from her, to the point where Merlin had looked at me in shock when
I’d first arrived. It was as if I had drunk deeply from an ancient being and not a young woman in the throes of passion.
I was already addicted to her. I wanted to see how far we could push her, drive her to orgasm over and over, to taste the endorphins and oxytocin flooding her veins.
“Still,” I dragged myself back into the conversation, “as the future leaders of our respective syndicates, it is a marriage worth investigating—even if we have no intentions on participating.”
Merlin looked at me, his eyebrows furrowing in the most adorable manner. He was such an attractive specimen and I had no understanding as to why he preferred to dress as if he were one missed rent check away from homelessness.
“You want us to throw our weight around and make it clear we disapprove of such a woman being taken advantage of?” Merlin asked, as realization dawned on his face.
“It was something I’ve considered,” I said, and nodded. I looked to the lycan, who was finishing up his meal.
“Not everyone will listen,” he said, after taking a long drink. He rubbed at his mouth in consideration. “But enough might. Especially if we’re clear enough on our distaste.”
“Here’s the thing though,” Merlin said, and leaned forward on his thick forearms and looked between us. “If you care so much about protecting this girl, why not offer a marriage to her in name only? Isn’t that what you arranged for your sister?”
“She’s a warlock, Merlin,” I reminded him, even as he made me think of my sister, Mina. Down Syndrome wasn’t a good enough reason to stop my parents from marrying her off and so, with the help of Merlin and Romulus, we ensured that a honorable vampire of my own choosing married her. It displeased my parents immensely; her husband was not extremely powerful nor wealthy. But he took care of her and she did not care that he preferred men as lovers. I made a note to call and arrange a visit with her. It had been some time since I’d last seen my Mina. “I cannot swoop in and save the day. A marriage between a vampire and warlock, both from such prominent families? No,” I said as I shook my head. “If anyone were to offer a marriage to protect her, it would have to be you.”
Beautiful Secrets: The Complete Trilogy Page 10