A bellow shook the house, rattling pictures on the wall and causing glass to shatter somewhere. What on earth? He stood and pulled on trousers. His erection responded appropriately to his concern—it deflated. Good boy, he told his cock. They were going to get along just fine.
At the end of the hall, the door to his parents’ room stood ajar. Kos’s hushed murmurs set the hair on Bel’s neck upright. He inched toward them and swung the door wide.
Was Andre weeping? Bel sucked in a breath. How could anything on earth make his father cry?
“What happened?”
Kos whispered, trying to soothe him, but tears streamed down Bel’s brother’s face too.
Oh God. It couldn’t be. Bel ran toward them where they stood in the doorway to the room that held his mother’s copper bath. Blocking the doorway, Kos grabbed him and kept him out of the room.
“Bel, no. Don’t look.”
“What happened? Damn it, Kos, tell me what happened!” Cries followed on the heels of the words. Kos sobbed then, too, and Bel knew for sure, but he still asked. “Is she—”
“Yes.”
In the bathroom—did she slip? Drown? A brain hemorrhage? “What happened? An accident?”
“No, Bel, not an accident.”
Andre’s whimpering cries were growing louder, becoming roars. He was angry?
Oh hell. “She did it to herself?”
“Yes.” Kos gasped out the word.
Bel’s world flipped over like a griddle cake. His mother was dead and the two men he looked up to were falling apart. Only one person could comfort him now.
“Bel, go downstairs and find all the servants you can. We will need help with Andre, and with…Mother.”
Thank God—Kos was holding himself together after all. Bel followed his orders and Kos set the servants in motion. Soon, everything was out of their hands and Kos and Bel and Andre’s task was simply to grieve.
All three of them preferred to be busy, but the servants would not allow them to help. Stir-crazy, they holed up in the parlor. Hour by hour, Andre looked worse. Bel resented the way his body showed his suffering. Why should it be worse for Andre? Wasn’t losing a mother just as bad as losing a wife? Worse in fact, because surely Andre was to blame somehow for Mila’s actions.
Bel’s only distraction was Andre’s fascinating physical reaction. Blood vessels had burst, turning the whites of his eyes red, and his skin was bruising.
Bel had to ask. “Exactly what is happening to you?”
“Mila’s blood is a part of me. It has died.”
“A part of you is dying? Will it kill you?” Please, God, don’t take my father too.
“No, I will just wish it would. For many years to come. For the rest of my life, perhaps.”
That sounded bad, and Bel grew curious. How did vampires differ from humans? And where did he, a halfling, fit into the equation? He wanted to ask Andre, but his father grew unresponsive and retreated into the bowels of the house. Kos filled the roles of father and mother remarkably well, keeping Bel company and restoring routines.
Within the shroud of sadness, it took Bel ten days to work up the courage to go see Uta. Not that he had stopped his shameful imaginings. They had kept him away for a week and a half, but he could put them out of his mind, had to if he wanted to see her. And he needed the comfort only she could give him.
The morning as he climbed the steep road to her house, birds sang and dew glistened on the grass. Nature conspired to assure him that one day his grief would end and the world would be all right.
She wore a black mourning dress, her dark eyes sad in her pale face. Heavy velvet curtains were drawn tight against the daylight, but a chandelier lit with perhaps fifty tapers illuminated the room. An eclectic mixture of ornate French and rustic Croatian furniture made the room comfortable, if not fashionable. Mila had criticized Uta’s haphazard decor, but Bel found it more livable than the rooms his mother had over-decorated with uncomfortable couches and too much gilt.
When the servant announced him, Uta set down her book and slid over to make room. Bel sat down, and before he knew it she had gathered him into her arms. Tears burned in his eyes, and he felt no embarrassment at shedding them in her presence. Hers fell on his head, tracing hot trails along his scalp. For a long time they held each other and cried.
And then, he simply ran out of tears. In their place came the memory of the birds and the dew outside. All would be well.
“What took you so long to come see me?” She mopped her tears with a handkerchief.
Bel lied. “I didn’t want to leave Father and Kos.”
“How is Andre?”
“He suffers greatly, but I think he must deserve it.”
“We must agree to disagree over that opinion, then.” Her tone was sharp, and he recoiled, wanting to argue. But she took his chin in her hand. “Have you been eating? You are very thin.”
“I have no appetite.”
“You will eat here; surely you feel hungry now that you are out of your house.”
His hand went to his stomach which suddenly complained of its hollowness. “Yes, thank you. I could eat.” Other people complained of Uta’s domineering personality, but Bel didn’t mind being pushed about by her a little. When it was important, he pushed back and she delighted in it.
The servant brought a cart stacked with cold chicken, boiled eggs, bread, cheese, and his favorite sour cherry preserves. Once he started, he made up for all his missed meals. A full belly improved his mood even more, and he slouched next to Uta, his hands folded over his abdomen.
“Thank you, I do feel better,” he said, stifling a yawn.
“These things go together. You must eat because you cannot sleep with an empty stomach. Lie down here.” She patted her lap, gesturing for him to rest his head there.
That secret shame tickled in his chest, warning him. But far louder was the instinct that promised she could fill every urge Bel had. She had fed him, and held him; she was mother and she was that other thing he wanted but didn’t understand. He obeyed.
She ran her fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp. He pictured the polished red finger nails moving through his dark curls, and he dozed in her lap, safe and loved, curling onto his side and burying his face against her flat stomach. He kept his breathing perfectly even so she would think he slept and allow him to stay there. She stroked his head, and with her other hand, she rubbed up and down his arm. Without meaning to, he arched into her touch.
She stilled her hands. “Bel?”
“Hmm?”
“Bel, sit up.” He obeyed, groggy, jostled out of his cocoon. “Look at me.”
Why not? He opened his eyes.
When she sucked in her breath, he realized he had made a grave mistake. What did he know, after all, about what a woman could see in your eyes if you were feeling those strange urges?
“Fuck,” she hissed. She had taught him the word. “Not now!” She covered her face.
The pain in her voice frightened him. “Uta, I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong?”
“Sweet Auntie Io, not now!” Her words were a strangled shout.
He took hold of her shoulders in a gesture so manly it surprised both of them. “What is it?” Unfamiliar emotions churned in her eyes. Panic tightened his chest. He didn’t know what she was afraid of, but he was certain his new all-wrong feelings were to blame.
“You have to go.”
“Uta, please,” he cried, all illusions of being a man washed away with his tears. “Please, I need you.”
“I know,” she said, crying too. “I know. But you have to go.”
“Don’t make me. Let me stay here. With you, everything feels all right.”
She crossed her arms and raised her chin. “Bel, no. You must go.”
Like a dog who’d been kicked, he went back the next day. She wouldn’t even come out, just sent down a note.
Bel, I can no longer see you.
Perhaps one day you will understand
.
You must seek solace with your family.
With that note—an unforgivable cruelty—she had taken everything from him, and he hated her for it.
Chapter 17
UTA WOULD HAVE PREFERRED to be flayed alive than to witness Bel remembering Mila’s suicide and the days that followed. But it was necessary. So she lay, quiet and tense, on a cold metal tabletop. She shivered, hugging her arms tightly across her chest.
Finally, he stirred. She bolted upright too. He rubbed his eyes with his fists, and when he opened them, the hatred still blazed there.
Her heart tumbled down almost to her diaphragm.
“What would have happened?” His voice rolled toward her, gravelly and thick.
Good—questions meant hope.
“You would have felt much as you do now—your desires, our connection.”
He threw back his shoulders, lifting his powerful chest. “But I was a boy, so you had to send me and my inconvenient lust away.”
“If I had not forbidden you from my side, you would have been overcome by needs you did not understand, and you would never have had a choice. You would never have wanted another woman, or loved Lexi.” She clasped her hands in her lap, unable to look at him.
Every day, she had missed him. Since he had become a man, she had longed for him to come back, to finally understand why she’d sent him away and choose her freely. She longed, but she rarely dared to hope.
“You should have told me,” he whispered. “You took the choice into your own hands. Treated me like a child…”
He had been one, and he knew it, so she waited.
He hopped off the table and paced a small circle. “I may have cared for other women, but I never really had a choice and I didn’t even know. I thought I’d failed at being what Lexi needed, when I never had a chance.”
Tears prickled behind her eyes, but damn it, she was the ninth oldest vampire on earth—she could hold them in.
He halted and tilted his head. All the anger melted from his face. A single curl fell over his forehead and he swiped at it. “Fuck, what a mess you and Mila made.”
“And, Bel, I am truly sorry. Not just for myself. Please believe I have done what I thought best for you at every turn, until Loki forced me to come here last month. I would have stayed away until you came looking for me.”
“Was it inevitable that I would have?” He took half a step toward her, and her heart climbed back into place.
“Yes. Eventually you would have felt the same ache of loneliness, loss of appetite, lethargy…frustration. Living apart from a bonded mate is not very different from the wasting disease.”
He blinked. “Like the osjećaj, you mean? Damn, I wish I understood how that worked.” The muscles under his face flickered with minuscule expressions, evidence of his ever-curious mind at work. Then his eyebrows came together over that fine patrician nose. “You suffered?”
Oh, if he saw even a glimpse of the sacrifices she had made for him. “Yes,” she breathed.
His gaze traveled to her mouth.
Her heart took off in a vampire-fast beat, like a hummingbird on stimulants. In an ancient Illyrian forest thousands of years earlier, her first kiss had inspired nowhere near the excitement she felt now.
And then he was on her, grabbing fistfuls of her hair and pulling her mouth to his. His tongue pried open her mouth and swept deep. He tasted like salty sea air. She opened wider, pressing her body into him. His hands slid up under her shirt, big paws splaying across her breasts, thumbs seeking out nipples.
Her body thrummed, gasping for breath. She’d never been more alive—
Bel. Touching her. Finally.
He took hold of her wrists and, standing between her legs, pressed her back onto the table. As his tongue took possession of her mouth, he rubbed his glorious erection against her aching pićka. Gods be damned, it had been too long.
She locked her legs around his waist and rolled him so that he leaned against the table, and she could grind against him from above.
He broke the kiss, shaking his head. “What the fuck?”
She stilled the roll of her hips. Come to think of it, she might have had to fly to orchestrate that little move. No wonder he was disoriented.
He pushed her away. “Fuck. I’m like a rag doll to you.”
Not just disoriented. Angry. She wanted to grab hold of him, but his fury warned her off. She gave him a foot of space and clasped her hands behind her back.
“Sorry.” She mouthed the unfamiliar word.
“No, worse, I’m like a little boy, wrapped around your finger.” He backed away as if she might hurt him.
She stepped closer. “Bel, I truly am sorry. I—”
He held up his palms like a shield, and their tenuous new trust shattered like a seashell underfoot. Her breaths came faster, panicked. She’d almost had him. Almost.
“Bel—” She extended her hand cautiously, as if he were a wild beast.
“Stay the hell away from me.” He strode out of the workroom as fast as any human could.
Sheep bollocks. That could have gone better. She cupped her groin, hoping to quell the throb between her legs.
Should she follow him?
No. He would need some space, and she needed an icepack and a chance to think. She crossed the room at full speed and yanked open the door, colliding with Loki. She stumbled backward before she gained her footing. The tension around his mouth was not a good sign.
“What now?”
“Bad news.”
“More attacks? Where?”
He reached out for her and tucked himself under her arm in the familiar sideways hug with which he offered reassurance. His refusal to answer frazzled the last of her nerves.
“Tell me.”
“It’s more Šoltan refugees. Their households are being destroyed in alphabetical order.”
Another failure on the heels of Bel’s rejection. Her knees liquefied.
Loki caught her. “Do not swoon like a useless female. We must make a plan. And Bel will not succeed without you.”
She scrambled, the soles of her heels slipping before they found purchase on the concrete. She doubted his experiment could ever work, but she certainly wished him success.
Bel approached the door to Kos’s office. Papers rustled on the other side. Good. His brother was in there.
He burst in. “What does it feel like?”
Zoey bent over the desk, and Kos sat in his chair. Their heads were bent low, studying a set of papers. They must have been hyper focused on their task because both started and glanced up at Bel.
“What does what feel like?” his brother asked.
Instead of answering, Bel stared at Zoey. “What are you doing?”
“Checking our spreadsheet of Blood Vine sales.” Zoey turned her intense focus to Bel instead of the paper.
He tugged at his collar, wondering if she could inexplicably read his mind. No other vampires could do that.
“Why?” he asked.
“The wine sold very well for a newly launched brand. We’re trying to estimate how much was purchased by vampires, versus unknowing humans.”
“Are you hoping to find them?”
“No,” Kos replied. “That would require each store’s records, and they are safer in hiding anyway. But when we received the astonishing sales numbers, Zoey grew excited. Blood Vine in the hands of our old friends is a glimmer of hope.” He handed her the stack of papers.
No evidence of hope softened the tight pull of her lips.
“Now, what does what feel like?” Kos asked.
Bel searched between the faces of the two vampires. “The bond. What does it feel like?”
Zoey’s cheeks turned the color of a ripe strawberry and she angled toward the exit. “I’ll let you all discuss this male to male.”
“Is it so personal?” Bel asked, before she was even out of the door.
Kos pursed his lips. “You know it is. It cuts right to the core of one’s b
ody and soul. Hardly a casual conversation with our stepmother.”
Bel thought of her as he did Pedro—just one more trash-talking member of the family, not his stepmother. But still, it was nice to have Kos all to himself. “Surely you can explain the sensations scientifically, without talking about all that warm fuzzy shite.”
“And the hot and sweaty shite too?” Kos mocked his accent. “Hardly. Can you?” He straightened the blotter on his already impeccable desk and then put a pen back in a jar of writing implements. Neat son of a bitch. Bel couldn’t see Kos’s eyebrows, but he imagined at least one was arched to echo his brother’s smug tone.
“No. But it’s all new to me. I’ll get some objectivity when it gets less intense.”
“It grows more intense, but you will become accustomed to it.” He jotted a note onto a neon square of paper.
“Kos, she sent me away when I became a man. It had nothing to do with Mother.”
That got his brother’s attention, and he looked up. “I’ll be damned. She didn’t want you to know.” Kos’s eyes roved over Bel’s face. “That’s quite a burden she bore for you.”
Precisely what Bel hated to admit, even to himself. “She said she wanted me to have a choice, but I didn’t really. It was her fault I couldn’t love Lexi enough.”
“Bel, it was the bond’s fault. She didn’t rope you to her on purpose.”
A century-old habit of righteous anger did not soften on a dime. Kos’s words glanced off Bel like a super-energized atom. “I will fight it, Kos. I don’t want to love her.”
Kos smiled in the particularly false, strained way that prevented his lopsided dimples from creasing. Bel hated that look, had ever since their mother had died and Kos had felt the need to reassure and protect him as Andre descended into the madness of his broken bond.
“What happened when you kissed Lexi?” Kos asked.
“I couldn’t even manage a lusty thought about her.”
Kos nodded, again with the un-smile. “You told me before that you loved her, would have done anything for her.”
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