by Lauren Dane
“Father.” Clive went to his knee and bared his throat.
It stole her breath to see it. He did the same to Theo, and once, to her. This male who ruled so much gave over to his father with love and respect. There was something noble in that.
Charles touched Clive’s jugular with his wrist. Vein to vein. Father to son. Clive stood and they clasped one another’s wrists a moment before he turned to Rowan to draw her to his side.
In their old language Clive introduced her as his bonded mate. Rowan knew the ritual because she’d studied the material Theo’s office had sent her about it.
Rowan had the option to share blood with them, but she was sure Clive or Alice or someone like that had informed Antonia and Charles that part wasn’t going to happen. Other than Clive in those brief moments when she’d willingly given him the smallest amounts of her blood, Rowan had made—and kept—a vow as she’d walked away from the Keep. She was in charge of herself. Of her body and mind and of her will.
Her blood had been manipulated. Stolen from her and used to keep her compliant. Used to control and monitor and she would never allow that again. Not without inflicting some serious harm on her way out to whoever tried.
But Rowan would do this right, and be respectful not only to these Vampires whose home she was in, but to her husband and the promise she’d made to do her best by him. She did respect this part of their world. This deep dedication to families and lines.
So, she spoke her part, in their old language, introducing herself to them officially. She gave the name of her people. Her mother’s line and then her father’s, as she showed her wrist briefly to expose the mark of service there. They would forever be the people who gave her life. But then she gave the name of the father she’d finally come to accept, bloody flaws and all. Theo would be the father who presented her to them and their Vampire family.
Because Rowan wasn’t a Vampire, Theo had to give an oath of sorts that his daughter or charge was honorable and worthy. It was sexist as fuck, so Rowan modernized it just a little in the translation so she wasn’t being insulting in any way, but the worst of it had been smoothed out.
Charles nodded approvingly as she finished and Antonia just smiled. He spoke the words of welcome—every family had their own version—and then it was done and she was part of their family, house and line.
“Now we can have a drink,” Antonia told Clive.
“I hear there was some excitement yesterday,” Charles said with a brow raised in Rowan’s direction. It was a seriously awesome brow thing she bet could easily say a dozen other things if he wished. These Stewarts were on top of their imperious facial expression game.
“A day that ends in Y is a day full of violence and excitement in my life, unfortunately. It accompanies my job.” Rowan tested him a little, wanting to know if she could relax with him like she could Antonia, or if they’d need to stay formal.
“It could also be that trouble follows the wicked.” That comment was aimed at his wife before he looked back to Rowan. “I hear you met your new mother-in-law in a rather novel way. I would apologize for it, but you should simply brace yourself to expect more of the same over the course of your life.”
Antonia sniffed, haughty, but teasing. “Am I worth it?”
“Most of the time, yes.” Charles’ humor was dry, like Clive’s, but he had one and Rowan could work with that.
He was a century older than his son but he looked more like Clive’s brother than a father. He wore a suit; gray to the navy one Clive wore. Wore it like he loved it. Rowan bet he insisted his underpants be ironed too.
Rowan took her glass of champagne and tuned in to the ebb and flow of the power in the room. It seemed to crackle and hum at points. They’d all get used to one another and things would ease up, but Rowan sort of liked it. Liked being as strong as they were, even as she was different.
“I do like your cravat, boy,” Charles told Clive.
“A wedding gift from Rowan. She had several custom made for me.”
“You got my son custom cravats?” Antonia asked, surprised pleasure in her tone.
“He got me a house. I mean, compared to that a few squares of silk or whatever seems fairly minor.”
“Technically, we gave the house to him first.”
Rowan laughed, liking her more by the minute.
“It’s quite handsome and it shows you know Clive well enough to understand he’d love them. Cheers to that, darling. Much better to have a come back than something like the ruff or powdered wigs.” Antonia raised her glass before taking a sip.
“Did you wear a ruff?” Rowan asked, horrified and thrilled all at once.
“I did! All the women did for a time. And then the men did. Scratchy. And if you had a short neck you looked wretched. But it fetishized the neck and you know how we can be about that.” Antonia rolled her eyes.
Rowan finally asked the question she’d wanted to all night. “You’re not bothered by the fact that I’m the Hunter? Truly?”
Antonia shook her head. “Well, certainly if you attempted to execute Clive or me I’d be bothered. But I know what you are. We may not all like the types of jobs you do, but they need doing.”
“And it’s handy to be married to royalty,” Clive said with a very straight face.
“Maybe, but if you’re mean to me, the concept of being in trouble with your father-in-law is pretty dire in your case.” Rowan was only teasing. Mainly.
They went into the formal dining room to start dinner, which turned out to be an eight-course meal. It would have been ridiculous if they hadn’t been Vampires. Or maybe it was anyway, but the food was really good so Rowan didn’t really care too much.
It was nice, actually, that they’d gone to this sort of effort for their first official meeting.
They made small talk with her, asking after details of the shindig Theo was planning. Rowan tactfully avoided appearing like she didn’t have any idea, but maybe they knew anyway.
This was important to Clive and not just because of his position. This was his family. It was clear, watching Clive interact with his father, just how great an influence the elder had on the younger.
Before Charles had been the leader of his entire line, before there’d even been a Vampire Nation, he’d fought in the war the Treaty had ended. According to the files in the Nation archives Alice had sent her way—she hadn’t wanted to use the Hunter Corporation system—he had a long and storied record of bravery and tactical brilliance.
He’d started young, as they all did back in the fifteenth century when he’d been born. Led his father’s troops through the dark times of war and out the other side.
Clive was a lot like his father. Thoughtful. Analytical. Brutally quick with some pretty sexy upper body strength. Uptight—the better to hold his six-pack, she supposed. He’d taken over a shitty, chaotic territory—after Rowan had executed his predecessor—whipping it into shape with the type of vicious efficiency that made him rise to his position to start with.
“Your uncles are coming by for drinks after dinner,” Antonia told Clive, who flattened his mouth for a moment.
Someone was annoyed.
Clive adjusted his cuffs. Something he did when he tried to keep his temper. “I wasn’t aware they’d changed their stance.”
Rowan sighed inwardly. This had to be about her or he wouldn’t be trying so hard to be blasé in front of her.
She knew how to play politics. Knew the Vampire rules and ways better than most Vampires did. She knew how to be brutal and vicious and even merciless. But she didn’t know how to be a wife. Like, at all.
She hadn’t grown up around married people, or long-term romantic relationships. Rowan’s father’s family was scattered throughout the Keep, but the married ones with families lived outside the innermost court.
As an
adult she had known Susan and Rex and was glad to have such a great example of what a working relationship looked like. But it didn’t come naturally to her, this wife of the Scion thing. She desperately didn’t want to mess up and make things harder for him.
Not by mistake anyway. If she made things harder for him, Rowan wanted it to be on purpose.
Still, she let her gaze wander over to Clive. Damn, he looked good in that suit. Heat flashed through her. Her nipples tightened as she remembered his soap-slicked hands all over her body, of his skin sliding against hers.
It was good to know the part of marriage she seemed to do pretty well at was the sex part. She knew what to do when it came to that. Thank the heavens above he did too.
Clive’s attention snapped to her as a delicate and sharp slice of desire flowed from her into the heart of him. The blood she’d shared had widened their connection. He considered hiding his response, not wanting to scare her or make her feel spied upon. But it would be a lie and he knew how she felt about being lied to.
And it was hot that despite the setting, Rowan—his mate—thought him desirable. Made him feel powerful.
“What’s this? Stance on what?” Rowan asked, re-focusing his attention on the problem of his uncles and their reaction to his marrying a woman they considered their sworn enemy.
“Let’s go into the drawing room for the telling of this. Though I’d have imagined you knew some already.”
“Would you like me to recite what I know?” Rowan’s tone had gone formal.
The telling of the history of his parents was part of the ritual of joining her to his family and house. His father was the Patriarch, he was at the helm, the most visible. It meant anyone seeking succor and protection in the arms of House Stewart had to rise to a very high standard.
Clive had no doubt whatsoever that Rowan had this handled. Growing up as she had, she understood Vampires in a way most anyone else wouldn’t. That knowledge was just one of the many atomic level powers his woman had.
His father took her in. “It’s not mandatory.”
Rowan nearly bristled, but she managed to keep her face emotionless. “I don’t believe in only performing the minimum all my life.”
Approval rode his father’s features. He allowed it, Clive knew, so Rowan would also see.
“We would love for you to recite it.” Antonia grabbed Charles and they headed from the room and once they’d gotten comfortable in the salon, Clive sat close enough to Rowan on the divan their bodies brushed. His way of showing his allegiance as well as giving in to his desire to touch.
Rowan picked up the conversation once more. “I know your house is one of the very first in the Nation but your line goes back much longer. I know you’re the Patriarch of House Stewart and her economic and social affairs.” She paused until his father indicated she go on.
“Your father, Malcolm, was Scottish,” Rowan said to Charles. “You are the oldest of seven children by two hundred years.”
Vampire families tended to be small. Their rates of reproduction were very low. Nature knew what it was doing. Too many Vampires would topple the balance.
But his grandfather had been one of a kind.
The physical, emotional and mental strengths natural Vampires carried meant that most of the very oldest—and therefore strongest—had been born that way.
Made Vampires didn’t have those advantages and unlike natural Vampires, their lifespans were a hundred years or less. The exceptions—like Enyo for instance—were usually Made by an Ancient.
“You were your father’s general for a considerable time. They called you Death at Moonlight. You met Antonia while riding home from the Treaty War.”
Rowan turned to Antonia, and Clive watched the swell of pride on his father’s face. This part of the ritual wasn’t necessary but Clive should have known Rowan would honor the female line of House Stewart as well as the male.
“You’re quite the special snowflake.”
His mother laughed. “I know that one! I’m ever so glad to have this opportunity to learn all sorts of new expressions.”
Clive’s father winced slightly.
“Your biological parents were human. Your mother, pregnant and violently ill, was Made to save her life and yours.”
Antonia nodded.
“You were raised by your Maker, trained as if you were his.”
In this, Rowan shared another thing with his mother.
“And then you met Charles when you were just thirty.”
“Back then it was common for women—humans and Vampires alike—to get married young.” Charles tried to stay gruff, but when it came to Antonia, he never could for very long.
“I meant no offense. I point it out in reference to her uniqueness, not in reference to your ages when you married nearly five hundred years ago.”
Clive liked the way she read his father, kept her tone bland and respectful, but not so cool and remote.
“He’s touchy about it,” Antonia said in a fake whisper, breaking the tension further.
Rowan gave his mother a look, a teasing glance.
“And then the commoner unites with the son of a warlord and within months, you create this one.” Rowan tipped her head toward Clive. “The next step in the powerhouse family line your father started with you, Charles. House Stewart continues to dominate.”
Antonia spoke, “I do hope you understand that we needed to be sure you know the basics when you deal with my brothers-in-law.”
Of course Rowan did.
That part of the process done with, Clive shifted back to the issue of his uncles. “Tell me, Rowan, what do you think the problem is with my uncles?”
“More than one thing. Jealousy, I imagine is the biggest factor. They want what you have. Not a complicated one, really. But, let’s be frank, Vampires are hyperaware of position and hierarchy. It’s coin in your world. Maybe marrying a human, or a Hunter, or a member of a service family has insulted them. Or maybe they—like other Vampires as you’re all aware—think my father a fool for treating me as his daughter when I’m a lowly human. Whatever the case, petty isn’t necessarily as frightening as it is a time waster. I understand your reasons and I assure you, I will respect my position as a member of your House.”
Charles nodded, approving. For Clive’s father, this was effusive praise. Pride flowed from Clive that his woman had impressed someone Clive admired so much.
“However.” Rowan sat straighter and let her Goddess shine bright enough to fill the room for several moments before She tucked Herself away once more. “I’m a power in my own right. I do not serve anyone but my path. My path sometimes includes killing Vampires. It often includes calling them out on their behavior, both personal and business. I also curse frequently and I can’t lie and say I plan to change that.”
Antonia said, “I should hope not. I find the Rowan you were after you started to beat up that man in the alley is far more amusing than the one you were before. As for his brothers, they’re snobs. They didn’t like me either.”
“They still don’t like you, sweet.” Charles smiled at his wife before shifting back to Rowan. “My brothers are younger than Clive, they lack his patience, but not his resolve.”
Rowan nodded.
Antonia added, “And we told them they would not be welcome in the house or at any of our events if they couldn’t keep a civil tongue and quit their whining. This has been a thing for so long I can’t even remember when it started. Probably the moment they popped off the tit.”
Charles closed his eyes for a brief moment as Rowan laughed.
“I’m not wrong. You’ll see when they show up. And they will because this is about power and they’re mad for it. As to the other? I want you to be yourself,” Antonia said.
Clive loved his mother for that. She’d made the jo
ke but underlined to Rowan that she had their support.
“That’s not really a problem I have very often.” If Clive had ever doubted her commitment to him, taking in the way Rowan tried very hard to be diplomatic at that moment cinched it all up.
“That’s a lovely way of putting it.” His mother tried not to laugh but failed. “In any case, they don’t matter. If they misbehave, I’ll boot them myself.”
Clive was absolutely sure she would. But if his uncles were anything less than civil to Rowan, he’d do it before his mother had the chance.
Chapter Ten
There were a lot of things Rowan could say about Malcolm Stewart, Charles’ father, and one of them would be the Vampire made some extraordinary children.
Hill announced the arrival of Arthur and Thomas Stewart and when they came into the room she was struck by how they carried themselves.
Swagger in a Vampire was like kale being disgusting, Rowan knew it would always be there on some level. But these two handsome gents had a lot more swagger than they could carry well.
They weren’t dudebros, but they were the English equivalent.
“Ah, so glad we didn’t miss the opportunity to meet Clive’s new human bride.” The smile the lighter haired of the two gave was admirably blandly cheerful.
Too bad for Arthur Rowan wasn’t human and she could see the fear in the slight wobble at the right corner of his mouth.
Rowan caught his eyes and held them. He couldn’t glamour her and once he tried she sent him a raised brow.
Before she could speak though, Clive stepped to her side, every last inch of him the Scion of North America. His power rushed through the room, washing even the tiniest bit of swagger away from his uncles.
“You’ll speak to your betters without a tone or I’ll be sure you get the lesson.”
Oooh she loved it when he got all badass.
“I meant no offense, nephew.” Arthur held his hands palm out rather than showing his wrists palm up. Not nearly enough submission from the lesser Vampire.
“Don’t beg my pardon, it’s hers you need,” Clive’s cold tone sliced to the bone.