by Emily Shore
Shaw was killed during the upheaval.
It was the first time a former monarch had ever been assassinated as the Whites ruled before my parents. However, suspected pack members returned to the Sierra region just after Shaw's murder. Once out of their jurisdiction, the perpetrators were never brought to justice. So, the Whites were left with their grief and no sense of justice.
“Not interested in any light reading, are you, Rin?”
I looked up and smiled when my father sat across from me at our library's table. His fingers touched the open page, and he perused the account.
“Shaw White was an incredible vampire. I didn't have the pleasure of knowing him closely, but we did mingle in the same circles as acquaintances. Our approaches when it came to politics were much different since I am a scholar and analytical by nature, but Shaw was always sharp and cunning and regal enough to assume a leadership role.”
“You were a leader, too.” Just a different leader. Similar to Raoul.
Dad nodded, taking the compliment. “I was content for your mother to act as the main leader while I remained the calm force behind her. Unlike Shaw. Le Couvènte’s throne did not suit him despite the warring period that kept him occupied. He was the sort of vampire destined to rule for much longer than ten years. I'm certain he would've returned to his ancestors’ foregrounds in New York after their last child was born. But the attack took away that chance.” My father paused, fist on his chin, contemplating. “He was extraordinarily gifted with the ability of persuasion. The apple does not fall far from the tree.”
Obviously, considering how Skip’s power and prowess garnered him respect and reputation.
“Though it is the first time I've witnessed Stefan meet his match, so to speak.”
I leaned back in my chair. “Excuse me?”
My father folded his hands on the table in front of him and smiled. “From what I know about Skip’s reputation, he's always been on the giving end of such emotions. So, it's intriguing to see him on the receiving end. But I don't know him well enough yet to speculate on how powerful that receiving end is for him. All I can offer is for you to proceed with caution.”
“And…” I slid my elbows on the table, eager to know, “…how is that receiving end for Raoul?”
My father’s grin was playful. “Would you expect me to betray confidences?”
“If it has to do with me, yes. Especially when we have a relationship of trust,” I emphasized, urging him.
He drummed his fingers on the table before informing me, “I've given my full blessing to Raoul on two conditions. If you both decide to enter a relationship, you will proceed slowly. I would prefer it if you both wait till your birthday to make any solid decisions. By June, you may know more of your identity as it stands with the prophecy. Until then, your visits with Raoul are restricted to those involving the family.”
“So, if Brian and Heath and I went to his house together…?”
“Allowed.”
“If we wanted to go somewhere but Heath followed…?”
My father screwed his brows together, a signal that I was testing his patience. “You're accomplished at stretching your boundaries.” But with his sigh also came his permission. “Allowed…but I know Raoul’s patience is unrivaled, so don't wait with hurried breath for him to act.”
“I won't.” I stood and practically danced around the table before wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him on the cheek. “Um… what if Skip―”
“Please, Reina! A father can only take so much, and I'm the vampire father of a human!”
“Sorry, Daddy.”
The moon bled red. It threatened to down me in a sea of scarlet ink. I started running. Past tree after tree and plunging into brush, I continued to run with straggler branches like hawk talons raking my skin. Everything blurred at the edges.
“Rin.” An echo of a whisper. Too familiar. The Rose Killer’s whisper.
I stopped. Nothing else.
With the forest surrounding me, I barreled forward again only to be stopped in my tracks.
“Rin!”
The hairs on my neck stiffened. No figure. Just a voice. A familiar voice.
“Soon.”
One last image haunted me. A déjà vu echo: a train.
When the voice spoke my name again, I truly woke this time. There I was facing one floor-to-ceiling window with other equal-sized windows, one on each side. I gasped at the transparent drop-off, my hands catching myself on the glass.
“Rin,” the familiar voice spoke from behind me. I didn’t have to turn around to recognize to whom it belonged. “This is not my definition of “working it out”.”
Chapter Twenty
Escalation
“Where am I?” I dropped my hands from the glass, then turned to study the area — the cold, hardwood floor under my feet, the vaulted ceiling, large open windows honored by the view of Redwood trees. A slight breeze flirted with my curls from a side open window. And there was Skip standing just a few feet away. A shirtless Skip wearing nothing but a pair of cutoff jeans, his tresses falling soft to his chest like a spill of gold and silver lacquer. My blood quickened at the sight of him. Statuesque. Beautiful. Everything about him was relaxed, composed save for his hands drenched in a rich, drippy crimson.
“This is where I do my work,” responded Skip, moving aside and gesturing to the object behind him — an easel with canvas.
I strode toward him, hoping he would discount my thrumming heartbeat for curiosity. But Skip placed himself between me and the canvas, preventing me from peeking.
“It's not ready, Rin. I'm a perfectionist in my art as much as in my acting.”
“You're painting just in red?” I noticed only one glass jar of red paint.
Skip nodded. “It's my style. But I want to know what you're doing here in my studio. I left the room briefly and when I came back, you were standing in front of my windows.”
“I'll tell you if you show me,” I bargained.
Skip debated, his eyes skimming back and forth across mine before he slowly stepped aside and permitted me to approach. As soon as I laid eyes on the canvas, I loved it. A portrait of a young woman's back from the waist up with her hands gathering up a generous portion of her hair. With just the burgundy shade and from using his hands, he'd managed to capture every serene curve, the way her head slightly turned so the edges of her curls spilled across her left shoulder and tantalized her bare neck. I recognized those curls. I recognized her body language, the curve of her jawline, the pale, tender shape of her human neck, which was her pride living in a society of vampires…
“Please don't tell me that I'm just flattering myself, Skip.” I hinted, borderline teasing as I faced him.
He dropped his hands to his sides, unrepentant. “I never apologize for my work. You happen to be a worthy muse.”
“It's beautiful.”
“It's not finished. It will never be finished unless…” Skip brought a clenched fist to his jaw and studied me before reaching for my jacket, careless of how his hand left red fingerprints. “Please?”
At first, I panicked, adrenaline spiking right before a wave of surrender engulfed me. If I was never aware of it before, I certainly was now. Skip’s persuasion. I pressed my eyes together, trying to summon a combative emotion, but Skip’s persuasion was a Notre Dame bell out-chiming whatever jingles my mind could produce.
“Skip, I―” I managed to gasp out the objection.
He overlapped my words, leaning closer to breathe low in my ear, “Just for a moment. Don’t worry, your highness. I’ll leave your dignity intact.”
Whether it was more of his persuasion or just the welcome sensation of his bare chest against me, I didn’t object any more. Skip removed my jacket and dropped it to the floor before pivoting me around so my back faced him. Next, his fingers tugged at my shirt. I turned to observe him study the line of my neck, hand framing the skin of my upper back and stroking my shoulder blades. His fingers felt soo
thing against the familiar bruises from my wings.
A few seconds later, Skip concentrated on his work, but a trace of a smile crossed his face. “So, your dream led you to me tonight. I’m honored. Is there something you want to tell me?”
Impatient at his unwillingness to return to the former topic of his canvas, I folded my arms across my chest and deflected, “Why? Is there something you want to tell me?”
“Tell, no. Ask, yes.” Skip stroked one clean line across the canvas before raising the Mason jar to his lips and sipping the blood as if he were swallowing a shot before summoning up the courage to propose. Hopefully not. “I want you to have lunch with me and my family this weekend.” That wasn’t exactly a question.
“Your family? Why?” Where was he going with all this? Even if there was an undeniable magnetism between us, I’d attributed that to my blood. Everything else was professional training. And light flirtation. And the intimacy of drinking his blood. A one-time emergency. But tonight…with the painting and my back…
Skip placed the mason jar back on the table near the easel and specified, “They have some concerns regarding my training, my involvement with a human.” Yes, professional of course.
“I understand.” I straightened, hoping he couldn’t sense my disappointment. “Maybe Heath can drive me, but—”
“I'm afraid that won't be possible. My mother and sisters live in the Creststone Development. They are very security conscious.”
The Creststone Community was home to many extravagant manors owned by the wealthiest denizens of Le Couvènte. Very private and secure. Even though my parents could've easily afforded one, my mother fell in love with our modest Victorian style home on the edge of town. So, it became Dad’s wedding gift to her. For one year, we lived near San Francisco, but our residence in the human world didn't last long between two growing brothers with abilities that sometimes got out of hand and Mom’s homesickness.
“I would be more than happy to pick you up and drive you there for a late-morning brunch on Saturday. I will even clear it with your father.”
He’d go to my father. Again, a yearning swelled up inside me. Skip swept past me and walked toward a door on the right side of the room. A closet where he retrieved a rag to wipe his hands. I focused on them, preventing myself from fixating on his chest. “Now, I suppose I owe you an explanation before I return you home.”
Skip’s fingers circled my arm, and he urged me to follow him to the opposite side of the room where a floor to ceiling mirror hung on the wall. After positioning me so my back was to the mirror, he reached for the hem of my shirt, though he asked permission this time.
“May I?”
I chewed on my lower lip before granting him, “Go ahead.”
He raised the edge of my shirt and gathered it into a knot of fabric at the base of the back of my neck while sweeping aside my hair so it covered my front. Next, he traced a finger across my bruises. “I have spent many nights with you now. Training you. Studying you. The more I learn of your abilities, the better tutor it will make me. But the beauty cannot be denied. How human anatomy can contain such vampiric wonder.”
He rubbed his thumb along the line of my shoulder blades, and I clenched my eyes due to the sharp ache. Until his fingers caressed the skin along my spine, stroking downward as he explained, “For vampires, bones shift and protrude to form wings. But we do not form bruises. Your skin is still human. It remembers the pain.”
Beauty within pain.
Obviously, it was my wings carrying me to different locations. I shivered when Skip’s fingers slipped across the skin of my lower back, trimming the curves along my sides, murmuring cold everywhere. When he cupped the back of my neck with one hand, the fabric of my shirt dropped to swallow his bare arm. Skin to skin. His arm to my back. I held my breath. His last action was to slide his hand from my neck all the way down my spine until he slipped it from beneath my shirt and flexed his fingers. Freeing me to breathe again.
“Now, I have more inspiration.”
My skin still remembered his fingers; the stroke of his hand was a specter sinking into my blood, summoning a howl. Yet, I remained frozen as a still-life photograph. Inside, my blood felt hot and carnivorous, but my skin was the opposite: cold and crystallized. Was all that Skip’s persuasion or my own human hormones? Or both?
“You're doing it again.” Skip lighted a hand on my shoulder and eased me around to face him. “Your blood is livening up. And it's very dangerous.”
Placing one hand beneath my chin, Skip urged my face to his. A gesture worthy of the Phantom on the night he first lured Christine to his lair. “Appearances are so deceiving. I never judged you as flirting with danger.”
“I’ll run. I’ll fight. I don’t hide.” I raised my chin, but I still couldn’t reach his eye level. Not even if I wore platforms.
“No. Even if you bury yourself in your books, you always walk with your head high, eyes never wavering.” He rubbed his fingers down the length of my throat.
“I have no shame to wear.”
“Ahh…but what happens when you fall, your highness?”
I leaned closer to him, my breath warm in his ear as I murmured, “Then I’ll just have to get back up again.”
Skip went further. I curled my fingers onto his chest, scrutinizing him in the mirror as he advanced. At my collarbone, his lips roamed, rubbing along my collarbone. I arched my neck, bowing just a little, wondering how far he would take this. And I was only human. My inhale seemed to signal him since he kissed me, catching me off guard. Just like the Phantom, Skip’s hands titillated upon my neck, tender, until his fingers pressed against my jugular so he could feel my pulse shudder.
He wanted my human blood as much as I desired his silver. Instead, he settled for my mouth. Where Raoul was slow and romantic, Skip was possessive and demanding. My breath didn't belong to me. Instead, Skip harvested it for himself as he plundered my lips and worked one hand down to my waist to anchor me. A perfect permafrost, he devoured me. His teeth grazed my bottom lip before he pried himself away and brushed his lips against my chin.
I tried to form words through my deepening breath. “So, this is your definition of working it out then?”
“I'm stronger than I originally believed,” murmured Skip, his nose against my neck, forehead brushing my cheek.
“Is it me or just my blood?”
“Your blood reflects who you are. It can’t be separated.” So…more than just magnetism and temptation. He stepped back but not before his thumb swept one line down to my wrist where it paused until he snatched up my hand, mouth cornering my pulse.
“This whole night…unnecessary risk…” I tried to object as I gulped back a moan.
“Your subconscious, not mine,” he quipped, grinning with lips still imprisoning my wrist.
“Your bloodlust, not mine,” I reminded him, then followed with, “So, what is this?”
“Escalation. And I'm very intrigued by whatever will come next.”
When Skip pulled up to my house, only Dad was home, thank goodness. Everyone else was off trying to track me, so it was refreshing to have a level head at this interesting development. Skip escorted me up the porch. At least Dad seemed calm. Well…calm-ish.
“Stefan…” He regarded Skip, arms clasped behind his back.
“Your highness…” It was the first time in a long time that I’d heard someone refer to my father in his sovereign title. Raoul always referred to him as “sir” or sometimes “James” due to a familiar past.
Dad held up a hand and corrected him, “Dr. Caraway is preferred.” Then, he looked to me for an explanation.
I shifted my weight and shrugged. “Tonight, I ended up at Skip’s loft. He drove me home.”
“Next time, I'd prefer if you call me first,” Dad responded, but his next words were for Skip. “Thank you for returning her safe and sound. Would you like to come in?”
Skip surveyed me first, hesitating, “I'm certain Rin needs to get som
e more sleep before school.”
“She will,” Dad added, tone firm. “Come inside, Stefan. Rin, call your brothers and mother and tell them you’re home.”
I glanced at Skip, expecting Dad’s summons to intimidate him, particularly with my father's predatory eyes, dark as a cauldron’s insides. But Skip remained steady, posture regal as he followed my father inside.
First, I called Brian because I enjoyed letting Heath stew. After explaining the situation, Brian mentioned, “You're a hot commodity.”
“Yeah. Good thing Heath wasn’t here. He would've ripped his throat open.”
As soon as I alerted Heath, it was only another couple minutes before he showed up thanks to his wraith shadowing. But Heath didn’t cause Skip any discomfort either. Could anyone ruffle Skip’s feathers? Oh right…I could.
“Be nice.” I lightly squeezed Heath on the arm.
“Perhaps you’d care to retrieve your glove from upstairs?” Skip chuckled before Dad invited him out of the foyer and into the family room. Much to my relief, Dad dismissed Heath and Brian. I’d fill them in them after.
Skip’s hands remained at his sides, fingers curled just a little. Casual but perceptive. I expected my father to speak first, but Skip surprised me by beginning the conversation.
“With your permission, Dr. Caraway, I would like to introduce your daughter to my family this weekend. Despite how you’ve monitored our training, my mother has some concerns about my involvement with a human. As you undoubtedly know, she donates much to the Council’s fund…”
“We can certainly discuss that possibility. But first, I would like to address my concerns. Dad targeted Skip, eyes sharper than a branch's silhouette before the backdrop of a glowing moon. Then, he invited the young vampire, “Would you care to sit down? I'd like to ask you a few questions.”
Skip chose the safe route. When I lowered myself onto the love seat, he selected the armchair next to mine while Dad preferred his leather wingback chair across from me. Still, Skip was close enough for our arms to brush one another’s…if we desired. Lighting in this room was dimmed, befitting the tone. On our mantle above the fireplace, candle flames winked and danced as if to offer me encouragement. Impatient at the few moments of silence, I lifted my hand and freed them from their wick prisons, granted them flight so they could waltz together. I practiced drawing patterns with them just as Skip had urged me during our last training.