Zuzu smiles at me. “And then our miracle happened. I’m not sure who was more shocked—Parxon or myself—when Sorcha caught with child. We had no idea she could catch so quickly, or even at all. Some couples here try for decades before catching, if ever. I will never forget the day of your birth. I am so glad I was there for it.”
“An’ who are ye, then? Yer relationship to Parxon an’ Eilidh?”
Zuzu strokes my hair, smiling at me. “Technically, I am Parxon’s mate, although we never consummated it and he never marked me. In your world, I suppose I would be called his husband.”
I reach up and touch Zuzu’s ear, where the gold earring still sits in his lobe. “You always matched.”
He smiles. “Yes. One for mates, and an additional one each for offspring.” His smile fades. “We could not, of course, add one for you without revealing our secret.” He sighs. “You are my heart’s child, little one, and always have been. I love you so much and have missed you terribly.”
“Then we’ll stay here,” Dexter says. “I’m feckin’ rich. We’ll make it work somehow, even if I have to bribe people.”
Zuzu’s eyes widen. “No! You do not understand—this magick is old and forbidden. We would all be killed if her presence is revealed.” He wrinkles his nose at Dexter. “You, perhaps, could stay. We could pass you as a distant cousin from far away. You don’t smell too different. But she is female. Females only exist here in myths. It would mean our deaths.”
“Did ye love her mum?” Dexter asks.
Zuzu nods. “I loved Sorcha as I do Parxon—as a sibling. That is why Parxon and I never consummated our mating and he never marked me. We both knew we did not have those feelings for each other.”
Dexter looks as confused as I feel. “Then why are ye together?”
“Because it was arranged by our families when we were children. Parxon and I practically grew up together as siblings. We were both from old families, with ruling class Alpha sires. I am an omega, and he is an Alpha. The hope was that we would produce an Alpha heir to carry on the family lines.”
I sort of…tune out as they talk and Dex asks questions. I can’t stop staring into Zuzu’s eyes—lavender eyes. A clear, light color that reminds me so much of my own. All while a bad feeling grows and swells inside me until it smacks me in the head, and I jump to my feet.
“Dex, what time is it?”
He and Zuzu both stand. “How long until dawn?” Dex asks.
Zuzu checks his watch. “Fifty-nine minutes.”
“We have to get you out of here!” Panic threatens, tightening my chest and making my pulse gallop.
Dex grabs my arm, his Scottish accent gone again. “Listen to me, girl, I am not leaving you. You promised no more running. That we’d face everything together.”
“Yeah, but that can’t happen if you explode into a pile of ash!”
Zuzu’s eyes widen. “Wait…he has the virus?”
We both look at him. “What do you know of that?” Dexter asks.
“No one has had that in… Well, since rangnork. The sorting. But people rarely got it so bad that the sun burned them like that. Especially if they mated with an Alpha or beta. That usually neutralized the worst of it.”
I try to process that. “Wait, what?”
He’s getting distracted. “We can talk about this later. You need to leave. Now! Come back at night, when it is safe, and I can bring you to the house.”
Dexter runs a hand through his hair. “Isn’t there someplace dark, without sunlight, where I can hide for the day?”
Zuzu looks as panicked as I’m starting to feel. “Not close enough to make it. She’s right—you must return for your safety.”
“You’re going back.” I take Dexter’s hand and lead him into the center of the stone ring. “Because I can’t lose you, and I need to see my dad.”
He stands there like the stubborn fucking vampire Dom he is. “You come with me, girl, or I stay. Those are the only two options. I will not be separated from you again.”
Noooo…actually, there’s a third option.
And I’m reasonably certain Dexter’s not going to like it.
35
Dexter
I love this woman, but she is about to drive me insane because she will not quit arguing with me. I don’t understand what she doesn’t understand about this situation. Leaving her side is not an option.
I guess I need to spank her more. Maybe she enjoys the spankings too much, and I need to use my belt or a cane on her to drive the message home.
“You can’t stay, Dex. It’ll be dawn in less than an hour!”
“Then let’s leave. Now. We can return tonight once it’s dark.” I don’t want to force her to go, but I will, if I must.
“And what if we can’t return? I’m not leaving here until I see my father. Maybe you’ve been alone so long you don’t remember what it feels like to not want to be alone, but I spent most of my life thinking he’s dead. I’m damn sure not going to lose him, or Zuzu, before I even get them back!”
Before I can process what she’s doing, she pulls the ring off the chain, sticks it on my left ring finger, and grabs my hand. “March, mister. Go to the hotel and come back tomorrow night. We’ll be waiting here.” She spins me around to face the stones and utters that rhyming phrase. Then, she shoves me, hard, toward the outside of the stone ring.
Normally, she wouldn’t have been able to budge me an inch, much less push me off-balance. Except I’d started to turn back to her. In the process, I stumble over a rock and find myself falling backward, into air, landing hard outside the stone circle on the cold, dewy grass in what I instinctively know from the smell is my own world.
I jump up and whirl around, seeing nothing but the looming dark shapes of the stones.
I am alone.
“Eilidh! Zeuzehn!”
No answer, just the sound of the breeze swirling around me. I let out a roar and fling myself back inside the ring of stones.
Just to find myself still here.
Without her.
“Dammit! Eilidh!”
If I still had a pulse, I know my heart would be hammering in my chest, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
Wait. Actually, my pulse is hammering. Weird. Come to think of it, it’s been doing that a lot since Alaska. And I’m breathing, too.
Double weird.
Closing my eyes, I take a few deep, cleansing breaths and think about the phrase she chanted. I say it, chant it, spin around inside the stones and try to replicate how she said it earlier when we came through. No matter what I do, even though I feel a few strange tingles, it’s not working.
Except, problem. Massive problem.
She was right. It’s close to dawn, and I should’ve been sealed up in our hotel room by now. As much as I want her safely back in my arms, I can’t do anything for her if I explode into a pile of ash.
Cursing myself and my body, I experience a brief moment of panic when I can’t find the rental car key fob in my jacket, just to remember it’s in my jeans. I could blur to the hotel, but I don’t remember the exact way and need the car’s GPS. I blur back to the car, climb in, and spin the tires as I race toward town.
I’ve had close calls before in my life. The last and worst was in World War II. I found myself trapped in London during the start of the German bombings. I had been in the city on business and opted to stay there instead of risking a drive back to my estate to the north.
That was an unfortunate decision.
I was lucky I wasn’t killed when a bomb fell five houses from mine. It’d been strong enough to rattle me—literally and metaphorically—where I had just settled myself into my basement crypt to await the next evening.
When I emerged to assess the damage, I discovered the blast had destroyed my car. Meaning I had no way of easily leaving London by vehicle and putting me on foot. I realized escaping the city wouldn’t be a simple matter. Not if I wished to survive the rapidly approaching daylight. It’s one thing
to run fast, but I still needed a safe place to hunker down for the night, so I ended up deep inside an air raid shelter.
I wasn’t sure if my cloaking ability would work while I was asleep, but there wasn’t any alternative. It was too far for me to blur to my nearest estate to the north of the city. Thus, I wedged myself as far back in a corner of the air raid shelter as I could, moved some boxes of supplies so they blocked me from the view of others, and pulled a blanket around me.
My presence, up until that point, had not even been acknowledged, so I knew my cloaking ability was working. Fortunately, my spot remained undisturbed when I awakened at dusk and promptly exited the shelter before it was sealed for the night. I found a soldier and compelled him to drive his jeep, headlamps off, to the northern outskirts of London, where he ran out of petrol, and I once again ran out of luck.
From there, I blurred as the bombings resumed, sought refuge in an abandoned cottage the next morning, and that night barely made it to my estate before the following dawn. The Blitz had begun in earnest, and I was now trapped in the UK. Leaving for America via ship was foolhardy, due to the presence of U-boats in the Atlantic. All I could hope was the bombings didn’t reach my small corner of the world.
Although I did venture out a few times and drink from bomb victims. They were dying already, and I eased their suffering. I never took from someone I thought might have a chance to make it, only those who were in agony.
Why let their deaths be a waste, or prolong their pain?
I am once again on the run in the British—all right, Welsh—countryside.
All these thoughts assail me as I speed to the hotel, unable to touch my Eilidh.
Make no mistake about it—she is mine.
How I shall get her back is a puzzle I pray I can solve. If this takes too long, I shall find myself purchasing an abode locally, so I have a secure base of operations from which to work.
As I race through the waning night, my left thumb strokes the ring. Why did she do that? How will I make it back through to her?
Less than thirty minutes before dawn, I pull up in front of the hotel and don’t even speak to the attendant when I snatch the valet slip from the man’s hand. Stalking across the lobby to the stairwell, I opt to blur all the way up, stopping in front of my own room seconds later.
Certainly faster than the elevator.
Excuse me—lift. I am back in the UK. Perhaps I should remember the lingo.
The lock clicks green as I wave the keycard in front of it. Putting out the Do Not Disturb card, I lock myself in, secure the deadbolt and safety bar, stick the wedged doorstop under it, lock myself into the bedroom and stick the wedge under that door, too, and start checking the bedroom windows.
The tarps and curtains look intact, best I can tell. Let’s hope I haven’t missed something. In my agitated state, that’s totally possible and would be a fatal mistake.
Unfortunately, I realize too late I left the body bag in the car’s trunk. I’d tucked it in there in case we were delayed returning to the hotel. I could have curled up inside it in the trunk and been safe while Eilidh remained in the car.
After putting my phone on the charger, I snatch the blanket and duvet cover from off the bed closest to the windows and retreat to the bathroom, with the door cracked just enough I can see the mirrored closet door if I move a little. Any light should reflect off the mirror without exposing me to the deadly sunrise. If I have to, I can spend the day in the bathroom with the door closed, since it doesn’t have a window.
The daily stupor isn’t working its way through my body as it usually does, but I am exhausted and jet-lagged, so I suppose that’s the issue. As stressed and worried as I am over Eilidh, I imagine I won’t stay awake very long this morning.
I’m beginning to despise my existence. The trade-offs for immortality and power increasingly look like they’re not worth it.
Except for Eilidh.
She is worth it.
If I can’t get her back—again—I don’t know what I’ll do.
That girl is definitely getting handcuffed to my side, though, once I reunite with her.
Again.
After I redden her pretty ass.
Once I know it’s several minutes past dawn, I realize the room isn’t any lighter, so I risk peeking at the mirrored closet door and find the room is still dark and safe.
Thus satisfied, I drag myself out of the bathroom, wrap myself in the covers, settle on the bed farthest from the window, and close my eyes to await my daily oblivion.
It takes me far longer to fall asleep than I expected, but my last thoughts before doing so are terror for Eilidh’s safety, fear over possibly never reuniting with her, and anger at myself for not reacting faster, for not grabbing her arm and dragging her through with me.
If I can’t cross through the stones, and she needs the ring to cross…
Will I ever see her again?
That is a future I do not wish to contemplate. I’d rather embrace the dawn.
* * *
It’s been countless ages since I last dreamed.
I missed dreams, at first.
Over the centuries, as my strength grew, I learned I could drop into a state of mind more like meditation and still think about things while safely sequestered.
But these tortured imaginings my mind now conjures—of losing Eilidh, of her being attacked and me unable to protect her—are worse than anything I have ever dreamed.
Unfortunately, I’m powerless to stop the visions, much less help her.
I finally snap awake with a gasp and realize it must be sundown, or close to it.
My phone, however, says it’s only one o’clock in the afternoon. Obviously, I’m still alive, meaning this remains a relatively safe space. Still, I’d prefer something less vulnerable and far more under my control.
Eilidh.
I need to plan. I didn’t survive this many years by racing into battle unprepared.
That means thinking this through.
If Amber truly can see the future—and the jury is still out, as far as I’m concerned—maybe she can tell me what my next step should be.
I’m not sure Garrett will be happy his mate is helping a “leech” again, but perhaps if I frame it as helping Eilidh, he’ll let her try.
I call Garrett first as a matter of courtesy.
“What do you want now, Dexter?” he gruffly answers. Wolves have their own hierarchy and dominance bullshit. We might be business partners, but I’m still “the enemy,” to him. Especially since Eilidh fled Tucson, and he blames me for not keeping her there and safe, which upset his mate.
But I must talk to the man’s mate, so I adopt an appropriately respectful tone. “I have to speak with Amber, please. It’s urgent. It’s about Eilidh.”
Worry fills his tone. “Why? Where is she? I thought you two were back together, and she’s safe?”
“That’s exactly what I need Amber’s help with, and why I wish to speak with her.” I quickly detail what happened and feel a modicum of relief when the shifter’s tone changes from gruff to sympathetic.
“Oh, shit. Hold on, Dex. I’ll get her for you.”
Seconds later, Amber’s voice fills my ear. “Hey, Dexter. This is serious.”
I close my eyes. “It is. What do I do?”
The sound of her breathing is the only thing I hear for a moment, and I find myself breathing in time with her. “She’s alive and safe, for now.”
“That’s reassuring, but not very helpful.”
“I feel like I’m trying to look at her through a fluffy, crocheted blanket. Like I can sense her, sort of, but I can’t really see her. Oh! It’s exactly like when I see her father. It has to be due to where she is. Through the stone ring, I mean. Wherever that is. That must mean her father’s there, too.”
Fear fills me. “Is she in danger? Apparently, it’s a very precarious situation.”
“Not necessarily. I don’t feel fear for her safety. Not right now.” She paus
es for a moment, and I sense her thinking, so I don’t interrupt. “She’ll be safe for a few days, at least. She’s really worried about you, though.”
Dare I feel any measure of relief? “Can you see any way for me to get through the stones?”
Another long pause. “Not right this minute, but I see you in the future through that same…fuzziness. You cross again, somehow. Hold on.” I hear the muffled sound of her speaking to someone, assumedly Garrett, then she’s back. “I’m going to put you on with Garrett. We’ll fly over to join you.”
Relief so powerful it’s nearly painful sweeps through me. “Thank you. I am in your debt. Again.” I don’t say that lightly. “I can send a private jet for you.”
“Nah, we got it. Should take us a day to get there.”
I speak with Garrett again. They’ll keep in touch with me and let me know when they arrive on UK soil, and he agrees it’s better not to tell Lucius anything about what’s going on right now.
Ten minutes later, we’ve ended the call and I’m staring at my phone.
At a picture I took of Eilidh before we left Alaska. Of her natural hair—honey gold with reddish lowlights.
I love her.
I love her so painfully, I’d rather embrace the dawn than lose her again.
Except…
I will lose her, won’t I? Humans have ridiculously short lives compared to vampires. In fifty or sixty years, I will likely be alone again. Even the extra decades we might gain with blood exchanges are still not enough.
Because turning her isn’t an option for me right now. Because I don’t wish to lose her like that—it would destroy me, I’m sure of it. I lost Robert, but he was already sick and dying. She is young and healthy, and we should have plenty of time.
If I can just keep my feckin’ hands on the lass.
Dragging myself to my feet, I take a shower, change clothes, down three of the bags of blood I’d brought with me, and talk to John, my office, and deal with some business issues.
Her Vampire Obsession Page 34