by Lynsay Sands
"Abuela," Sarita interrupted gently when the woman didn't show signs of winding down. "It's okay."
"Si?" she asked uncertainly.
"Si," Sarita assured her, and then took a deep breath and admitted, "I've been thinking I might like to stay and help with the hybrids too."
"Oh, Sarita!" She hugged her quickly. "That would be wonderful! I know Elizabeth will be so pleased. And then Domitian can stay and keep his restaurants and marry you like he wants and you can make babies for us to spoil and--"
"Yeah, Gran, you maybe want to slow your ponies there," she said dryly. "Domitian hasn't asked me to marry him or anything."
"He asked me for permission to marry you."
"He did?" Sarita asked with surprise. "When?"
"When he took us dancing. He is a true gentleman, that one. He asked for formal permission out of respect. A good boy."
"What did you say?" she asked with curiosity.
"I said yes, of course," she exclaimed as if that should be obvious. "He loves you and you love him and you will make me beautiful little grandbabies to spoil."
It seemed everyone "knew" she loved him, Sarita thought wryly. She was the only holdout . . . and she didn't want to be.
"Oh! There he is now. I will go. You tell him you are staying and will marry him. He will be so happy." Her grandmother rushed off before she could protest and Sarita watched her beam happily at Domitian in passing.
When all he managed was a weak smile in return, Sarita frowned. Something was obviously up, and it didn't look like this was the time to tell him anything. The moment he had passed her grandmother, his smile died and his expression became a combination of anger and concern.
"What is it?" Sarita asked, when he caught her hands and began to urge her farther into the garden.
"I was just talking to Lucian," he said and then announced abruptly, "Dressler went to his apartment when he left here."
"They found him?" she asked with surprise.
"No. They found what he left behind."
Sarita eyed him uncertainly. "Davies?"
"He is alive. He was in a bad way, but they have given blood and he is recovering and talking and told us all he knew," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. Raising his head, he added, "Asherah is dead, though."
"How?" she asked at once.
"Her throat ripped out," he said bluntly.
Sarita stiffened. "Davies didn't--"
"No. That is what they first thought when they got on the scene, but he said no and the information on Dressler's computer backs him up. El Doctor apparently left it in his rush to get out, and I guess it was rigged to record everything the cameras saw . . . all the cameras."
"Us on the little island?" she asked and then winced when he nodded. Well, that was embarrassing.
"And us on this island," he said quietly. "Including when I turned you."
"What? But--"
"Lucian sent someone down to search the cottage. There was a camera in every room in the house. The recordings started while Dressler's men were searching the cottage. They were planting and activating the cameras during their 'search.'"
"So he knows how to become immortal," she said with dread, and then realization struck and she glanced at him sharply. "That's why he took Davies."
Domitian nodded.
"He made him turn him," she guessed.
Domitian shook his head. "Apparently he turned himself. Nearly chewed Davies's arm off to do it too."
Sarita winced. "So Dressler killed Asherah."
"He drained them both dry, Davies and Asherah. She died, but most of Davies's nanos moved into his organs. He was suffering until help came, but alive. Poor bastard." He ran a hand through his hair and said, "As for Asherah, she made her own bed. She was never trying to help us when she arranged your escape. That was Dressler thinking his ten steps ahead as usual. His plan was to wound you mortally and let you go so I would turn you in front of the cameras he had placed in the cottage during the search. He did not even stick around until I turned you. Once I had you and was headed back to the cottage, he had Asherah grab Davies and take him to the boat in the cave. They were gone before the hunters made the island."
"Oh," Sarita said quietly.
"Davies says they were on the way to the mainland by the time I got you to the cottage and turned you. Dressler watched it on the boat, and the minute they got to his apartment in town, he attacked Davies. Bit his arm over and over to be sure "it took." I guess he didn't take bagged blood with him. The plan was that Davies would supply the blood he needed."
"But we aren't supposed to feed off immortals," she said quietly. Domitian had been giving her lessons on being immortal since her turn. That was the first point he'd stressed. No biting. Taking in immortal blood was bad. The influx of nanos meant the host's blood was used up at an accelerated rate. Drinking Davies dry would have just increased Dressler's need for blood, which was no doubt why he'd then drained Asherah dry.
"Yes, well, apparently that was one thing Dressler didn't learn from all his experiments," Domitian said dryly.
"I'm sorry," Sarita said solemnly.
He glanced at her with surprise. "For what?"
"That your turning me gave Dressler exactly what he wanted," she said simply. "The knowledge of how to turn himself."
"Oh, no no, Sarita, no," he said gently, taking her hands in his again. "He already knew how an immortal turned a mortal. Davies told him repeatedly in the hopes he would stop when he was cutting him in half. They have it on the tapes from the lab. Dressler knew exactly how an immortal turns a mortal before he ever put us together on the island."
"What?" she asked with surprise, and when he nodded, she asked, "But then why did he need us? Why go to all that trouble of putting us on the island? And what was that escape nonsense all about?"
Domitian's mouth twisted slightly. "Because he wanted to see what exactly happened before he submitted himself to it. It seems Dressler enjoys inflicting pain on others, but does not care to suffer it himself. He wanted to know if it was painful, and if so, just how painful."
"You mean he had Asherah damned near kill me just to see a turn before he tried it?" she said with disbelief, and when he nodded, she asked, "Didn't Davies tell him it was painful?"
"Si. But he thought he was just trying to talk him out of doing it. So he had to see for himself and needed a pair of life mates to accomplish that."
"Us," Sarita growled angrily. "How the hell did he find us?"
"Pablo Guerra, my private detective," he admitted unhappily. "Dressler hired him, explained about our eyes, and said he would pay him a fee for every immortal he reported to him. Well, my eyes fit the description," Domitian pointed out. "So Pablo told him he'd been working for a client for thirteen years who had eyes like that. A strange man, who just wanted regular reports on a girl in Canada. She was thirteen and living here in Venezuela when he hired me, et cetera, et cetera."
"Dressler apparently asked the few immortals he had at that time why I would do that. They guessed, correctly, that perhaps you were my life mate and I was waiting for you to grow up to claim you. So he told the detective he would hire others to find the immortals--Pablo was just to send him copies of the reports I was paying for and put cameras in your apartment. And then he apparently waited for me to go to you, because surely I would do so soon now that you were grown-up."
"Only you were being noble," she said softly.
"Si," he said.
Sarita nodded, and then shook her head. "But why did he keep trying to hire you?"
"I am not sure," he admitted. "He only started eating in my restaurant about two years ago."
"About when he hired Pablo," she commented.
Domitian nodded. "He offered me a job the first night, but said it jokingly, and then repeated the offer every once in a while." He shrugged. "Perhaps he planned to lure you to the island if I did not claim you quickly enough and wanted to be able to use hiring me as an excuse to get us together."
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"Which is what happened," Sarita pointed out and then commented, "I'm surprised he didn't wait to turn until he could get his hands on some drugs to ease the pain if he saw what I went through. From what everyone said afterward, it sounds like it was agony." Wincing, she added, "What I remember was agony."
"Ah . . ." Domitian made a face.
Sarita raised her eyebrows. "What?"
"Well, the camera in the bedroom was faulty. There was no sound, and the picture was a bit grainy, and according to Davies, Dressler thought I fed you my blood, held you for a minute and then we had wild sex, so it could not have been so bad."
"What?" Sarita gasped with disbelief. "He thought we had sex while I was in the turn?"
"Well, I was on top of you and we were very active on the bed," Domitian pointed out. He then added, "And apparently the camera angle was such that he never saw your grandmother enter the room. And then he only saw your upper torso rising up and down beyond the bed after you rolled us both to the floor. Davies said Dressler stopped watching when that business started, so . . ." He shrugged almost apologetically, apparently able to see how Dressler could misunderstand things so badly.
Sarita stared at him blankly and then closed her eyes and let her head drop into the palm of one hand.
There was silence for a minute and then Domitian asked, "Are you angry?"
She jerked her head up with surprise. "With Dressler? Of course, the--"
"No, with me," Domitian interrupted.
"Why would I be angry at you?" she asked with confusion.
"Because it was my detective who caused all of this to happen to us. If I had not hired him--"
"No," Sarita interrupted firmly. "You are not responsible for Pablo's actions," she assured him and then smiled wryly and said, "So I was worried you'd blame me for Dressler's learning how to become immortal because you had to turn me to save my life, and meanwhile, you were worried that I'd be angry because your hiring Pablo led Dressler to realize we were life mates."
"Si," he said with a crooked smile.
"Hmm . . ." Sarita murmured, then took a deep breath and said, "I guess it must be love."
Domitian stilled, his gaze locking on her face. "Do you think so?"
"I know so," she admitted quietly and then offered him a crooked smile and said, "Actually, everyone else apparently knows so too."
"Si." He gave a solemn nod. "You are an intelligent woman, mi Corazon, but in this instance . . ."
"Yeah, yeah, I was the last one to the table this time," she muttered.
Domitian smiled, and then asked, "Does this mean that you will consent to be my wife as well as my life mate?"
Sarita swallowed, but then nodded. "Yes. But . . ." she added, raising her hand between them quickly to prevent him from kissing her when he bent toward her.
Domitian paused, uncertainty on his face. "But?"
After a hesitation, she slid her arms around his waist and pressed her cheek to his chest before admitting, "Grandmother doesn't want to move to Canada."
"I am sorry," he said sincerely. "I know you looked forward to having her with us there."
"About that," she muttered and then took a deep breath and admitted, "Actually, I have been thinking I might like to stay here too."
Domitian stilled and then pulled back slightly to peer down at her. "Really?"
Sarita nodded.
"What about your job?" he asked uncertainly.
"I wanted to help people, Domitian. That's why I became a police officer. But . . ." Shaking her head, she said, "I can't think of anyone who needs help more than the people here do. And I mean, we don't have to stay here forever. I'd just like to help as many as I can get on their feet. But I know you mentioned it would be nice to be closer to your sister and--"
"Sarita," he interrupted.
"Yes?" she asked warily.
"I love you. I am happy to stay here. I like your grandmother and we will be close to her while she is with us. I can keep my restaurants running for now while you help here, and we can visit my sister in the summers. And if you later wish to move somewhere else, we can do that too. We have time."
Sarita snorted. "Yeah, we've got time. Like thousands of years apparently."
"It will pass quickly," he assured her.
"Yeah, I'm not too sure about that," she said dubiously.
"Mi Corazon," Domitian said solemnly, lowering his mouth to just above hers so that his breath brushed across her lips tantalizingly as he spoke. "If there is one thing I have learned in my long life, it is that life passes quickly when you are happy. And you make me very happy. Our life together will fly by in a heartbeat."
"That's so sweet, my love," she said softly and then, grinning, added, "You old guys know just the right thing to say."
Domitian closed his eyes, shook his head, and then silenced her laughter with a kiss.
An Excerpt from Bliss
Can't get enough of Lynsay Sands?
Look for her medieval romance BLISS
On bookshelves Summer 2017
Prologue
England, 1173
"Damn!" King Henry crumpled the scroll he had been reading into a ball and threw it to the floor in disgust. He spent a moment muttering about the soft hearts and interfering ways of women, then sighed with resignation and held his hand out to Templetun. "You may as well give me Lord Holden's message, too."
The other man's eyebrows flew up in amazement at the request, a touch of fear mingling with suspicion in his eyes. "How did you know?"
"It is not conjuring or anything, Templetun, simply experience. I never receive a complaint from Lady Tiernay that I do not receive one from Lord Holden as well. Besides, I saw his man ride in earlier and assumed he bore a message. There have been a few small uprisings in Normandy, and I asked Hethe to tend them for me. No doubt he is waiting to tell me he has done so."
"Ah." Relaxing, the older fellow handed over the document in question.
Henry opened the scroll a bit irritably, displeased at having to explain himself. Templetun had only worked in the capacity of his chaplain for the past couple of days--his usual chaplain was ill--but already Henry was wishing for the latter's speedy recovery. His replacement was entirely too nervous, superstitious, and seemed to be far too eager to lend credence to Henry's reputation of being the "Spawn of the Devil." Shaking his head, Henry focused his attention on the parchment he now held. A moment later, it was a crumpled mass on the floor not far from the first, and Henry had leapt up to pace before his throne.
As he had expected, Lord Holden had cleaned up the little revolts in Normandy and was on his way home. But he had also added a complaint or two about his neighbor. It seemed his chatelain was harassed mightily by the Lady of Tiernay and was beleaguering Hethe with letters regarding the woman. In his turn, the Hammer of Holden had respectfully requested that his king do something about the woman . . . or he, himself, would.
It sounded very much like a threat, and it displeased Henry greatly to be threatened by one of his vassals. In fact, if Hethe weren't such a valued warrior and had not aided him so often in the past ten years, he would have seen him punished. But, unlike his father before him, Hethe had been a great asset.
He grimaced at the thought of the previous Lord Holden, Hethe's father. Born the second son, Gerhard had expected to be allowed to join a monastery and live out his life amongst the musty old papal scribblings he so adored. Unfortunately, his eldest brother had died, forcing him to abandon those plans in favor of marriage and producing an heir. The man had taken out that displeasure on his son.
To be honest, in Henry's opinion, Gerhard had been a touch mad. Fortunately, Hethe had not yet shown the same tendency. Unfortunately--for Hethe, at least--he had not even shown the same love of learning his father had, and the two had not gotten along. Gerhard's hatred had driven the boy from his home and straight into Henry's service as soon as he earned his spurs.
Ah, well. Gerhard's loss had been his own gain, Henry decided.
But that didn't relieve Hethe of his responsibility to show his king respect. "What the Devil am I to do with these two?" he asked in frustration.
"I am not sure, my liege. What appears to be the problem, exactly?" Templetun asked tentatively. "I do realize they are both complaining--and from your reaction, I would say quite frequently--but about what, exactly?"
Henry turned to scowl down at him, opening his mouth to explain rather acerbically that his question had been rhetorical, when he changed his mind. Instead, he said, "Each other. Lady Tiernay writes to 'warn me' of her neighbor's cruel and abusive behavior to his serfs and villeins, because she 'knows I would not wish to see any of my subjects so sorely mistreated.'"
"Ah," Templetun said again, biting back a smile at his king's sarcastic imitation of a woman's high-pitched voice. "And Lord Holden?"
Henry gave a short laugh. "He writes to say that Lady Tiernay is a nosy, harping busybody who makes his life hell."
"Hmmm." The new chaplain was silent for a moment, then murmured, "Did not Lord Holden's wife die several years back?"
"Aye. Ten years ago. In childbirth. And Hethe has been my best warrior since. Always ready for a fight, always away on campaign for me. I don't know what I'd do without him."
"Did Lady Tiernay's husband not die four or five years ago as well?"
"What?" Henry scowled briefly, then his expression cleared. "Oh, nay. That was her father. Lady Tiernay is not married and has not been. Her father neglected to see to that ere his passing."
"She is of marriageable age, then?"
"Oh, aye. She is beyond old enough to marry, I should think. Why, she must be . . ." Henry paused, doing the math in his head. "I think she may be twenty or thereabouts." Groaning, he walked over and wearily rested his hand on his throne. "And there is another problem. I shall have to marry her off soon. How the Devil am I expected to find a husband for a harping wench like her?" Again, he began to pace.
"Perhaps you already have one, my liege," Templetun offered with some trepidation. When the king turned on him sharply, he shrugged. "Mayhap the solution is to have Lord Holden marry her. It will solve both problems at once. She will be married, and they will be forced to work out their difficulties between themselves."