Reborn (Princess of the Blood Book 1)

by Jane Ederlyn

  Marcel excused himself from his group and crossed the room. “Pardon my manners, do we know each other?”

  “Perhaps.”

  She started to move away, but his hand closed on her arm. “This is untoward but wait, please. I cannot recall the time and place, but I am sure we have met.”

  She looked down at his hand. She hadn’t touched him, or been in such close proximity, in a decade and his touch burned through her glove like a brand. He misconstrued the gesture and let his hand fall away.

  “Do not worry, Monsieur. We have the opportunity to become acquainted now.”

  He bowed in response. “I am Marcel d’Orgemont.”

  “Yes.” She bent her head.

  “Will you remove your mask?”

  She shook her head, motioning to the costumed attendees. “I pray I cannot.”

  “How do you know me?” he asked in a harsh whisper.

  Marie’s skin prickled. Anton was near. “Pardon moi, Monsieur. I must leave.”

  He shook his head. “No.”

  She cupped his cheek. “I will visit you soon, mon bebe.” She slipped away, disappearing into the crowd before her words registered, wanting to look back but denying herself. There would be time for that later.

  “Marie,” Anton called.

  She gasped.

  “We should not be interfering.” His voice pitched with strain.

  “He is my son. It is you who should not be interfering.”

  “Don’t make a fool of yourself. He is an eligible bachelor and many eyes were on you.” His fingers coiled around her arm and tightened. “I allow these silly notions of yours, but do not try my patience.” He pulled her outdoors and into the manicured gardens. A pretty girl in a lavender gown stood staring blankly into the night. “I saved you a little.”

  “I had my fill, Anton.”

  “I said drink.” He pushed her face down into the girl’s décolletage. “Drink or I will break her pretty little neck.”

  Fury bubbled in Marie, but she did as she was told. She swallowed enough blood to satisfy her thirst and his. Then she picked up the slight girl and carried her to a bench near the house, where she would sleep until her guardian came looking for her. Thankfully, she would not remember anything.

  Marie sighed. A chilly breeze weaved between flowering trees and rose bushes flooding her senses. She gave him a sideways look. He would not ruin this evening for her.

  She held her hand out. “Shall we take our leave?”

  A few days later, she left Anton entertaining dignitaries and walked two houses down to Marcel’s. It was late and she crept undetected up the stairs and to the end of the hall. She stood outside his room, swimming in his smell and the strong drumming of his heart. He was awake. When she opened the door, she found him in bed reading. “Don’t be frightened.”

  “I have been expecting you.”

  She took a step closer to him. “Do you promise to let me speak before reacting to my words?”

  “Yes. You have my word.”

  “I look familiar, do I not?”

  “Yes.”

  She took another step. “Think, Marcel. Who do I remind you of?”

  “It cannot be. I have a painting of my parents and you are my mother’s very likeness. Are you a ghost?” He shook his head. “And yet you walk and speak? If I am dreaming, I do not wish to wake.”

  She crossed to his bed and sat. “Mon fils, mon âme, I am not a ghost. I am your mama.”

  “You look my age. How is that possible?”

  “I am cursed; cursed to walk the night.”

  Pain flashed on his face, darkening his eyes. “You are the apparition that would visit me when I was a boy. I remember. The servants thought I was touched. Am I the only one who can see you?”

  She shook her head. “Anyone can see me if I wish it.”

  “Why did you stop? Why have I not seen you in years?”

  “I am a vampire. Do you know what that means?”

  His eyes widened fractionally. The movement was barely perceptible yet it felt to Marie like a stake to the heart.

  “I have heard stories of vampires. They are dirty monsters that steal children in the night.”

  “Marcel, I am your mother. You do not have to be frightened of me.”

  More emotions flitted across his face. Afraid of what she might see, she looked away. “I had to stop visiting you when you turned eight. You were vocal about my visits. It became dangerous for me and for you. But I have always been here and it was hard for me to watch over you and not let you see me.”

  She stood and walked to the window. The moon was low. She didn’t have much time left. “Today is your birthday. A man will come visit you midday tomorrow. He brings papers with him. Sign them, Marcel.”

  “What kind of papers?”

  “Money. Land. I have managed to procure part of our vineyard back from the French government. It was our country home, where you were born.”

  He brushed her words aside. “Will I see you again?”

  “Whenever you wish. My only request is that you do not speak of this to anyone.”

  “People are afraid of what they do not know.”

  “Oui.” Sadness weighed on her shoulders and she wondered how she would find the strength to quit the room. “I must leave.”

  “Don’t go . . . Mama,” he pleaded, just like the last time she had spoken to him.

  Her eyes glazed with emotion. “My sweet boy.” She took his hands and brought them to her face in a caress.

  “I remember, Mama.” He didn’t flinch or, her worst fear, pull away. He wrapped his arms around her, buried his face in her hair, and held her as tightly as she held him. “Don’t go.”

  “Never!” she promised.

  Abby opened the door to find John leaning against the wall. “What are you doing here?” This was the third time in so many days that he’d shown up unannounced.

  “I thought I would take my two favorite ladies out to breakfast.”

  Abby’s eyes narrowed. “Come in. I just made coffee.”

  He took her into his arms and kissed her soundly. “Good morning.” He walked over to the counter and sat at the stool while Abby poured. He inhaled deeply. “I love the smell of coffee.”

  “Me, too. I think I like the smell even more than the taste.”

  They both looked at each other and in unison agreed, “Nah.”

  He chuckled. “Almost, but not quite.”

  She nodded and took a deep gulp.

  He sat quiet for a spell, but Abby noticed he was restless. He leafed through the mail on the counter top; he examined the caution sticker on the coffee maker and kept glancing past the kitchen toward the interior of the house. “Are you okay?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  Abby put her hand on his thigh. “Your leg hasn’t stopped moving.”

  “Just hungry, I guess. Is Marie up?”

  A wad of panic the size of a basketball tightened in her chest. She lowered her eyes and concentrated on breathing. “It’s too early for her.”

  “She does go to bed late,” he agreed.

  “She always has.”

  “For how long?”

  Abby flinched. Please not this, not yet.

  “We could wait for her,” John said.

  “I thought you were hungry. Seriously, John, what’s going on? Would you rather be seeing Marie?”

  “That’s crazy, babe. It’s just that . . .” He trailed away. “It’s just that I find her so pale and thin and I know she means a lot to you.”

  Abby studied him, her eyes heavy with tears that threatened to spill. Relationships had been easier in college. Marie hadn’t let her live in a dorm, but she’d never bro
ught anyone home.

  “This is awkward. I’m worried that she might have an eating disorder,” he said.

  “Thanks for caring.” She pasted on a smile. “Marie is French. They’re all pale and thin. I would know if she had a disorder of that kind.” She motioned with the carafe. “Do you want more coffee?”

  He put his hand over his cup. “I’m fine. When exactly did she move here?”

  She flinched in the act of pouring and spilled burning liquid on her hand. “Ouch.” She slammed the carafe down, pulled paper towels off the rack, and wiped the mess before it rolled past the edge of the counter.

  “Abby—”

  “I’m fine.” Stupid, but fine. An uncomfortable silence pulsed between them. John finally rose from his seat and came around to Abby and put his arms around her. “Let’s not wake her. Marie needs her beauty sleep and I need you.” He gave Abby a pop kiss. “Yum,” he said. “You taste like coffee.”

  “Glad it’s not garlic?” She watched him closely for a reaction.

  His brow creased and relaxed. “Didn’t you brush your teeth after dinner last night?” He brushed her hair aside and kissed the side of her neck, letting his tongue slide down the length of it. Then he kissed along the V-neck collar of her shirt, lingering over each mound before nudging his way up the other side and taking her ear into his mouth. He flicked his tongue into her ear and pressed her against the sink.

  She should have been turned on, but instead she was cold with dread. Was she overreacting, or had he just looked at her neck?

  She stepped out of his embrace. “I’ll get my purse.”

  After John dropped her back at the house, Abby rushed to Marie’s bedchamber and plopped on the bed. “What are we doing today?”

  Marie stretched, her movements languid. “I have an errand to run.”

  “Can I go with you?”

  “Not this time, ma chérie.” Marie rolled out of bed in a fluid, graceful movement. She opened the closet door and began pulling out clothes.

  “He knows,” Marie said, not turning around so she wouldn’t see the disappointment that was surely in Abby’s eyes.

  “Yes.” Abby sighed.

  This moment repeated every generation but could go either way. “Yes.”

  “I’ll go heat up your meal.”

  Marie listened to the departing steps and fervently hoped Abby wouldn’t hate her afterward.

  John walked into his living room, his total attention on a seventy-inch screen as a bulky pitcher threw a foul ball. John took a swig of beer and froze.

  “Hello, John.” Marie sat quietly on the sectional opposite the television, the dark room sparsely lit by the images flashing on and off the television.

  He turned slowly, eyes wide with disbelief and fear. He darted a glance at the open sliding glass door and back at Marie. “I . . .” he started, but his voice cracked. “How did you get in?”

  “I flew.”

  His eyes widened into saucers and she frowned. The boy had no sense of humor.

  “What are you doing here?”

  She patted the space next to her. “Please sit.”

  He took a step back and shook his head.

  “I’m not going to hurt you, John.”

  “If it’s okay with you, I’ll stand.”

  She rose to join him.

  His hand shot up as if to ward her off. “No. No. You stay there.”

  “As you wish.” She sat back down and crossed her arms and legs.

  “I thought I had to invite you in?” He blurted out then cringed.

  She smiled. Just as well. It was finally out in the open. She wasn’t there for a tea party and he knew it. She cocked her head, her complete focus on his every move, from his accelerated heartbeat to the almost imperceptible shaking of his limbs. He was on the verge of bolting, like a gazelle sensing a predator.

  “What are you?” He ran a hand through his tousled hair.

  “What do you think I am?”

  “I should be sober for this,” he said.

  Marie arched a brow.

  He began pacing back and forth from kitchen to front door, and she followed him with her eyes, prepared to pounce if he reached for a knife or attempted escape. Otherwise, she didn’t move, trying to appear as harmless as possible.

  After another reinforcing swig of beer, he stopped and placed the bottle down on the glass top of the dining room table. “This is crazy. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you’re a vampire?”

  “I think we both know the answer to that.”

  He fell back into the dining room chair. “I don’t understand. How can that be scientifically possible?”

  “I can assure you it is very possible.”

  He looked at her, and quickly looked away as if suddenly realizing she might be able to hypnotize him. “Is Dracula real? Are you from Transylvania and pretending to be French? Is Abby infected? Does she have free will?”

  Her mouth tightened. “She is my family, not my prisoner. Does she act like she does not have free will?”

  “Does Odin know?”

  “Of course.”

  “How did he take it?”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine?” he asked, incredulous. “He’s dating a fucking vampire and he took it fine?”

  “You are dating the family member of a vampire and you are fine. Am I that different, John?”

  “You actually sound reasonable.” He rubbed his face. “I don’t know. You’re only supposed to exist in books and movies.”

  “Yes, we have established that. But some things that go bump in the night do exist.”

  “Why did you come?”

  “I have come to warn you. If you hurt her, I will hurt you. Do you understand?”

  He paled. “You don’t need to threaten me. I wouldn’t hurt Abby. I love her.”

  “Then you have nothing to fear. Go to her now, she is worried about you.”

  “I will call her, but I need a little time to digest everything.”

  He lowered his eyes from the intensity of her scrutiny and her esteem for him plummeted to nil. If Mathieu had survived the carriage attack, how would he have reacted to her condition? She knew he wouldn’t care, any more than Odin did. Abby deserved a man who loved her unconditionally and who would protect her.

  “I understand this is a lot to digest, but please call her now and let her know you are fine.” She emphasized fine. “With all of this. The poor child has the silly notion I came here to kill you.”

  His head snapped up. “What?”

  “Please put her mind to rest.”

  “I’ll call her. I will.”

  “Obviously, you will keep this to yourself.”

  “That you’re a vampire? Are you kidding? No one would believe me.”

  “You are welcome in our home and I sincerely hope this will not deter you from continuing your relationship with my Abigail.”

  “She needs to separate truth from fiction for me.”

  “She is good at that. And John.” She waited until he met her eyes before continuing. “You have my protection. As long as you do not hurt Abby, you have nothing to fear from me.”

  He nodded.

  “Good. I will let myself out now.” She crossed the room. When she opened the door, the broken doorknob clanged to the floor. “You might have to replace that. It seems I don’t know my own strength.”

  Chapter XX

  Odin reached for Marie. When his hand came away empty, the absence stung as if a part of him was missing. He rolled and buried his nose in her pillow. Traces of a citrusy shampoo and the ever-present lavender clung to the cotton fibers. He rubbed his nose in it and inhaled until he was dizzy with her. Something was missing—his heart. Mar
ie had stolen it and his chest would ache until they were together again. He drew in her scent for another fortifying breath before lifting his head. The alarm clock emitted a sonic boom of a wail and flashed red numbers. He was so tired he could almost ignore it. But he had to go.

  Marie would be asleep, safely tucked away in her room with Abby keeping an iron vigil somewhere in the house. The thought tugged at the corners of his mouth and a fresh wave of yearning tightened his gut. He squeezed the pillow and inhaled again. Despite heightening the yearning to be at her side, the scent also mollified his wolf, fooling it into thinking she was out of sight but near. What am I going to do with you, beautiful?

  He stretched his arms and rolled his shoulders until his muscles eased, then he sprang out of bed. His father expected him at the werewolf compound, where the Ulfsson pack resided with few exceptions. It was on the outskirts of the Everglades National Park and he had a long drive before him. As hard as it was going to be to stay awake with bright sunlight glaring in his face, it would be even harder not to return to Marie’s house and crawl into bed with her.

  He walked through the main house amidst the flurry of preparations as the household readied for the arrival of the Slovakian pack. Grumpy after sitting in barely moving traffic, he wasn’t in the mood to play nice with his father or his guests and escaped upstairs to the room he kept on the premises. This room lacked the modern chic he loved about his place on the beach, but the warm earthiness comforted. Like a willowy siren, his pillow beckoned. It smelled clean of spring detergent, not lavender, but he fell into immediate oblivion.

  Deena entered Odin’s bedroom. She sat on his bed and the mattress shifted with her weight. The movement pierced through Odin’s sleep. He murmured, “Marie.” She winced and nudged him in annoyance. He stretched but didn’t wake. She searched his face for a sign he might be faking, but the fluttering of his lashes suggested he was in deep sleep. She glanced down his body. Gold tanned legs and chest stuck out of white, tumbled sheets. Arms joined above his head. She understood why the corpse was interested in him, but not why he was interested in her. Her spies had been thorough and the stupid man had not sensed their presence.