by Lissa Kasey
“Will I have to drink from all the cibos?”
“No. Choose one from each fledgling. You won’t need more than a sip. In a few hours you’ll be near bursting with blood and memories, hopefully.” She gave him a friendly smile but didn’t attempt to touch him. “I’ll be by later with my picks.” She pointed to another booth filled with men who looked a little older, probably late twenties, early thirties, all seeming to be chatting about something on their phones as they were sharing pictures. “I like my food a bit more seasoned than some of these.”
Gabe nodded. “I think I do too.”
She headed across the room as Waverly approached alone. He was a bear of a man, easily six foot four, and huge through the shoulders, a ginger tint to his hair, and a well-maintained, but long beard decorated his face, and actually seemed to soften the small bead of his dark eyes. “Boss,” Waverly said, sitting down across from Gabe.
The girls hovered near their table, all seeming a bit nervous. If this was how the evening was going to go, it would be brutal. Gabe didn’t care for unwilling food, or worse, scared food. It was a solid realization that had him sitting up straighter as he examined them. “I’m supposed to pick from them? Do you have anything not so skittish?”
Waverly laughed, a booming, almost affectionate sound that did nothing to ease Gabe’s headache, but did make him feel like he’d heard it before, many times. “I wondered about that. Thought maybe you liked skittish now. Though last time I met that witch of yours he was mostly steel instead of willow. But I brought Angelica too.” He waved his big meaty paw toward the bar and a woman stood. She was no scared kid, but a woman probably closer to forty than twenty, the vague beginning of lines near her eyes indicated she smiled a lot. And she wasn’t the thin twig the others were, instead curved and proud in tight jeans and a low-cut top. Her dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail, brown eyes confident.
She crossed the room without the hesitation or fear the other girls had shown and sat down in Waverly’s lap. He wrapped a firm arm around her and delivered a kiss, before saying, “He doesn’t like the chickens.”
“Who does?” She asked. Angelica held out her hand toward Gabe. The entire arm a bare stretch of flesh that shouldn’t have been all that interesting. But the blue trace of veins beneath, and thick smell of blood had Gabe clutching the table, his stomach trying to claw its way up into his throat. “It’s okay to be a bit rough,” she assured him. “I’m not as young as I look. Or fragile.”
“She’ll be changed in the next year or so,” Waverly added. “Had her almost a half century now?” His gaze met hers, as though he was confirming the dates. It didn’t seem possible that she could be that old.
Gabe’s teeth seemed to throb. Oddly enough, his cock didn’t react. Not like it had to Seiran when they’d been in the kitchen. Though he could smell her blood and felt himself begin to salivate. He blinked, his vision narrowing a little. But he took her hand, and luckily did not get a rush of memories from her. Either they hadn’t met before, or had very little contact.
And he hesitated, breathing in the scent of her blood, warm and fresh, not the decadent chocolate cake with fresh strawberries. More like spice and mulled wine. He pressed his lips to one vein, feeling it beneath the skin like a heartbeat. He knew in that instant a dozen things he’d forgotten. Like how to bite with precision, and heal a wound. He didn’t realize he’d actually punctured flesh until the hot bite of her blood flooded over his tongue. Not as good as his witch, but so much better than a bag.
Seasoned, Zoe had said. Yes. He very much preferred seasoned. He heard the small sounds coming from her, Waverly kissing her, their gaze locked, as he shifted the pain to pleasure for her. Gabe worried he’d drink too deeply, but Waverly reached out a hand, and laid it over the back of Gabe’s.
The memories were a sudden jolt like being struck with lightning. Gabe could do little more than hold on.
Chapter 15
Seiran worked to shove back the well of emotion battering him. He didn’t have the right to feel betrayed. He knew Gabe would need to eat, and not just blood from bags or him. He’d done enough reading, and asked plenty of questions over the years, to know the many things Gabe hadn’t shared back then. And bottled blood, which was no longer a thing, meant that vampires would need regular donors. The stuff from the bags, even as tested and monitored as it was, lacked a lot of the living nutrients and magic essence needed to sustain a vampire.
But logic, as sound as it was, couldn’t alleviate emotion, which was anything but logical. The anxiety over Gabe having to go back to ground intensified too. What if he hadn’t been ready? What if he went nuts and hurt one of the kids? What if Seiran ended up alone again? He supposed that was the least of all evils if he was being honest.
Gabe hadn’t been back long enough for him to get attached. Except that standing in that field, surrounded by horrors, and wrapped in strong, comforting arms? Nothing could compare with that. Maybe that was a memory he could hold on to for a while.
Seiran mounted the stairs in a rush, passing Jamie without comment. He had a feeling this separation—Mike showing up as he did to take Gabe—the very second they arrived, was Jamie’s fault. He couldn’t help but be mad, even if Jamie was probably right. But he had more important things to deal with than his own struggles right now. His baby needed him.
Inside the entry, Kaine waited, looking small, like he rarely did, closer to his actual human age than his siblings, but the unmistakable fire of his hair and giant blue anime-looking eyes made Seiran just want to wrap him up in hugs forever. Technically, in the human realm, he was ten. And at that moment, he looked it, unfinished, young and afraid. Little more than a child, and not trying to mimic those around him with glamour and fae magic. Seiran grabbed his baby and squeezed, holding on tight. “What’s wrong?”
Kaine collapsed into Seiran’s arms, his face snuffling into Sei’s neck where it met his shoulder, hot tears finding their way to his skin.
“Oh, baby,” Seiran said, “Talk to me.” He carried Kaine through the house and out to the arboretum, where everything was still and silent. The only lights were decorative, rather than the rolling glow of the fae. The twins had a strong affinity to the earth, but this was Kaine’s play zone, as the other two had mostly outgrown the space. Toward the back there were a handful of beehives, full of fat honeybees that lived and loved the space year-round. But even their buzzing was quiet and distant this late at night.
Seiran sat them on a stone bench near the little water fountain Kelly had added a decade back. The sound a delicate gurgle of rolling water, soothing as they sat among the blooms. He let Kaine cry. Didn’t try to pry out whatever might be wrong, simply held him, rocked him, and whispered soft comforting things.
“I’m here,” Seiran promised. He would never abandon his kids. The earth would have to reclaim him first. The fae weren’t as kind, didn’t really think of themselves in the parental sort of way. He didn’t fault Bryar for that. Bryar tried more than most of the fae would, spent time with Kaine, tried to teach him things, and offer comfort. He copied a lot of things Seiran did, trying to provide for a child who wasn’t really wholly part of either world. They all sort of forgot sometimes, with the intense power that Kaine showed most days, that he was still part human, even if that part was witch.
Seiran hummed and sang a little. He didn’t do lullabies, had never really learned them, even in the children’s youngest days. They’d always been fonder of popular music. He sang through a couple Christina Perri songs he knew, the crooning easier than most of the more upbeat stuff the kids enjoyed. It wasn’t about the words anyway.
When the tears slowed and Kaine breathed deeply against him, he gently asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”
Kaine clung a while longer, time passing, but no one bothered them. Seiran hoped the other two were in bed at least. “It’s not fair,” Kaine whispered in a half-broken breath.
“No,” Seiran agreed. Nothing was fair. He didn’t k
now what at this particular moment, but found few things were. “Can you tell me about it?”
“The babies died.”
“Okay, which babies? Fae babies?” He didn’t think so as fae children were rare, at least among Kaine’s class of fae, which had been part of his agreement with them. The fae valued power. Magic created the fae, so Seiran’s power combined with a fae was certain to create a powerful child. And it had, but not one that really fit in either world. They thought they had all the answers, but Kaine was too human for them.
“Bunnies,” Kaine corrected.
“Okay. We had bunnies?” There weren’t any wild animals in the arboretum. Just the bees and occasionally the fae. And on the new moon they all shifted to play, the twins as foxes, Seiran as his lynx, even Jamie as the big bear he was, though he often swam with Kelly. Kaine bounced around in forms, able to have many without any sort of trouble. He seemed almost weightless most days, flying high without fetter. Seiran hoped his baby wouldn’t one day float away never to be seen again.
“Outside,” Kaine agreed.
“We had baby bunnies outside and they died?”
“Yes.”
“It happens sometimes.”
“A bird got the mommie.”
Ah, the circle of life. Beautiful and horrific all at once.
“I looked it up on the internet. Ki helped. Kura too. We tried to save the babies. Feed them…”
“And they didn’t make it.” Seiran hugged him tighter. Had they told him, he might have been able to get the bunnies to one of the nature societies for help. But he’d ask his older two about it later. For all he knew they’d contacted someone, and tried to care for them while waiting for a reply.
“No,” Kaine snuffled. “Everything here dies. I hate it.” His tiny fingers dug into Seiran, hurting, but Seiran said nothing. Kaine didn’t always remember he was stronger than normal humans. And nothing he could do would permanently hurt Seiran. Seiran tried to let him feel, no matter what it was, and work it out. It was one of the few ways to really help Kaine understand the differences between the worlds.
Kaine wasn’t bound by a mortal form. Having been born of magic, rather than mortal birth of a being, he pinged around, trying to feel and learn, but still free to try things most would never even dream of. It was a bit godlike, which Seiran always found disconcerting. Though since his tie to the earth gave him a lot of similar traits, he tried not to get too worked up about it. But training Kaine at a very young age, that other people were more fragile than him, had been difficult. Seiran thought they’d done a good job, but maybe it still needed to be reenforced.
“I’m sorry,” Seiran said. He kissed Kaine’s hair and rubbed his back, continuing to rock him gently. The human world wasn’t really any less cruel than the world across the veil. But Kaine didn’t need less hope. “Would you rather stay with Bryar?”
“No,” Kaine said fiercely. He pulled back to put his little hands on Seiran’s face. “You can’t die.”
“I’m not going to die,” Seiran said. Not any time soon at least. The earth made it uncomfortably clear that She was fond of having him as Her advocate. She wanted him to do more, but seemed to understand he was one being, and limited by the brutality of the world at large. Humanity was working hard at killing the earth and therefore themselves. The Goddess would send more disasters, and Seiran’s warnings were only heard by so many. They were all on a runaway train.
“If I go… and come back, sometimes the time is different.”
“Yes,” Seiran agreed. The first time it had happened, weeks passing without seeing his kid, he’d panicked. And he had not been kind to Bryar, who informed him that not all things ran linear like the mortal realm, or as slowly. “It’s why when you’re here, it’s important that you spend time with us.”
“I’m not like Ki and Kura.”
“No,” Seiran said, “But not all that different, either. You’re still mine. And I love you. You understand that, right? You will always have a place with me. I will always love you, no matter what.”
“Even if it’s my fault the bunnies died?”
Ah, the missing puzzle piece. “Why do you think that?”
“I tried using my power to help them.”
But Kaine didn’t have power over living things, or at least things with souls or esoteric energy like souls. His abilities ran similar to Seiran’s, almost a pillar level control of magic. Which make plants grow, but the only real control on the living it had was to take them back to be used as fodder for rebirth. He could imagine what terrible accident must have happened. The earth snatching the babies from them, or even the babies decomposing in an instant. Heartbreaking, and devastating, but an accident.
“And you didn’t mean to hurt them,” Seiran said.
“No,” Kaine promised.
“Did your uncle talk to you about why that happened?” Because if Jamie was good for anything, it was explaining science and magic in terms anyone could understand.
“Yes,” Kaine said.
“And you understand? We don’t have that power. Not you, not me, we can’t bring the dead back to life. Energy given has to be taken from somewhere else, it’s a balance.” The bunnies had to have been very near dead if the earth had accepted them easily. It didn’t normally steal life just because someone willed it to. Though on the rare occasion it could be merciful. The earth was often swift and cruel, that was true enough, but not even Seiran could demand it kill someone and expect compliance. They called him the Green Man because they reasoned he was married to the earth. A partnership, not a dictatorship, and certainly more a matriarchy than a patriarchy. If he started killing people at random, without Her consent, She’d take him back without a moment’s notice. Fuel was one thing, unnecessary fodder another. “Had they already passed? The babies?”
“The littlest one wouldn’t move anymore,” Kaine admitted softly. “Uncle Jamie wanted us to go inside. Wash our hands.”
Because Seiran’s many years of OCD cleaning had ingrained itself in his family. And Jamie had known those bunnies weren’t going to make it.
“They weren’t dirty,” Kaine whispered. “No more than I usually am.”
“You’re a bit of a pigpen,” Seiran teased, still rocking Kaine lightly. “If rolling in the dirt were a hobby…”
“It feels good,” Kaine admitted.
“It does sometimes,” Seiran said. He looked around at the huge space. The arboretum itself larger than the house, extended to give them all room to run, but warded, because beyond these walls, outside and into the woods, Seiran still had trouble not letting the earth take complete control of him. She was more than willing to steal his free will, and make him Her puppet, whether that meant the rest of his life as little more than a lynx, or being used to demand change through mortal violence, he’d never wanted to know. They played inside to keep him sane. “Do you want to run with me for a bit. Looks like we have the space to ourselves.”
Kaine climbed down out of Seiran’s arms, dropping to the ground and stripping like he was in a hurry. Though technically, Kaine didn’t have to. He wasn’t bound by those rules. It was just a habit he’d picked up from his family. Seiran calmly folded the discarded things, then began to remove and fold his, setting them on the bench.
Before he could get his shoes off, Kaine was changed. Not a fox or lynx, but a cat with a dusky tan color, white through the face and paws, and some dark bits on the back. This form was tiny, maybe eight pounds, and what Seiran now knew to be called a sand cat. It also seemed to be the form Kaine defaulted to most often when not influenced by his siblings. A choice? Or simply the easiest one for him? Seiran didn’t demand answers. Kaine might not even know himself. Maybe in a few years Seiran would try to pry.
The door to the house opened and Jamie appeared, not actually entering the atrium, but setting an old-fashioned alarm clock on the steps beside the door. Then he left as silently as he came, closing the door behind him, and leaving them to their comfort.
The first few seconds were always a bit disorienting. The earth became loud, almost a siren call, irresistible. It was a lot like a screaming come to me, child song that repeated over and over in his head. If the door outside hadn’t been locked and warded, he wouldn’t have stayed. But even as a lynx, he knew the wards were there. Strong, and they would sting if he got too close to the barriers.
He hopped over a slew of decorative rocks to find the loose area of soil that was always left open, and often refilled with fresh topsoil. He flopped over and rolled around; the dirt cool and welcoming on his fur.
A tiny missile pelted him in the stomach, little claws and sharp teeth nipping. Seiran reacted by tackling, rolling and then cleaning. Dirty baby. Kaine struggled to get away, indignant because he wanted to be dirty. He skittered away, jumping sideways, a ball of floof with a tail puffed up. He was tiny compared to Seiran’s lynx, which was more of a Canadian type of lynx, mostly gray with giant paws, though not much more than twenty-five pounds. Kaine was tiny, his head smaller than Seiran’s paw. Which meant Seiran was always careful and aware of his baby.
They chased around for a while, Kaine landing on Seiran’s back a few times. Seiran picking him up by the scruff a time or two, to carry him out of a particularly high tree. It was a constant battle of play, bath, play, snuggle, and play.
Kaine woke the bees. He danced around in the flutter of wings like he was king of something. The bees seeming a bit disoriented, but deciding to go to work anyway, and finding nearby buds to feed. Seiran sent out a bit of magic, the tingle spreading from his paws into the earth, waking worms and roots, springing more flowers to bloom.