by Lynsay Sands
G.G. nodded. “I called my parents after I finished talking to Mirabeau and Tiny. I thought I should tell them about us, and let them know that we might be flying over soon. It seemed better than just showing up and giving my mother fits.” He paused briefly, but then quickly added, “I say might be flying over, because I would have checked with you before booking the flights or anything. I wasn’t going all caveman on you.”
He heard her sigh behind him and then she whispered, “I wish I could hug you right now.”
“I do too,” he admitted, his voice husky, but then shook his head. “Unfortunately, we have talking to do right now and if you hugged me . . .”
“That talking wouldn’t get done,” she said, sounding resigned.
He heard her cross the room and the scrape of a chair being pulled out. G.G. wasn’t surprised to see her settling at the island again when he glanced around.
“So, we will talk,” she said resolutely, clearing her throat. “You told your parents about us?”
There was no mistaking the anxiety in her voice and G.G. turned back to the stove to hide the smile that started to curve his lips. It was the anxiety of the partner threatened with the dreaded in-laws, something he wouldn’t have to worry about since Ildaria’s abuela was long dead and she had no other family. That thought drove his smile away, and he assured her, “They were very pleased.”
“Si. Of course,” she muttered, sounding distracted. “They have been hoping for this for a long time.”
“Yes. So there’s nothing to worry about. You could be a troll and they’d still love you, and you’re no troll. They will adore you. Hell, my mother will probably drop to her knees and kiss your feet the minute she gets in the door.”
“What? Wait!” she said with alarm. “In what door? You said we were not going to England.”
“We aren’t,” he agreed. “But my parents are flying here. Robert wants to help resolve this and Mother—”
G.G. stopped and turned sharply at a choking sound from Ildaria. His eyes widened incredulously when he saw her expression. His beautiful brave woman who had taken on two Enforcers and kicked their asses last night, looked terrified at the idea of meeting his parents. She was pale, her eyes golden-brown saucers, her mouth shaped into a rictus of horror, and she was clutching her throat as if she were indeed choking. Then she started to babble away in Spanish, her hands suddenly leaving her throat to fly about in a way he’d never seen from her before as she began what sounded like either a rant, or possibly a plea. He couldn’t tell. He couldn’t understand a single word she was saying. But Spanish sure was a pretty language, he thought. And her hands looked like little birds as she waved them around. Beautiful.
Stopping abruptly, she frowned and said, “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I’ve just never seen you get excited about anything before,” he said with a slow smile, and then added, “Well, outside of sex.”
Ildaria flushed bright pink and moaned, “They will hate me.”
“No, they won’t,” he assured her. “They’ll love you to bits. My mother has been waiting for you for nearly twenty years.”
“She has been waiting for an immortal who would make you want to turn. I am not that. I failed her,” Ildaria wailed, dropping her head onto the island surface.
G.G. shifted uncomfortably and frowned. “You haven’t failed anything. My not turning has nothing to do with you.”
“Of course it does,” she said, sitting up with irritation. She scowled at him briefly and then closed her eyes and groaned. “She will come here and she will—” Ildaria shook her head and then launched into another spate of Spanish.
It made G.G. wish he understood the language. Or, maybe he was better off not knowing. Her suggestion that she wasn’t enough to make him want to turn had been guilt-inducing. He’d never imagined she would take it that way, and it was ridiculous. Because if anyone could have convinced him to turn, he was one hundred percent positive it would have been Ildaria. He’d even considered it, if only briefly before his more sensible side had reminded him he was perfectly happy being mortal and living a mortal life.
“When are they coming?”
The sudden English caught his attention, and G.G. blinked and shifted his thoughts to answer her. “Well—”
“This would not be considered an emergency by the Council there, so surely they could not arrange a flight before tomorrow, could they?” she asked hopefully.
“Er . . . well, Robert is on the Council,” he admitted reluctantly. “And he called me after talking to Scotty—he’s the head of the UK Council,” G.G. explained, and then continued. “Scotty has agreed to accompany him and my mother here to handle the situation with Villaverde.”
Much to his surprise that seemed to ease her concerns somewhat. “Oh, good, good. As the head of the Council I am sure this Scotty cannot just drop everything and fly out right away. It could be days before they leave. Si?”
“Er . . .” G.G. shifted on his feet uncomfortably, but finally said, “It won’t be days, Ildaria. Scotty is a good friend of my parents and he knows how worried they have been about my finding a life mate, or being a life mate to someone or whatever,” he muttered, and shook his head. “He won’t make them wait days. In fact, they’re probably—”
A knock on the door interrupted him.
“I’ll get it,” Ildaria said, suddenly solemn and grim.
Nodding, G.G. turned back to his bacon. It was done, so he began lifting it out piece by piece onto the paper towel covered plate he’d prepared ahead of time. He was getting the eggs out of the refrigerator when Ildaria led Lucian into the kitchen. G.G. eyed the man briefly and then shifted his gaze to H.D., expecting the usual barking and hullabaloo, but the dog was sitting still and tense where he’d been lying just a moment ago. He was also eyeing Lucian Argeneau with wariness, not looking the least interested in drawing the man’s attention his way by barking.
That was a new reaction from the dog, G.G. thought, and turned back to the refrigerator to grab the second pack of bacon he’d brought over with him. He’d brought it along thinking to offer some to Mirabeau and Tiny, but they’d once again said they were good when he’d stopped to mention it to them on the way across the hall, so he’d only cooked the one package. Lucian, however, never turned down food. The man was always hungry. G.G. was sure that if he didn’t fry the second package, he and Ildaria would be lucky to get a piece of bacon each. Lucian Argeneau would eat every last slice of what he’d just finished cooking.
“Lucian,” he said in greeting as he carried the eggs and bacon over to set them on the counter next to the stove.
“Joshua,” Lucian greeted him in response. The man wasn’t one for nicknames unless it was one he had given the person. G.G. was always Joshua to him.
He noted Ildaria’s startled expression at the use of his name and then Lucian said, “Call him Joshua then, Angelina. At least, in those moments.”
When G.G. glanced between the pair in question at the odd comment Ildaria scowled and explained, “He was very rudely reading my mind again, and”—her scowl eased—“I was thinking that I like your name and am uncomfortable calling you G.G. when we are . . . being intimate,” she said, flushing, and then rushed on. “It is a nickname and feels disrespectful, or impersonal in such special moments.”
“And I suggested she use your real name,” Lucian finished when she fell silent.
Much to G.G.’s amusement, Ildaria rolled her eyes now. She obviously wasn’t the least cowed by the man’s power and position. At least, if she was, she had no intention of showing it. He suspected she’d had to put a brave face on a lot over the centuries.
Ignoring Lucian, G.G. met her gaze and said, “I understand. Why do you think I’ve taken to calling you Angel in our shared dreams and out?”
“Because it is her name,” Lucian said dryly.
Now it was G.G.’s turn to roll his eyes. But either Lucian didn’t notice, or he chose to ignore it in favor
of telling Ildaria, “You should use the name you were given. It is who you are. Who your family wanted you to be.”
G.G. noted the way Ildaria’s jaw tightened at Lucian’s lecture and decided a change of subject was needed. Turning to the package of bacon he’d just retrieved from the fridge, he asked, “Are you hungry, Lucian?”
“I could eat,” Lucian said mildly, settling himself on a chair at the island.
“I thought you wanted to talk about the South American Enforcers,” Ildaria said laconically.
“I can do that while we wait for Joshua to finish the bacon and make the eggs,” Lucian said easily.
G.G. opened the bacon package and started laying out strips on the long griddle he’d placed over two of the burners on the stove. Once the last piece was on, he put the first batch of bacon in the oven to stay warm with the potatoes and toast.
“Coffee or tea?” Ildaria asked, her voice a bit snappy.
“Tea,” Lucian said, and when Ildaria simply stared at him, he added, “Please,” as an afterthought.
G.G. suspected Lucian was not a man used to saying please or thank you. Actually, he was pretty sure he wasn’t. The man didn’t even bother with hello and goodbye during phone conversations. G.G. didn’t think Lucian was intentionally rude, he was just a very abrupt man, used to giving orders. Orders did not usually include please or thank you unless you were in a restaurant.
“So,” Lucian said finally when Ildaria set a cup of tea in front of him and stepped back to eye him expectantly. “The South Americans were not trying to kidnap you.”
“What?” Ildaria asked with disbelief. Crossing her arms with a harrumph, she shook her head. “They are lying.”
“They cannot lie to me,” Lucian said simply. “I read their minds. They approached you to invite you back to South America on the behalf of the head of their Council, Juan Villaverde.”
Ildaria’s mouth tightened at that name, and she growled, “I don’t care if you’ve read their minds. They may have been told to simply ask me back, but when I refused, they would have been ordered to take me.”
Lucian shook his head. “As I said, I read their minds. They were ordered just to invite you personally. When Juan called a week ago and asked me to send you back to South America, I felt sure it had to do with your time on the pirate ship, so I refused. But, apparently Villaverde has been looking for you for quite a while, and it has nothing to do with the mortals you attacked on Vasco’s boat.”
“No, it has to do with Juan attacking me a little over two hundred years ago,” Ildaria snapped.
Lucian’s eyebrows rose and then lowered again and his eyes concentrated on her.
Reading her mind, G.G. thought, and was surprised when Ildaria merely lifted her chin, and apparently let him. Except that he supposed it was a much faster and less stressful way for the man to get the full story. At least, this way she didn’t have to relive it again in the telling, he thought as he turned back to the bacon and left them to it. A startled sound from Lucian a few moments later had him glancing over his shoulder in time to see the pained look on the man’s face before it cleared.
Guessing he’d got to the biting part, and knowing that there was still more for him to read, G.G. turned back to his cooking.
“I see,” Lucian said quietly several moments later. “I was not aware of any of this.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t read it from my mind when the men first brought me here from Montana,” Ildaria commented.
G.G. looked around to see Lucian shrug. “I was looking only for information on the mortals you attacked on the ship, and the reason for it. I was not interested in a recounting of your entire two centuries of life.”
Ildaria nodded and walked around the island to drop into the chair farthest from Lucian’s before asking, “And now that you know?”
Lucian was silent for several minutes and then sighed and agreed with what she’d said earlier. “I suspect they would have been ordered to take you if you had refused. Villaverde has been hunting you too long to just accept a no thank you.”
Ildaria relaxed a little at that, and turned her attention to her own tea.
“How do you want your eggs, Lucian?” G.G. asked when silence followed. “Scrambled, over easy, or sunny side up?”
“Sunny side up,” Lucian answered, and then recalled the, “Please,” on his own, if a second later.
G.G. grabbed the eggs. He already knew Ildaria preferred hers over easy. This wasn’t the first time he’d made her breakfast this week, although she’d made it for him more.
A heavy sigh caught his ear, and then Lucian said, “I do not understand this. The man I saw in your memories is not the Juan Villaverde I know.”
G.G. glanced around to see Ildaria staring at Lucian with incomprehension. “What do you mean? You know him?”
“Of course. He is the head of the South American Council,” Lucian said as if that should make it obvious that he would of course know him, and then he added, “Aside from that, I have known him for at least a thousand years. We used to be great friends, and the man I knew was always honorable.”
“Does an honorable man raise the price of blood to force his people to give up land he wants?” Ildaria asked sharply.
Lucian scowled at the question. “Vasco mentioned that to me, and I could hardly credit it.”
“Well, credit it. It is true,” Ildaria assured him. “I lived and worked at the shore for decades and saw it happen.”
“You had property on the shore?” G.G. asked with interest and wondered if she still owned it. A beach house in Punta Cana might be nice, he thought and then recalled that Ildaria wouldn’t be safe there.
“No.” Ildaria shook her head. “I never had enough money to buy property of my own. But I knew an immortal who had an old hut on the edge of their property that they let me use when I was between jobs,” she said and then explained, “For a long time I took positions with mortal plantation owners, either as a house servant or laborer. Most of those jobs came with a bed in the barracks with the other single women working there. But I could only work so long in one place before one of the Enforcers would come sniffing around and I would have to leave. Even if that did not happen, my not aging made me leave eventually. Then I would return to the hut by the sea, and live off of what money I’d managed to save until I found another position where I thought I would be safe for a while. More recently though, I switched to jobs on the fishing boats.”
“Hmmm.” Lucian looked dissatisfied. “Vasco said Juan’s raising of the price of blood for immortals only started about ten years ago?”
Ildaria shrugged. “That is when Vasco noticed and started the feeding tours. I am not sure how long it has gone on. I could not use the blood banks. There were always a couple of Juan’s Enforcers at the blood banks keeping an eye out for me.”
Lucian’s expression was grim. “Then how did you feed? Biting mortals is against the law in the areas governed by South American Council as well.”
“It has only been banned there for the last thirty years,” Ildaria said, appearing amused. “And that is when I switched from plantation work to jobs on the fishing boats.”
“You were feeding on the crew once the boats reached international waters,” Lucian said, sounding impressed, and then he asked, “Is that where Vasco got the idea for his tours?”
“Maybe,” Ildaria muttered. When Lucian’s gaze grew concentrated as he obviously tried to read the truth from her, she heaved a sigh of exasperation. “Oh, get out of my head, I will tell you. Si, he got the idea from me,” she conceded, and explained, “The immortal that was allowing me to use their hut was on the verge of losing his property. He had taken a mortgage out on it for renovations just before Juan started jacking up the price of blood. He could no longer afford the bank payments and the cost of blood too. He had gone to a canteen, considering risking biting a mortal rather than buy blood, so that he could pay his mortgage and not lose his property. I suspected as much and follo
wed to stop him. I was trying to convince him to take the occasional job on one of the fishing boats with me to get the blood he needed without putting himself at such risk. I was so concerned, I did not check to be sure there were no immortals there, but Vasco and Cristo were and heard me pointing out that the Council could not execute him if he fed in international waters.”
She shrugged. “They approached me as we left. Vasco liked what I had said and had an old pirate ship. He wanted to fix it up and start tours taking tourists out into international seas where the poorer immortals and those under threat of losing their homes could feed. But he didn’t know many of the poorer immortals. And he didn’t think they would trust him if he approached the ones he did know of. He was Juan’s son, after all,” she pointed out. “So he asked me to take Cristo around to convince those who needed it most to join his ‘crew.’”
G.G. smiled faintly to himself. He hadn’t known this, but leave it to Ildaria to be the clever one behind such an endeavor. It wasn’t just her fighting skill that had helped her stay alive and out of Villaverde’s clutches all these years. Her wits too had kept her safe and alive. It was probably the main reason for it. Thank God she’d been born with a sharp mind, he thought as he began to transfer eggs from the pan to the plates.
“Enough talk,” he said as he carried the first two plates to the island and set them in front of Lucian and Ildaria. “Time to eat.”
He didn’t wait for a response, but grabbed a dish towel, opened the oven and grabbed the bowl of fried potatoes and the plate that held the toast. Carrying them to the island, he set them on the cutting board he’d set out earlier to hold the hot plates.
Realizing that Ildaria was no longer in her seat, he glanced around to see that she’d gone to retrieve silverware for all of them. Grateful for the help now that the cooking was over, he grabbed the plate of bacon from the oven next and quickly transferred the newly cooked bacon onto the pile already there, then grabbed the plate holding his own eggs and carried both to the island.