An odd foreboding shivered through me, cutting into the morning’s sticky warmth. Whether Eric had meant it as a prophecy, a threat, or a promise or if it was all coming from the cold man didn’t matter. Something was coming, something huge and overwhelming and transformative, something only he had the power to see. Eric was at the heart of everything, and with him, me and Gigi and the baby.
And he was right. None would ever claim my love again, no matter what the future brought.
His words lingered in my mind as the sun caressed Oriana and her skin sizzled. A whimper escaped her, morphing into a ragged, continuous scream as her feet burst into flame and the sun rose ever higher, consuming her the way she’d consumed the world around her. Relentless, vicious, and without mercy.
We watched until her screams faded and she burnt to a crisp, until the fat melted off the muscle and dribbled into the sand, until the only thing left of her was a pile of human shaped ashes and fragments of bone.
And when it was done, we walked through the deep shade provided by the hardwoods and reentered a home that would never again be marred by her presence.
She was the second vampire whose burning death I’d witnessed. I was pretty sure she wouldn’t be the last.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Eric and I spent the day switching between taking care of Anna Grace, helping Remy take over Oriana’s holdings, and playing mediator to the various factions lingering in her former home. Well, Eric did, anyway. I just stood there and looked menacing on the off chance anybody wanted to try something.
They didn’t. Maybe they were too afraid after witnessing the way Eric had taken down Fen. He’d siphoned off most of mine and Tangi’s strength and tapped a few others to do it, but hey. Not many full-blown vampires could’ve done the things he had over the past couple of months, something buzzed about in whispers and furtive glances among those who didn’t know us well.
At sunset, we loaded an unresisting Anna Grace into a borrowed vehicle and set off across the state. Tangi followed in a second car driven by Paolo. My wolf and I hadn’t had much of a chance to talk since he’d skinned Fen one measured knife stroke at a time, but there was something drifting between us now that I’d only felt in his sacred place: Peace.
Whatever demons Fen had raised in Tangi appeared to have been exorcised by the favorite’s death. Maybe the doing had been a little gorier than I’d expected, but even that served its purpose. Tangi was no longer the potential heir to his uncle’s leadership. He’d earned the right and the respect now gleaming out of his uncle’s expression.
I called when we hit the outskirts of Crookston. Ma and Pop bounded off the porch when we drove up, reaching us before Eric could even shut off the engine. They helped Anna Grace out of the car between them, Ma crying openly, Pop swiping at the odd tear daring to trickle down his worn cheek, and carried her upstairs for a good, hot bath.
She uttered not one peep, as she hadn’t since we’d rescued her.
We entered the house in pairs, me and Eric followed by Tangi and Paolo. Charity greeted us from the living room’s nearest entrance, her arms wrapped around herself, her shoulders hunched inward. Her blue eyes landed on Tangi, oddly subdued.
He pushed his way through the rest of us and planted himself in front of her, his hands loose at his sides. “You ok?”
She nodded, glanced at us, then down. “Is it always like that?”
“Always like what?” I asked.
“Like being right there.” She shivered, hugged herself tighter, scuffed a bare sole along the hardwood floor. “I watched you kill that man, Tangi. Felt Eric do…whatever it is he was doing.”
“Wait,” I said. “What do you mean, you watched it?”
Tangi shifted subtly, placing his tough werewolf body between me and my sister, his chin held at a defiant angle. “She’s part of me, the way you’re part of me.”
He was talking about bonding, and the only way I knew of to do that was with sex. I stabbed a finger at him, so furious, I could spit. “You swore you wouldn’t lay a hand on her.”
“I didn’t, not the way you mean.” He frowned and the ring in his lower lip shifted, like he’d flicked it with his tongue. “She asked me for a kiss. It sort of spiraled out of control.”
“You mean you had sex with her,” I said flatly.
Charity’s eyes went as big as dinner plates. “Geez, no, Jason. What do you take me for?”
A sex-starved maniac, just like her big brother. I clamped that thought between my gritted teeth, refusing to let it out.
Paolo’s lips twitched, then firmed. “He means the bond spiraled out of control, forming without intent on either of their parts. It happens sometimes with young werewolves.”
“Well, it can just unhappen,” I spat out. “I don’t want her dragged into this world any more than she has to be.”
Eric laid a calming hand on my arm, latching on when I tried to shrug him off. “Let it go, Jase. What’s done is done.”
And some things were meant.
Not where my sisters were concerned. I’d wanted them to have a choice, to exercise free will and live and find their own path. Wasn’t that why we’d made all those elaborate plans to take down Oriana in the first place, so my sisters and others like them could grow up in peace?
Eric’s hand tightened around my arm, imparting a small measure of comfort. She wanted it, Jase, the way you wanted it when we first met.
That stopped me in my tracks. I hadn’t known what I was getting into the night Eric walked into his apartment under the influence of the cold man, but I’d wanted him, wanted everything he and Gigi stood for. The love and family I’d longed to have since figuring out I was bi, a friendship so deep, I knew it would never end. What right did I have to deny my own sister that kind of relationship, if that’s really where her heart was leading her?
I blew out a sigh, scrubbed a hand over my head. “Ok, fine. But no sex.”
Wicked mischief gleamed in Charity’s eyes, edging out the unease. “Kissing isn’t sex.”
“It is as far as I’m concerned,” I retorted.
Eric had the good grace to contain his laughter. Not so Paolo. He threw his head back and laughed so hard, his dark eyes watered. I skewered him with a disgruntled glare, and ignored him completely when he smacked a friendly kiss to my mouth right there in front of my kid sister.
Paolo left an hour later with Di in tow, after spending a great deal of that time talking to Pop in the privacy of the barn while Ma and Charity helped a teary-eyed Di pack. I don’t know what was said, but when Pop followed Paolo inside, his shoulders held less tension than they had in days. I guess he’d reconciled himself to Di’s fate, whatever Remy had chosen to make of it, but none of what she’d done was Pop’s fault.
Maybe Eric had been right when he’d told me it wasn’t my fault. The guilt still lingered. It probably always would.
That night, after solemn goodbyes to Paolo and my eldest sister, after saying goodnight to Anna Grace and issuing a last warning to Char and Tangi about the sex thing, after watching my parents climb the stairs toward their own bed, I dragged Eric into the shower and made love to him under the warm spray of water sequestering us from the rest of the world. Watching him come was the most beautiful sight I’d ever seen, right up there with dropping a perfect three-pointer and stargazing on a cold winter’s night. I loved watching him so much, I made him come twice more, then helped him shore up his noodle-limp limbs and get ready for bed.
We fell asleep wrapped around each other, and slept straight through in spite of the stench of smoke lingering in the bedroom’s air.
It took us another week to wrap up business and family stuff in Crookston, much of it consumed by the former rather than the latter. Ma and Pop stuck close to home, coaxing Anna Grace out of the shell she’d withdrawn into.
Paolo dropped by every day to check on her. Until not-so-mad-anymore Trilly took over Fargo, Remy was still in charge, and they needed a strong presence in the area, ju
st in case a rogue crèche decided to stir up trouble.
Which would be a very foolish thing to attempt with Eric and Marco still in the area and the werewolves regaining most of their former territory. We were leaving my home state in much better shape than it had been in when we’d arrived. Hopefully, Remy and Trilly and Alden could maintain that shape and build on it, the way the old mistress had done before she’d walked into the light, abandoning the peaceful coexistence of the various underworlds she’d worked so hard to build.
Trilly and Kyle did drop by once, more to thank Eric for his help in healing her mind than anything. She kissed me sweetly and only zinged me once, just to remind me she could, I think. Kyle did more than kiss me sweetly, though. He dragged me into an empty room and tried to talk me into switching camps, using every measure at his disposal to persuade me. As attractive as the offer was, I had to decline. Kyle and Bon were no match for my mates, though I knew I could count on them to help if I ever needed it, and likewise on my part. We owed Kyle particularly, more than we could ever repay. He reminded me of that as he and Trilly said goodbye, and left his offer open, should I change my mind.
I wouldn’t, but I appreciated the thought.
Tangi and Charity behaved themselves, mostly. I caught him sneaking a kiss on her cheek once, and very wisely walked away. If that’s the worst they got up to, eh. By the time I’d reached Charity’s age, I had a rep as a fast talking sex machine. That she considered a sweet kiss on her cheek a little risqué said loads about her mindset, so much different than mine had been back then. She’d figure it out eventually, and along the way, maybe I’d make peace with the path she’d willfully stepped onto. Until then, I knew with bone deep certainty that she’d be ok.
Anna Grace was another matter entirely. She went where she was told, did what needed doing, but it was like she was in a fog cushioning her from the rest of the world. There was no spark there anymore, no sweet cheer, no dimpled smile. She was so different now. I wasn’t sure we’d ever get her back and I hated leaving her like that.
The night before our flight home, I slumped onto the bed I’d shared with Eric the past few weeks while he packed two sets of clothing for us in the suitcase we’d bought after escaping Oriana. Our rings burned a hole in the pocket of my shorts, reminding me of my duty to him and Gigi and the baby, to Elizabet and Marco, to the life I’d built in Georgia around college and the basketball team.
I needed to follow my heart, and at the same time, I needed to stay here and make sure my family was safe. I needed to see to Anna Grace’s recovery, needed to watch her blossom again and forget the things she’d witnessed on that awful day.
I fingered the rings through my short’s silky material, torn between my two families, one born, the other made.
Eric zipped the suitcase shut and set it on the floor, then sat down beside me. “You can come back anytime, you know.”
I didn’t bother asking how he knew what I was thinking. He was my husband, after all. He had the key to everything that was me, my mind, my heart, my love, and so much more. I slipped the rings out of my pocket and took his left hand in mine.
And waited for the words to come. How could I tell him what he was to me when it was so big, I barely understood it? How could I share the love he’d given so freely? I groped through my pea brain for just the right phrase and finally settled for action. English had never been my strong suit anyway. That lay in the strength imbued by a body forged through the discipline I’d learned under my father’s hand.
I eased Eric’s rings onto his fingers, put mine on, and clasped his smaller hand in mine. “I love you.”
He stared down at our joined hands, smiling that Eric smile of his, sweet and kind and full of the wonders of his heart. “You don’t have to say it, Jase. I can feel it every time you touch me.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He raised our hands and kissed my knuckles, and I wallowed in his love, content to know he’d always have mine.
We landed in the Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport at eleven o’clock the following night, after poignant farewells to my family. Humperdink met us there, helped us get our bags, and drove us straight to Elizabet’s, where we were greeted by a boisterous group of vampires and pets.
We slipped away as soon as we could and headed to the room where Gigi lay stretched out, her beautiful features serene. Her belly was a round mound under the nightgown someone had dressed her in, and inside, a tiny presence grew, so strong, Eric and I could each feel it, separately and together.
There was our love, safe for now as she grew into a babe, soon to enter this world. I stroked a tender hand over Gigi’s belly, searching yet again for a way to express the depth of emotion tugging at me, and yet again, Eric placed his hand over mine and found them for me.
“She’ll be here soon.”
“Yeah,” I said.
“We need a house.”
“With a yard.”
He glanced at me out of the corners of his eyes and grinned. “And a play room.”
Oh, yeah, but not for the baby. He and I needed a place to play where we wouldn’t be interrupted.
My gaze was drawn to Gigi’s perfect stillness, to her milk chocolate skin and the soft curls springing around her lovely face. We needed a place to teach her how to control herself, once the baby was born and Elizabet eased Gigi through her transition from half-human to full vampire.
And we would make one, together, the way a family was supposed to.
“She’s going to be ok, Jase,” Eric said softly.
I draped an arm around his shoulders and tugged him against me, and in my heart, I told him everything he needed to know.
# # # # #
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About the Author: V.R. Cumming lives in the rural South. She writes non-fiction under her legal name and paranormal romantic suspense under another pen name. To learn more about upcoming publications, visit her website or Facebook page and subscribe to her mailing list.
The Vampyr Series
Book 1: The Vampire’s Pet
Book 2: The Vampire’s Favorite
Book 3: The New Vampire
Stay tuned for more stories set in the world of the Vampyr!
Book 4: The Master Vampire
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A taste of the continuing story…
The New Vampire (The Vampyr, Book 3)
Light pierced the shadows, stabbing viciously at me. I shrank from it, forced by an instinct I neither recognized nor craved. There was something wrong with the light, the angle of it as it sought out my hiding place in the dark, the very fact that it existed at all. I was a creature of darkness. So Grandmother had said, and so it must be.
A man stepped out of the shadows into the light. He was slender, graceful in the eerie way of Grandmother, his dark hair shaggy and somehow radiant. Gold and platinum flashed on his fingers as he knelt in front of me, separated by the cold bars of the cage that had become my home. I snarled at him, snapping my teeth when he extended his hand. Grandmother said I must be kind to the man, him and the big one trailing silently behind.
I had no intentions of doing so.
The little man was an enemy. The weight of his otherness pressed heavily against mine, a presence as cold and solid as the thin bars that kept me from destroying him, and with him, the threat I sensed.
“Gianna, baby, please. Try to remember.”
I didn’t want to. Why didn’t anyone understand? It hurt to go back to the Before. There was something there, something confusing, a tenderness that was as wrong as the light,
coated with a wrenching agony, a terrible thirst, and the fetid stench of fate’s twisted hand.
The Now was the only thing that mattered, that and the blood I could sense flowing through the men’s veins. A rabid hunger urged me forward, closer to the light. “Feed me.”
The slender man flinched from the rough gravel of my voice. “We’re not food, Gianna.”
I laughed, harsh, scratchy. All men were food. Did the little man not know?
Grandmother must instruct them better, though I would not tell her so. I dared not. Though smaller, Grandmother was older, powerful, and firm. I must not cross her, she said, else she would not allow me to feed. It was the only time I was allowed out of the cage, and even then, she chained me to the bed so that a large brute of a man could fuck me while I fed. I didn’t mind. He never…did something inside me, never…
I searched for the word, the memory, and came across something else, someone else doing that to me, making me feel things, wrong things, like the light. Tender, sweet, concern, soft, a useless tangle of wrong, wrong, wrong. A strange pressure in my chest bubbled over and I screamed, arching toward the men, and scrambled to find purchase along the smooth bottom of the cage so that I could reach them, punish them for making me feel the bad things, things from the Before. I screamed and screamed, until my voice left me and an odd wetness coated my cheeks.
“Come on, Eric,” the big man said. “She’s not ready yet.”
“I know. God. I can’t stand seeing her like this.”
“Me, neither. It’ll be over soon, though.”
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