by J. R. Ward
“Saxton?”
“Sorry, just admiring the view—and the memories of the day.” On cue, that blush was enchanting—and there was the temptation to stay on the subject of making love. But he let it go for the time being. “Anyway, the sire relented. She will be allowed to mate the male she wants. In the end, love wins.”
“I like that outcome.”
“Me, too.” Saxton sat forward as the male seemed to retreat into his head. “What are you thinking of?”
“I would like to believe I’d let Bitty choose. I mean, not that I’m her father or anything. But I would hope I would do that for her as long as the male was not a bad or dangerous guy.”
“You will. You’re a good father.”
“Rhage is her father.” Ruhn shook his head. “And I’m okay with that. It’s hard to be a father—I’m intimidated by the role. My father…he was my everything, my hero. He was strong and he honored my mahmen. He worked hard and provided well. All I ever wanted to do was be like him and live up to his standard. I never felt like I quite got things right.”
“Relationships with family are complicated.”
And it must have been so hard to learn the male wasn’t perfect, Saxton thought. That he had endangered the family through his gambling. That Ruhn had had to make good on the debts of his hero.
Those words stayed put, however. It seemed cruel to remind the male of what he had lived through. Ruhn knew too well the price that had had to be paid.
“My father was the opposite.” Saxton sat back as their plates were cleared. “I never wanted to be like him. I still do not.”
“He could not…accept you?”
“Merely not accepting me would have been a blessing. He hates me for who and what I am. He would rather I were dead. It didn’t used to be that way. But once my mahmen passed? Everything changed. I feel as though he went bad.”
“I am so sorry. But…forgive me, I thought the aristocracy was more…I don’t know what the word is…”
As Ruhn trailed off, Saxton nodded. “Oh, it’s permissible provided it is neither seen nor heard. When I refused to mate a female from an appropriate bloodline, Father kicked me out of the family, out of the house, out of the will. I was supposed to walk in his shoes, after all. Be a solicitor, take over the estate and finances. Procreate to produce the next generation of the glymera who deny what they really were—see, my father is gay. But in his opinion, which is the only one that matters in his world, he chose the proper way to mediate the proclivity—namely, cheating on my mahmen for their entire mating. Of course, she was tolerant of the arrangement. None of that messy sex stuff. In that regard, they were perfectly matched.”
“I am glad you did not mate a female you did not care for.”
“Me, too. What it cost me in terms of my family has been more than made up for by my being who I am without apology.”
“Do you think you would ever want young?”
Saxton took a sip of water to try to hide a sudden rush of emotion. “I just might. You know…I just might.”
“I never thought about it until I started to spend my time with Bitty. I like telling her the stories of her mahmen and me, and the family traditions we had, and the foods her granhmen made. The toys her grandfather made. They are all I have to give her, really, but she seems to truly want the stories. It makes me feel like I’m keeping my parents alive, her mahmen alive. I loved my family so much. Even more so now that I am in Bitty’s life.”
“You are a very good person, Ruhn. And I wish I’d grown up the way you did. We had all kinds of material things, but no emotional ties among the people living under that expansive roof.”
“When you are poor, all you have are the people in your life. Who they are and who they are to you? That is the wealth you have in the world. That is the wealth you pass down to the next generation. That is what I am giving to Bitty, and I am so grateful her new parents understand and accept me in her life.”
When the check came, Ruhn reached for it. “I have some money. As of three nights ago, Wrath has put me on the payroll and I feel as though I have earned it.”
“Well, I’ll have to thank you for the meal later tonight.”
Cue that blush. Oh, yes…that lovely blush.
After Ruhn took out some bills and placed them on the little plastic tray with the check, they both got up and walked through the maze of tables and other diners.
It felt good to be a part of the world, to be out with a lover he cared deeply for, to be eating and drinking, talking and walking, going to work and looking forward to coming home. Things seemed more vivid, the smells of the food, the sounds of the human talk…the sensation as Ruhn reached behind himself and Saxton took the palm that was offered, flesh on flesh, warmth magnified.
Outside, the cold was a welcome brisk kiss on the cheek instead of something to brace oneself against, and the slippery, partially salted walkway was a fun excuse to cling to Ruhn’s arm as around the corner they went together, to the alley that led to the back of the restaurant.
There, in the shadows, they kissed for the longest time, bodies straining for contact through winter clothes and scarves and gloves, the hours they were to be apart like an obstacle course to be surmounted.
“I’m going to go to Mistress Miniahna’s to check the house,” Ruhn said as they finally eased back.
“I shall go back there as soon as Wrath and I are finished.”
“Okay, then. See you soon.”
“I cannot wait.”
As Saxton closed his eyes to dematerialize, a barreling gust shot down between the restaurant and the card shop next door. But it might as well have been a light, tropical breeze.
Indeed, the rejuvenating warmth of new love brought spring to the whole world, no matter the calendar’s season.
Two hours of eating and drinking later, and Novo was ready to chew her own leg off to get out of Café Estrogen. Not that she ate. Or drank.
No, it was kind of like being at a zoo for Victoria’s Secret shoppers: As she stayed down at the loser end of the table, she watched the females play with their hair and get into debates over whether to have the ceviche something or another over the kale-rolled organic what-the-fuck.
She had to give her sister credit, though. Sophy was in her element, so solicitous of the others, leaning forward with a manicured hand to touch a thin forearm in inquiry: “Is that chicken all right? Do you need it done differently?”
Or something to that effect. And the females were just as treacle-icious back, all, “Oh, noooo, it’s fabulous. Really…even if it is underdone.”
To which Sophy would say, “I will get the waiter. I want this night to be perfect for you.”
“But you’re the bride!”
“You’re my best friend! I’m just soooo glad you’re here…”
Blah, blah, blah.
It was performance art at its best, and Novo knew the flip side to this bright and shiny silver dollar: At home, Sophy would deconstruct everything the other females were wearing, what they’d eaten, how their weight was, whether their hair was on fleek.
On fleek? What the hell did that mean?
A working definition seemed to involve hair extensions, four different shades of “natural” blond, and enough hair spray to turn them into a potential Roman candle. Other than that? She was working in the dark on that one.
At least this had to be almost over—
The four vampire males who approached from behind her wouldn’t have registered ordinarily. One of them, however, carried a scent she remembered all too well.
Her first instinct was to turn around and see if she was right, but Sophy’s eyes lit up and then she got to her stilettos and clasped her hands together as if she’d won the Sephora version of Powerball.
Of course Oskar had showed up.
Novo should have seen this coming.
Keeping her eyes down on her empty plate, she relied on her peripheral vision. He was still the same height, still wore that same c
ologne—but the clothes were different, skinny jeans and a black three-quarter hipster coat instead of the preppie khakis and North Face jacket he would have worn back in Novo’s era. Hair was longer and pulled back into a man-bun.
And he’d grown a beard.
And taken to wearing heavy black-rimmed glasses.
Dollars to donuts, she could guess who was responsible for this new “look.”
The three with him were variations on the evolved male, the one on the left going so far as to be wearing a WE’RE ALL FEMINISTS T-shirt over his turtleneck.
Not that being a feminist was a bad idea. Not at all. It was just Novo assumed sporting a pair of ovaries probably meant you had a little more skin in that game. But whatever.
On cue, the table went into girl-gasms at the new arrivals, everybody tittering, the smiles popping like glitter bombs, the laughter an overflow of mirth, as the males went and greeted their girlfriends or mates.
From her distance away from the hub, Novo decided screw it and focus on her old love. His face was stiff, she thought—but maybe she was reading into that. And he looked bored, although again, her own predilections could be assigning that to him—
Oskar took a step back and that was when his gaze swung around—and he did a double take.
Sophy noticed immediately and she covered up the calculation in her eye just as quick. With the broadest smile yet, she motioned down the way, clearly telling him to go greet her dearly beloved sister.
Oskar shoved his hands in his coat and walked forth with his head down, a dog who’d gotten its ass paddled with a newspaper for tearing something to pieces. When he came up to Novo, he cleared his throat.
“Hey, there.” His voice was still the same. Soft, a little husky. “It’s good to see you, Novo.”
She’d wondered for a long time how this would play out. What it would be like to see him, scent him, hear him speak. She had always assumed she would be crippled with pain and that tears, those hated external signs of weakness, would blur her sight and leak out onto her cheeks. Her heart would thunder, her palms would sweat, her…
I’m looking at a boy, she thought.
This was not a full-grown male standing before her, and chances were good, no matter his age, he would always be as such. This was someone who needed a Sophy, somebody who would provide him with the contours of his life, tell him what his wardrobe should be, order him into some situations and out of others.
Novo had ascribed much to him, in her naiveté.
Maturity through hard experience wiped that away.
“Good to see you, too,” she murmured.
His eyes roamed around the human crowd. “I heard you’re in the Brotherhood’s training program.”
“I am.”
“Pretty impressive. I was surprised when Sophy told me. How’s it going?”
“It’s a lot of work. But it’s good. I’m happy with it.”
She stopped there for two reasons: One, she didn’t think it was any of his business, and two, she didn’t want to seem defensive.
“I always knew you’d do something big.” Now his eyes shifted to hers and stayed put. “I mean, ever since I first met you…you were different.”
“Sophy has her own unique characteristics.” She shrugged. “To each their own.”
“Yes. To each…”
As he let the sentence drift, she expected him to say a quick, awkward buh-bye and head back to Mama, as it were. But he didn’t. He just stared at her.
Novo was the one who broke the eye contact. And yup, guess who’d had enough of the reunion BS?
Sophy came up to her male and linked her arm in his. “Dance with me, Oskar. Come on.”
Novo got to her feet. “I’m going to head out, Soph.”
“Oh, you mustn’t! It’s time to dance—stay a little longer.” Those eyes narrowed. “It’s the least you can do considering that Sheri has had to do all the work for tonight and for the wedding ceremony.”
On that, the female pirouetted away and took her deadweight with her—after she made him take his coat off and leave it at the table.
Novo dropped back in her chair. The way she looked at it, she could either blow another thirty minutes here, or end up with double that on her phone later tonight and tomorrow. At least sitting at the table, she didn’t have to talk to anyone.
Sophy’s blond hair gleamed under the lights above the dance floor, and her thin body in its floaty dress made Oskar seem even bigger and stronger. The pair of them were quite a picture, young romance caught right on the precipice of the rest of their lives.
Provided you didn’t look too closely.
As Oskar held his female in his arms, he was looking over her head, his expression bland. On her side, Sophy was talking to him with an urgency she was masking with that Proactiv commercial smile of hers, the one where she was just so Happy and Centered in Her Life. Clearly, there was trouble in paradise. Then again, it wasn’t uncommon for couples to have issues as they came up to a mating ceremony. Lot of stress, especially if you insisted on straddling traditions and being Queen for the night—
“Fancy meeting you here.”
Novo jumped out of her chair and spun around. “Peyton?”
It sure the hell was. The fighter was standing right behind her, and he was dressed as if he were on the way to one of his clubs, his slick suit and open-collar shirt the kind of thing you could get away with in Caldwell this time of year only if you had a chauffeur.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
He looked around. “Just thought I’d drop by for some overpriced, badly prepared, pseudo-French food in the company of human posers and vampire suck-ups—and oh, hey, ’urprise, I find you here. Not your usual gig, is it.”
“Not even close. And you really were just dropping in?”
“Yeah. Totally. Absolutely dumb luck.”
“And, like, not at all because I mentioned to you when and where this fiasco was going to take place?”
Peyton made elaborate work of grimacing and then did a spot-on imitation of the groom’s cake lady from Steel Magnolias: “Guuuuuuillllllty.”
Novo tried to swallow her laughter, she really did. But goddamn it, she was glad to see him even though she shouldn’t be.
Except then he got serious. “Actually, I had something I had to ask you. It’s the kind of thing…well, I didn’t want to do it over the phone, and besides, I wasn’t sure if I called whether you would answer.”
She stayed away from that last one—because she didn’t even want to think about all that phone-checking no one needed to know about.
“What did you want to ask me?”
Those amazing eyes of his dropped to the ground and he cleared his throat. After a moment, he seemed to collect himself and he looked back at her.
“What the fuck is a douche canoe?”
Novo barked out a laugh that was so loud, she turned the heads of the humans seated across the room even though the music was playing. There was none of that from the females at the table, though. ’Cuz they were already staring at her.
And geez, she couldn’t decide whether all their shock was because a male was addressing her. Or because Peyton looked like exactly what he was: a privileged son of the glymera.
“Well?” he prompted. “I was hoping to get a working definition.”
“It is not a compliment,” she said. “And it is worse than a douchebag.”
“Bigger payload, huh,” he murmured with a slow smile.
“Yeah. Pretty much. You can fit a hell of a lot more douche in a canoe than a bag.”
“Hey, is this chair next to you taken? I had to walk all the way back here and I got a blister.”
“Really,” she drawled. “You’re going with that?”
Peyton leaned in. “Is it going to work?”
She looked away. Looked back. God, she really wished she would stop smiling. “I don’t know.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said as he parked it besi
de her chair. “And may I just say…hallelujah.”
—
Peyton knew he was taking a huge gamble crashing this bridal’s maiding or whatever the hell the humans called it. He’d made that vow not to bother Novo quite sincerely—and he’d had every intention of keeping it…at least for the first twenty-four hours or so. Unfortunately, not seeing or talking to her had proven more difficult than he’d anticipated—and in the end, he thought, what the hell. Plausible deniability. He was a free agent and out in Caldwell, and hey, if he happened to show up at the same place she might possibly have mentioned as where she might theoretically be on a Friday night?
Well, that was just the breaks.
Sorry.
Not sorry, actually.
And here she was, looking better than any female or woman in the place with her skintight black leathers and her muscle shirt, her strong shoulders and arms shown off, her body once again as it had always been.
Powerful. Sexy.
Oh, God, he just wanted in her again. He didn’t care the terms or the whys or the wheres. Just once more.
“You want something to eat?” she asked him. “Or are your boys waiting for you in the car?”
“The douche-mobile is empty at the moment.” He smiled. “And I—”
“Aren’t you going to introduce us?”
At the sound of the higher-pitched female voice, he looked at what had come up to them: a lollipop blond with big white teeth, a knockoff Valentino-ish lace dress, and eyes that were too close together. Oh, and look, she had an accessory. The male in her wake might as well have had a leash hooked to a proverbial collar, his hangdog expression and cultivated hipster vibe the kind of thing that made you question whether he had balls or not.
Probably did, Peyton decided. But they were in the female’s purse.
“Novo?” the female prompted. “Let’s not be rude to your guest.”
Okay, that smile was to fine china what Dixie was to plates.
“This is Peyton, son of Peythone,” Novo muttered. “He’s in the training program with me.”