Betrayal: The Awakening

by Kira Hillins

  He had about as much experience with parenting as a fly did swimming in water. It couldn’t be any worse than dealing with drunks all night at the bar.

  “You can’t tell anyone about the man you’re going to meet.”

  There came the puzzled glance. As they drove up the gravel road, she let one of the million questions slip out. “Not that I have anyone to tell, but why?”

  “He’s a very unusual man, very private. People wouldn’t understand him.” He sighed and mumbled, “I’m not sure I even understand him.”

  “OK. I won’t say a word.”

  Mac parked the car in the driveway. He could see the marvel in her eyes as she inspected the long, dark stone house at the edge of the cliff. It seemed, with a slight movement of the earth, the place would fall into the ocean below, and maybe she thought so too.

  Mac turned off the engine. The stillness of morning coupled with light fog and glowing moonlight sent a shiver up his spine. He left the warmth of his old beater and rounded the front to the passenger side. The door creaked open on rusted hinges. Betty lifted her hand, barely noticing him as she viewed the house.

  He tucked her arm under his and led her up the steps to the front door. She fidgeted, straightening out her golden skirt in back as he knocked. He waited a moment, and then opened the door.

  “Tristan.” He grasped Betty’s hand. He led her through the foyer and into the sunken living room, where she stopped, mouth open, awestruck.

  A large red tapestry with two lions embroidered in black and gold hung over a great stone fireplace roaring with a fire. In the corner, a knight’s silver suit stood holding a huge sword pointed at its feet.

  “I’ve walked into a museum.” Her smile returned, grander than ever. “Have we traveled to medieval times somehow?”

  She let go of his hand and went to the wall adjacent the fireplace. It held a painting of a large stone castle surrounded by rolling green pasture. Tiny colored flowers marked a pebble walkway in front and careened around a stone statue of a knight, standing just like the suit in the room.

  “Good evening.” Tristan’s deep voice startled her.

  Mac could almost see the hairs on the back of her neck stand as if Tristan had breathed out frigid air on her skin. When she caught his gaze—dark and lifeless—she seemed to melt.

  Though Tristan was exceedingly handsome, Mac never believed he could ever charm his wife, who was the most strong-minded woman he’d ever met. How did Tristan make her look so relaxed, so fearless of the dark standing before her?

  “Why, hello,” she said. “You must be Tristan.”

  “I am.”

  The child bundled in his arms fussed. Betty looked down at her. There came the glow Mac loved.

  “Oh. She’s so beautiful. May I hold her?” She held out her hands.

  Tristan placed her in Betty’s arms then backed toward the fireplace. “It is best this way.”

  “Hello, doll.” She touched the baby’s palm and laughed softly when she gripped her finger. “What is her name?”

  “Anna.” Tristan faced the fire. He leaned against the warm hearth and stared into the crackling flames.

  “Are you sure this is what you want?”

  By the growl, Tristan despised her question. “Just take her and go.”

  Mac thought he might soothe Tristan’s frustration with calming words, but stopped abruptly. The fire in Tristan’s eyes burned brighter. Mac couldn’t let Betty see him like this. She wouldn’t understand.

  “Come on, honey, let’s get her home.”

  Mac led Betty and the crying child out to the car. He opened the door and helped her into the passenger seat. Tristan came to the door. For the first time since they’d become friends, Mac was afraid. Daylight hadn’t come yet, so nothing could stop Tristan from losing his temper.

  Tristan’s face distorted. The flame in his eyes burned a shade of blue. It wasn’t hate or anger. It was love, the kind that kicks a person hard in the ribs and makes them cry. The sorrow in his heart had somehow found a way into Mac’s chest. The warmth Tristan cherished went cold. More than anything, it hurt.

  Mac stumbled around the front of the car then hurried into the driver’s seat. He started the engine. He drove down the driveway, uncaringly scraping metal through the long branches until they were on the highway. The farther away from the house they drove, away from Tristan, the more the pain in his chest subsided.

  When morning light broke across the waves, he sighed in relief. Tristan had lost control of his temper, no doubt. Instead of showing his violent side around Betty, he’d restrained his demon.

  Betty should never have to experience such heartache. Mac glanced over at her. She did her best to try to quiet Anna, who screamed for the one who’d cared for her since birth. Her motherly instinct had kicked in. She sang a lullaby, the one she’d practiced during their two amazing weeks.

  The song brought him to tears. Her voice soothed him. It made the rest of the trip home much more bearable, even as the baby’s tears flowed. Anna—a beautiful name for such a sweet little darling. He’d love her and protect her as he would his own child.

  When they made it home, Mac plopped himself down on the couch with a huff. He loved the way Betty cradled the baby in her arms.

  “Take her for a moment. I need to make her a warm bottle.”

  Excitement rushed over him as Betty placed Anna in his open arms. With the little warm body against him, he understood Tristan’s pain. Anna looked up at him, baby blues barely opened. He’d read enough on children to know newborns couldn’t see things too far away, so he lowered his head closer.

  “Hello, princess,” he whispered, though his voice came out sort of gruff. The little body jerked, and then her eyes shut. Her nose puckered and the dimples in her cheeks wrinkled as she cried.

  “I’m sorry.” He spoke over her small voice, but her cries were piercing. He shushed her, but she only cried more. “What’s wrong with her?”

  Betty entered the room with a warm bottle in her hand. He breathed in relief when she picked up Anna then sat on the couch beside him. “She’s hungry.”

  Betty stuck the nipple in Anna’s mouth. As she nuzzled, she quit crying, but tears still dripped down her soft pink cheeks. She gazed up into Betty’s smiling face. She puckered again, but the warm milk soothed her. By the time the bottle was almost empty, Anna had fallen asleep.

  Mac followed Betty down the hall and into the bedroom. She laid Anna in the bassinette then covered her with the pink blanket.

  Mac ogled at her. “She’s quite nice when she’s sleeping.”

  “He’ll come see her, won’t he?” Betty asked in a hushed voice. “I mean, he knows he can come over anytime?”

  “He knows.” Mac put his arms around her and held her close against him. He pressed his lips to her temple for a long while.

  “I can’t imagine what the poor man’s going through. Giving up his child, it must be the hardest thing he’s ever had to do.”

  He wiped a tear from her soft, warm cheek and then gave her a reassuring peck on the lips. “Come on. The sun’s shining through the window. Let’s go sit together for a little while.”

  He led her to the couch then sat her down where the sun stretched its warm rays. He nestled in beside her then pulled her legs over his lap. He took off her socks. As he massaged her feet, she leaned back against the armrest.

  “Did you see his eyes?—black as soot. I’ve never seen anything like them before.” She moaned as he massaged her calves. “I mean, what exactly is wrong with him? Does he have some sort of disease?”

  It was time to change the subject. Otherwise Betty would end up asking him all her million questions he didn’t want to answer. He slid his hands a little further up her skirt.

  “MacDonald Holden!” She smacked his hand. “What’s gotten into you?”

  She giggled as he leaned over her and breathed into her ear. Then, without fail, she was putty in his hands.

  Chapter Six
r />   Seven Years Later-All Hallows Eve

  Anna’s hair glistened in sunlight as if someone had drawn long, blonde strands from the top of her head to the curls at the middle of her back. Summer sky painted her big blue eyes and dazzled beneath long dark lashes. Dressed in a gemmed tiara and a black sparkling gown that flowed around her feet, she looked just like a medieval princess.

  For the past two months, she’d declared her Halloween plans to Mac. He’d teased her with comments like yes, my queen, and your highness, anything to get a giggle out of his sweet girl, for he loved her as if she were his own daughter.

  A great part of him believed it wholly, giving her the attention he’d dreamed of for his own child. He took her to the local park to play or hiked around the few forest trails, scoping out scattered wildlife. In the summers he spoiled her with large scoops of ice cream and took her beachcombing, which became her favorite thing to do. The shells she’d collected along the way ended up in the small rock garden he’d built for her behind the bar. The property offered little room, but somehow he managed to squeeze in a small wooden hut with a short swinging bridge built of white pine. Old, heavy ship rope strung between the posts that led to a short green slide, childhood entertainment for a few years.

  When she turned seven, her standards grew, and everything about her changed. She matured faster than the typical child, taking care when she strolled across the bridge like a proper lady. Dirty playclothes changed to prissy dresses. Dainty slippers graced her little feet, and play diamond tiaras held her perfectly brushed blonde hair back.

  Mac was worried, but Betty swore it was normal for a young girl to find the finer things in life more likeable. Better to be a princess than a tomboy. Instead of crawling through dirt and sand like she used to, she pretended a mystical pond ran beneath the bridge. She’d lean over to get a glimpse of her reflection and would always find her prince standing beside her, and her prince’s name was always Tristan.

  At her age, she should be thinking of kittens and puppies, not confessing her love for a four-hundred-year-old vampire. This brought out the other part of Mac, the part that knew her outcome. The voice inside him reminded him at the end of each day that her flesh and blood came from another pool, not from his. He couldn’t deny his feelings, no matter how hard he tried. No matter how much he wished or prayed, or even pretended she was his, her life belonged to the being who coveted her blood.

  Anna swung back in forth in the swings. The other children laughed as they ran around her in circles. They chanted for her to join them, but she only nodded at each one as they passed, and ignored them the rest of the time.

  He glanced at her teacher. The petite lines in Mrs. Gerry’s pearl face wrinkled around the outer edges of her eyes as she watched them. This wasn’t normal behavior for a child her age, and the teacher expressed it to him each time they met.

  “The way she presents herself is astounding,” Mrs. Gerry said. “It’s almost as if she belongs in another time. I’m concerned her social skills, if they’re not addressed soon, will keep her from making friends.”

  “She’s only seven. My wife says it’s normal for a young girl to play like she’s a princess.”

  “I agree. It’s normal during playtime, but Anna is always in character. The way she speaks and dresses, it’s as if she came straight out of the eighteenth century.”

  Mac shrugged. If only this teacher knew who influenced her, she might understand why, and then run away screaming. “Are her grades slipping?”

  The lines in her face widened with her smile. “Oh, not at all, Anna is quite brilliant for her age. She’s at fifth-grade level in all subjects, which is why I asked you here today. I’d like to introduce her into the advanced classes, if that’s okay with you and your wife. It’s possible the lack of challenge made her create this other world she’s in. I’m hoping once she finds her work a bit more challenging, she’ll wake up and see we’re not in the eighteen hundreds.”

  Anna waved at him. Her sweet dimpled cheeks creased in a smile. He waved back. “I sure hope you’re right about that. But, what about the social part? Will she be in a class with older kids?”

  “There won’t be any interruptions at all. She’ll continue in the same classroom, but her work will be different than the others.”

  Anna hopped off the swing and ran toward Mac. With a smile that melted his heart every time she flashed it, she threw her arms around his waist.

  “I am ready to go home now, Sir Mac,” she said holding on to him tightly. “I cannot wait until night, such sweets to enjoy!”

  “I’ll see you tomorrow morning then, Anna,” Mrs. Gerry said patting the top of her head. “Have fun trick-or-treating.”

  “Thank you.” Anna curtsied with a giggle. “I am positive a magical night awaits me.”

  Mac led her down the short hill where his new truck waited for them, a full-sized navy blue beast with a bench seat, just enough room for the three of them to sit comfortably. Ignoring the faint scratches snaking down the side, he opened the passenger door and helped Anna into the seat.

  He hopped in on the driver’s side, and then started the engine. “Your teacher tells me your work’s going to get harder,” he said as he steered the truck out on the road.

  “It is nothing I cannot handle.”

  He glanced around at the town’s Halloween decorations. It looked just like it had last year. Every so often a black cat or pumpkin hung in a window near creepy spiders and grim reapers. Yards with gravestones and skeletons, and driveways marked with jack-o’-lanterns and black candles, invited trick-or-treaters to come to the doorstep and receive a handful of candy.

  Only an hour and a half left of daylight. He could see excitement looming over Anna’s pretty face, dimpled in delight as she waited for her dark prince to arrive. The teacher was correct. This wasn’t normal.

  “I’m worried about you.” He’d never said those words before, but they needed to come out.

  “Why are you worried, Sir Mac?”

  He grumbled a little, not wanting to hurt her feelings. “Anna, it’s not normal to talk like that. You call me Sir Mac, when it’s just Mac or dad. You talk like you’re from another time.”

  “I speak this way because my prince enjoys it.”

  “That’s another thing!” He raised his voice enough that it made her jump. “You’re way too young to be thinking about princes and love. He’s much too old for you anyway.”

  “I don’t expect you to understand.”

  “I understand enough,” he stated harshly, then found her tear-filled eyes staring back at him. His heart dropped into his stomach. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to hurt your feelings. But I can’t just sit back and let this go on, not when someone outside our family is taking notice. You know we can’t expose him to the public.”

  She scoffed then looked to the side. “I’m not crazy, dad,” she said in her normal voice, one he’d heard little of since her seventh birthday. “I’m just afraid if I talk like a regular everyday child, or act like one, then he’ll leave me. He talks about it sometimes.”

  “He talks about leaving?” He was taken back by this news. Tristan still came to the bar every night but had never spoken a word about it.

  Mac parked the truck beside the stairs, but neither of them got out. He could see her worry by the way she stared out the window, lost and confused, blank. Tears sparkled, but she somehow kept them from falling down her soft cheeks, as if hope kept her from breaking down into a sob.

  “I’m almost eight now,” she said, lips curving upward. “I know I’m not supposed to love him, but I can’t help it. I don’t want him to go away.”

  Mac puckered his lips and inhaled deeply through his nose. He let it out through his mouth, puffing his cheeks until he’d exhausted his breath. Then he gave her a quick smile.

  “Betty’s making cookies.” He motioned with a nod. “Let’s go steal one before she bags them up for the neighborhood concession stand.”

  Anna sa
t for a moment, pondering. At first he thought maybe her frown might return, but her eyes lit up. “She does make the best pumpkin cookies in the world.”

  She hopped out of the truck and ascended the steps before he could make it to the bottom. She waited with the door open, giggling as if she’d miraculously turned into that child he so adored. Summertime ice cream cones and late fall hikes were on the horizon again.

  Betty decorated cookies in the kitchen. Orange frosting stained her lips. Wearing a black apron over her bright orange shirt, she looked perfect for the holiday.

  “I’m so glad you’re home,” Betty said. “I hoped you’d help me decorate the rest of these cookies before I put them in treat bags.”

  Anna dropped her backpack in the middle of the living room floor, and then hopped up onto the kitchen chair. She sat on her knees and leaned over to watch Betty squeeze icing out onto a pumpkin-shaped cookie.

  “They look amazing.” She eyed one that was already finished. “May I have one?”

  “Yes, you may, my darling.”

  As Anna washed her hands in the sink, Mac lay back on the couch. He watched her stuff a bite of cookie in her mouth, then laughed when she showed him her orange teeth.

  “Your cookies are so good, mom.” She took another bite. “Tristan should try one before we go out. But, I don’t think vampires eat cookies. Do they?”

  It sounded silly, something she would never say. Mac, on the other hand, would make unusual jokes like this to make his girls laugh, just as they laughed now.

  Cookie in hand, Anna skipped to the living room. She peered out the window, indulging in another sugary bite before breathing a sigh.