by Rose Wulf
Carol tensed beside her, but she said nothing.
Casted arm falling back to his side, Dennis looked away—an expression that was probably supposed to pass for guilt darkening his face—and said, “I don’t expect you to call me ‘uncle,’ if that’s what you mean. But we are blood and, though I know it’s late, I’d like to try and build a relationship with you both. I always had mixed feelings about that fight, the one that led to our father casting Ron out, and I always wished I had a way of finding him after. I didn’t even know he’d passed until recently.”
“How old were you?” Veronica asked, crossing her arms over her chest and holding his gaze. She doubted very much that he wanted anything other than her death and, now that she thought about it, how could she be sure that he was who he said he was? Her father had been murdered—his information was largely public, whether they liked it or not. A little research was all it would have taken for someone to dig up enough to form a coherent lie. And the Slayer’s arrival was a little too convenient.
“I beg your pardon?” Dennis asked, blinking as though he were taken aback.
“How old were you when Dad was kicked out?” Veronica clarified.
He paused now, as if thinking, before dejectedly replying, “I was seventeen. We were eight years apart.”
Seventeen. If that were true then she would have to acknowledge that it was possible his hands had been tied when her father had been disowned. “If you wanted to reach out to him, why is it that it took you twenty-nine years to find us?”
“Like I said,” Dennis explained, “I was torn. I wanted my brother in my life, but I wanted my father in my life, too. And I’m sure you’ve heard the story; they weren’t speaking. My old man wasn’t even talking about Ron.”
“Well,” Veronica began, “what a coincidence. Dad never talked about his former family, either. And the way I see it, if you had really decided to reach out because you wanted your brother’s family in your life, then we would have heard from you before today. You shouldn’t be here.”
“Veronica,” Carol interrupted, reaching out again and placing a hand on her shoulder. “We owe it to your father to give him a chance.” She turned a surface-friendly smile toward Dennis, then, and said, “Why don’t you stay for dinner? I’ll make chicken alfredo. Do you like that?”
“You don’t need to play hostess for him, Mom,” Veronica insisted, turning pleading eyes to her mother. She fervently wished she could tell her mother the truth—what little of it she knew—about this man, but if there was one person she knew who would never be able to handle the reality of living among vampires it was her mother.
Turning his attention to Carol, Dennis smiled again and nodded. “That sounds delicious, actually. But your daughter’s right. If you’d rather, I can take us all out to dinner somewhere.”
“Nonsense,” Carol declared firmly, releasing Veronica’s shoulder in order to wave her hand dismissively. “I’ll just go get the sauce started.” As she stepped back, into the hall, she cut another glance to Veronica, silently asking her to behave. Then she turned and started toward the kitchen swiftly.
Now she was alone with the man who’d tried to stake her the previous afternoon. On the other hand, I don’t have to bite my tongue.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Dennis said quietly before she could even turn her glare back to him. “I didn’t realize who you were; I’m sorry. I promise, I’m not here to hurt either of you.”
“You expect me to buy that?” Veronica snapped, her voice hushed and her glare firm. “If you’re sorry, you’re only sorry because it hurts your chances of me ever even liking you.”
“I get that you don’t believe me,” Dennis began, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender, “but I’m telling you the truth. If everything had gone right you would be Veronica Claypool, you would call me ‘uncle,’ and you would hate vampires and werewolves as much as I do.”
Crossing her arms again, Veronica replied, “I might admit that my name would be different in another world, but why would that automatically mean I’d have some vendetta against vampires or werewolves?” Not that, to her knowledge, she’d ever met a werewolf. But he didn’t need to know that. As far as she was concerned, he didn’t need or deserve to know what little he already did.
Arms dropping and expression turning somber, Dennis replied, “The Claypools boast a long line of Slayers, and if you had been raised a Claypool you’d be a Slayer, too.”
Chapter Ten
Veronica’s arms fell to her sides, her eyes widening, as she thoughtlessly asked, “I would what?” That was impossible. It had to be. It didn’t even make sense.
“Your father was a Slayer when he met your mother,” Dennis explained calmly, voice still hushed. “That whole story about him and our old man going at it until he was disowned was just a lie. Ron had to make a choice, because he didn’t want to drag Carol into this life. He chose her, and a family of his own, but the best way to do that was to completely disassociate with us. So our old man told him to walk away and never look back—and that’s exactly what he did.”
Dad used to be a…? Did this guy really even expect her to believe that? Her father had been so kind and happy and normal. There was no way he’d once been anything like the man now standing before her.
“Not that I know why Ron would have chosen to live in a city with such an established Family,” Dennis muttered, a contemplative look in his eyes. He shook his head before saying, “Listen, we are family, Veronica. I don’t know how or why you’ve gotten mixed up with them, but it’s not too late. I can help you get out, even if you don’t want to embrace your true heritage.”
Her confusion fled—if only for the moment—and Veronica was suddenly furious. Dennis sure talked a good game, it was true, but he wasn’t going to show up and turn her whole foundation inside out in one conversation. And there was nothing he could do to help her. No, that’s not entirely true. “You want to help me?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at him pointedly. “Then go find another city to terrorize and leave this one alone.”
His eyes narrowed in response and he asked, “What do those fangs have over you?”
“No one has anything over me,” Veronica snapped. “And what’s going on in my life is none of your business. But, I tell you what, there is one more thing you can do for me: you can leave my mother out of this. Don’t you dare say a word about Slayers or anything else. If you really are Dad’s brother, then maybe you can understand that.”
Dennis scowled, but he said nothing. It was clear he disliked what she was saying, but he didn’t seem to have a proper response.
Veronica took his silence as the opportunity that it was and spun on her heel. She just couldn’t do it. She couldn’t spend an evening in this monster’s presence. She had to get out, get away, even if her mom disapproved.
She’d taken two steps when Dennis found his voice again. “You can sense them, can’t you? You can’t explain it or rationalize it, but whenever you’re around that vampire friend of yours you feel a strange, prickling sensation at the base of your skull. Although I suppose, since your blood’s diluted, it might be more like an oncoming headache that never quite hits.”
Veronica froze, her heart slamming painfully in her chest. Oddly enough, she’d never really felt that with Seth—his presence only brought her a sense of warmth and security. But the other vampires she’d run across had brought on a feeling like that. She’d barely even noticed it, with the exception of the time Richards had broken into her apartment. But it had definitely been there.
“That’s the feeling that means ‘vampire’,” Dennis explained quietly. “Most Slayers I know call them fangs. The sensation is a little different with furs—werewolves. That’s how we distinguish them.”
Releasing a slow breath, Veronica turned back around and said, “Those are terrible code-words.”
“I didn’t make them up,” Dennis replied with a faint shrug. “But you’ve felt them, right? Those sensation
s.”
She still didn’t trust him, and she had no intention of telling him that she’d never met a werewolf, so she merely nodded.
“There’s your proof,” he stated. “You’ve got Slayer in you.”
****
It was after eight when Veronica called and as soon as Seth saw her name on his Caller ID some part of his heart unclenched. It was safe to say he regretted walking out on her the day before, though he knew he’d made the right decision. And when he hadn’t seen her in the coffee shop that morning he couldn’t stop himself from wondering if she was angry with him. She certainly had a reason to be after what he’d said. It was that concern that had him worried that something must be seriously wrong.
“Veronica?” he asked as he put the phone to his ear. If it wasn’t her voice on the other end he wasn’t sure what he’d do. Why hadn’t he been watching her? Three dangerous, bloodthirsty vampires were after her, and now she was in the Slayer’s sights as well. He’d been a fool to leave her side.
“Hey.” It was her. She sounded a little hesitant, and possibly self-conscious. “So…I know it’s night, and you’re probably busy, but…I have something I need to talk to you about. It’s not an emergency, so it can wait until you’re free, I just thought I’d…let you know.”
Closing the lid on his laptop with his free hand, Seth pushed to his feet and replied, “I’m actually not busy right now. Do you want me to come over?”
There was a beat of silence and he hoped it was because she was surprised he was free, but then she said, “Yeah, sure. I guess I’ll see you shortly.”
“Mhmm,” Seth hummed, nodding his head though the gesture was pointless. He disconnected a second later, already striding toward his door. He had no idea what she could need to talk to him about, but he hoped it wasn’t bad news. The only question is, what constitutes ‘bad news?’
She let him in with a smile when she opened the door and it took a physical effort not to wrap his arms around her and kiss her until she understood exactly how sorry he was. But she’d called him over for a reason, and chances were it wasn’t to tell him to stuff his stupid idea of keeping her at arms’ length. Although he certainly wouldn’t mind hearing her say that.
Instead he merely inclined his head with a faint upward curving of his own lips, stepped inside, and asked, “What is it you wanted to talk about?”
Veronica released a heavy breath after shutting the door behind him and it became clear that she was struggling beneath some invisible burden that hadn’t been there the last time he’d seen her. She moved around him, gesturing toward the living room, and said, “I think you should sit for this. I know I still need to sit for this.”
His concern for what her ‘non-emergency’ might be was doing a fabulous job of clearing his head and Seth followed quietly. Had she had another narrow escape with Richards or one of the Wilson brothers? She didn’t smell like vampire, but he supposed it could have been hours earlier and she could have showered since then.
Once they were sitting, on opposite ends of the couch and at angles so that they could see each other, Veronica began subconsciously wringing her hands and said, “I don’t really know where to start, so bear with me, okay?”
Frowning, Seth reached over and covered her hands with his, instantly stilling them. “First,” he said, “tell me that you’re okay.”
Another, softer, breath escaped and she slowly nodded. “I am. Or, I’m not hurt. I’m just confused and sort of freaked out.”
Seth nodded, understanding the difference, and released her hands in order to lean back. “Tell me.”
“It might be easier if you have a little history first,” Veronica began carefully. “Before my parents got married, according to the story I was told, my father had a huge falling out with his father and they essentially disowned each other. My father took my mother’s maiden name when they got married, and when I came along and started asking about my ‘other grandparents’ Dad just told me that he didn’t have any other family anymore. I accepted all of this, of course, and it all became a moot point when my father was murdered when I was nine.”
Here she paused, sucked in a breath, closed her eyes for a beat, and released the breath before continuing. “This is all relevant because I learned today that my paternal family is still alive. I met my uncle, Dennis, this afternoon. Mom made us all dinner. He says he wants to get to know us and that he always regretted losing touch with Dad. But…there’s a giant punch-line here that I don’t know how to say or handle.”
When she fell silent again, eyes focused on the floor and hands tight in her lap, Seth offered, “Treat it like a Band-Aid. Just say it out loud, and from there we’ll work on ‘handling’ whatever it is.” He had yet to figure out why this was something she thought he’d want to know—other than the fact that it pertained to her, and she had no idea how much that alone was coming to matter to him.
Veronica looked up again, confusion and something far too similar to fear clouding her eyes as she said, “Dennis is that Slayer who tried to kill me yesterday. And, apparently, my Dad used to be a Slayer, too.”
That had not even entered his mind. He knew his eyes had widened with her words, but it was unavoidable. The very idea of Veronica possessing Slayer heritage floored him. It took several seconds before he could process that her uncle had tried to kill her, and then his eyes narrowed again. “Then why the hell would he try to kill you?”
It was obvious his curse caught her off-guard, because she hesitated a beat before replying, “If I can believe him, he says he didn’t know who I was. I still haven’t decided how much I believe, but…some of what he was saying made a twisted kind of sense. Like the weird feeling I got when Richards broke in.” She swallowed, chewed her lip for a second, and asked, “Have you ever heard of the Claypool family?”
This time his eyes only widened for a moment before he caught it and smoothed his expression back toward neutral. He had, in fact, heard of the Claypool family. They weren’t the most notorious of Slayer families, but they had made a name for themselves. They were the kind of Slayers any vampire or werewolf was better off avoiding altogether; they weren’t exactly known for distinguishing the ‘good’ from the ‘bad.’ And the last Seth had heard there was only one left.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Veronica mumbled, looking somewhere between frustrated and disappointed.
Seth bit back his sigh and replied, “I’m sorry, Veronica. The Claypools don’t have the nicest of reputations in our world.”
Veronica nodded. “I can’t say I’m surprised, especially after what happened yesterday. You did say the good Slayers were rare.” She lifted her gaze back to his before cautiously saying, “Can I ask…do you have any idea how many are left?”
“I haven’t exactly kept tabs on them,” Seth hedged, unsure of how she would feel about what he would say. But lying didn’t seem like an option he should be considering. “However, the last I heard the elder Claypool lost a fight with a wolf, and that left one.”
She nodded again, seeming less than surprised, and looked away. “Then I’m guessing he looked us up to see if he could recruit me or something?”
“You probably shouldn’t rule that possibility out,” Seth replied quietly.
“Does that…make me dangerous to you?” Veronica asked, her voice a whisper. Her eyes drooped as she kept her gaze on the floor. It couldn’t be more obvious how she felt about the idea.
Frowning again, Seth reached over, grabbed her nearest wrist, and tugged her into him. The angle was awkward and she half-collapsed against his chest, releasing a startled cry, but he pulled her entirely into his lap and tilted her chin up with one finger until their eyes met. “The only thing about you that’s dangerous to me is the way you make me feel.”
Swallowing heavily, Veronica asked, “And how, exactly, do I make you feel?”
“Desperate,” Seth rumbled as he bowed his head and claimed her lips once more. If he had actually—even for an instant—though
t he could keep her at arms’ length he’d been an idiot. He was arguably an idiot just for trying.
Veronica shifted, leaning into his kiss as she wrapped her arms around his neck and shoulders, and then she slipped her tongue past his lips. He couldn’t help but growl against her as he tightened his arms around her torso, simultaneously falling back into the cushion behind him. Sweet was the only way he could describe the taste of her kiss, and the way she had taken control of it this time had him wondering what else she might do with the right opportunity.
If he didn’t stop her soon he suspected he’d be rolling her over and devouring her in more ways than one.
She pulled back, then, breathing heavily, and smiled a coy smile as she teased, “Desperate isn’t always a bad thing, you know.”
“I’m aware,” he allowed, his voice thick and low to his own ears. She was searching his expression, he realized. But there was one thing he didn’t want her to find—he wanted her to hear it. “I’m sorry.”
This time her smile was soft, and the fingers of one hand began threading his hair as she replied, “I forgive you. The truth is, you brought up some good points. Nothing that changes my mind, but good points none the less.”
“Veronica,” he began, though he wasn’t entirely sure what was actually supposed to follow it. Not that that mattered, since she dropped a finger over his lips to silence him.
“I’m not asking for a vow of fidelity,” she whispered as her hand fell to his shoulder. “We both know there’s something between us. All I’m asking is to take this chance to see what that something is. I know you won’t be staying and I know you’ll be outliving me by a landslide, anyway, but that doesn’t mean we’re entirely incompatible.”
She was right. On all counts, technically, but specifically about their respective mortalities. He would be ‘outliving her by a landslide.’ And there weren’t words enough to describe how utterly wrong that felt. As he sat there, Veronica curled in his lap and absently massaging his scalp, he was hard-pressed to think of a time, place, or situation that had ever felt more right. Losing that—losing her—was unacceptable.