Kate took hold of Dillon’s hand. “That’s not all.”
“There’s more?” Dillon and Toby asked, almost in perfect union.
Kate must have bobbed her head, because the motion gave the mattress a slight shaking vibration. “Yep. See, I didn’t even get to tell Dillon this part. But…the reason Daddy’s not gonna have my head on a platter—”
“Or mine,” Dillon interjected.
“Or anyone’s…is because Dillon is a war hero, Toby. An Iraq war veteran.”
“I don’t get it,” Dillon blurted. Why would that make a difference to a vampire clan?”
Toby blew out a whistle. “Damn, girl. Daddy’s still gonna be pissed, though. You didn’t preserve the bloodline, and that won’t be forgotten overnight.”
“Dillon has a Purple Heart, Toby,” Kate said in a quiet, intense voice. “Daddy will accept him. And he will honor, Dillon, you know it. Even if it takes time.”
“A Get Out of Jail Free card for you, huh?” Toby agreed with a reluctant sounding sigh. “Yep, I see your point. Well played, Katie.”
“I still don’t get it,” Dillon said. He got impatient whenever anyone ignored him in a conversation because it made him feel not just blind, but invisible. “Why should my service record make any difference to your father or family?”
A knock came on the door, then there was a male voice. “Toby, man. We need to go on a beer run.”
“I’m going to let you explain the rest to your new mate,” Toby said, then muttered, “Still can’t believe it. Cannot believe it.” His voice trailed away as he left the room.
“Explain what to me?” Dillon asked.
Kate took his hand in her smaller one, threading their fingers together. “See, Dillon, in our society, warriors are the most revered of all individuals. Even Normal warriors who defend our country. So my father? He’d have killed anyone else, really. But he won’t be able to do anything other than approve this mating…I realized it earlier. When we were about to make love.”
For a moment, Dillon relaxed, leaning back against the headboard. But then he sat up with a jolt, his heart beating crazily in his chest. “We still got a big problem, though.”
“What?” she asked.
“Mason. I gotta sell him on you. That you’re not Night of the Living Dead…come to life. That you’re mine. And good.”
Kate groaned and rolled up against him. “I don’t like Mason.”
“You should.”
“Oh, and why’s that? He’s like the total bane of my existence,” she said.
“Because he’s one of my best friends. And I can make him understand.”
Kate slid her hands over both his thighs, cuddling close. “You really think?” Her tone was undeniably vulnerable.
“Hell yeah. I can make Mace get it. Get you. We’re brothers in arms, and trust me…he’ll understand.”
****
Kate led Dillon out onto the deck, and wondered if everyone there could tell they’d been making love. Her face felt a little burned from his beard stubble, and Dillon had this kind of blissed-out-and-happy expression on his face. It was adorable and as soon as they could dispense with Mason, she was planning to drag him right back into bed.
Speaking of that devil, she spotted Mason walking up the side steps to the deck. His gaze was on Dillon, and she wondered if Mason saw the same sparkle in Dillon’s unfocused eyes that she did. If Mason knew him well enough to sense a major change in his old friend.
Mason’s own expression changed, became quizzical. And then he glanced at Kate, still making his way toward the deck railing where they were both leaning. He paused for a moment, just standing in the crowd, looking back and forth between them both. And then his green eyes grew wide and shocked.
She leaned closer against Dillon. “Your friend’s here.”
Dillon nodded. “Let me handle this one.”
“Actually, lover man, I think it’s already been handled,” she laughed, bracing herself for whatever Mason was about to say. He stood in front of them both, speechless, it seemed. He started shaking his head, and managed a sharp glare in her direction, then said, “Okay, Dillon, let’s spring your ass from this joint.”
“Actually? I plan to stay,” Dillon said, and unfolded his cane. “I’m set. Got Lulu, got my cane…got Kate.”
“You’ve got Kate?” Mason repeated numbly. “What does that mean?”
She laughed, nudging Dillon in the side. “Is that like ‘Got Milk’?”
Mason scowled. “Just how drunk are you both?”
Dillon stood up taller, no longer leaning against the railing. He stepped forward a couple of tentative steps, not using his cane and then reached out for Mason’s shoulder, clasping it. Pulling Mason into an embrace, Kate saw Dillon whisper something in his ear, words she couldn’t hear. For a long moment Mason just gaped back at Dillon, then slowly cut his eyes in her direction. A smile filled his face, and he nodded. As if Mason and Kate had just shared a powerful secret all their own.
He lifted two fingers to his forehead and saluted her, still grinning. “You could’ve told me, you know. Long ago.”
She shrugged. “Told you what?”
“That I didn’t need to hunt you. I mean, I’ll still have to convince Jamie, but…ah damn it.” Mason strode toward her, and with a quick brush of his lips, he kissed her on the cheek. “Thanks for putting the light back in his eyes. And thanks for not being lethal or dangerous so that I can wish you two the best.”
And, then, just like that, Mason turned and stepped into the party crowd without another word or allowing her to respond.
Dillon sidled back against the railing, reaching for his beer. Taking a long swill, he seemed perfectly content to just let Mason go—without explaining anything to her.
“What did you tell him?” Kate asked in disbelief. “Mason isn’t going to hunt me, isn’t going to have a problem with us? I don’t get it.”
“I told Mason that you’re a good woman and that I’m going to fall in love with you…and that I’m the only person you will ever drink from. Because I’d kill any man who even so much as thought about letting you drink from him. Or woman.”
“You actually just said all that? To Mason Angel?”
Dillon bobbed his head. “Heck yeah, I did. Oh, and that we’re mated. I told him that, too. Just kind of laid it out there. Balls to the wall, baby.”
“So you don’t think he’ll try and kill me or anything?”
“I told him the only thing you were a danger to was…” Dillon shook his head, grinning. “Nah, not ready to tell you that.”
Kate swatted the top of his head. “Fess up.”
“Well, that the only thing you were a danger to…was my heart. Not to anyone else.”
She flung herself into his arms. “But, see? You can poke me in the eye anytime, and I won’t leave.”
“I have a better idea, and although it involves poking, it’s way more pleasurable,” Dillon promised, nibbling on her ear. “Back to your room?”
“And I’ll bring the wine and Chaka Khan CD’s?”
Dillon laughed, working his mouth lower along her neck and then murmured, “You had me at Chaka Khan.”
Kate giggled, holding him even closer. “You had me at poking.”
EPILOGUE
The Breakfast Club was bustling with early morning patrons, several of whom kept taking too much interest in Lulu. It wasn’t that Dillon minded people petting his dog, she was sweet-tempered and had changed his life from the moment he’d gotten her. But the attention was as distracting to Lulu as Kate’s cats had been. Plus, it was usually women who came over, and he could sense Kate’s possessive streak starting to kick in again, as yet another female finally left the table.
“All right, I love Lulu, but she’s a babe magnet. And that’s a problem for me because you’re mine.”
He reached along the table and found her hand, squeezing it. “Four months in and you’re still jealous. I like it!”
Sh
e flicked the back of his palm. “Four months in, and my mail order bride has an even bigger ego. My love has obviously unleashed your secret arrogant streak.”
He grinned, trailing his fingertips along the table until he located the plate of bacon he’d ordered. “Just one of those five or ten million things you found out, after signing on for this tour with me. Sorry for all the shock and awe that is me.”
“I love you, Dillon,” she said, her tone unexpectedly serious. “I’m so glad I took the leap and didn’t worry or fear.”
He reached for her again, pressing the back of her hand to his mouth. “I love you, too, Kate. You saved me. Don’t ever forget that.”
“What do you mean?”
“I may be cocky now…but I was so lost when you found me. You’ve healed all the crap that was going on in my head, just by being with you, living with you. Every day brings something new, and that’s given me purpose like I just didn’t have before you.”
“Does that mean you might propose soon?” She laughed, and suddenly her arms were about his neck and she was holding him close. “Or is that my job in this instance?”
“Marry me?” he asked, not even hesitating. Balls to the wall, like always. Why should marrying his mate be any different?
Kate said nothing, just kept her arms tight about his neck. “Katie?” he asked uncertainly, and only then did he feel the dampness of her tears. “Why are you crying, babe?”
“Because you asked me.”
“Did you think I wouldn’t?”
She sniffled, pressing her face against his. “No, it’s just that I wanted you to so much. To be like a Normal and have a wedding on the beach.”
He leaned close, whispering in her ear. “You are a Normal,” he said. “At least in the ways that count. But it just so happens you’re also a vampire. And that’s cool because it means we get to have hot, randy, wall bumping vampy sex. Doesn’t get any better than that.”
And it didn’t. Or any better than sitting in a breakfast café, eating pancakes with the woman you loved, your faithful dog beside you. Happy. Happy and alive.
No, it didn’t get any better than that, not by a long shot.
Stay tuned for a special excerpt from a brand new Gods of Midnight Novella, AWAKENING FIRE, to be published in 2017….
AWAKENING FIRE
Ari Petrakos knew he was a lucky bastard. He had Juliana back for good, all redhead fire and spit and passion. He was surrounded by his Spartan brothers, all of whom had survived yesterday’s battle. And he had a real home here in Savannah, a world more like Sparta than anything he’d known since living in that tight-knit, gossipy city.
Maybe that was why Ari preferred bunking over here at the Angels’ ancestral family home whenever he could, rather than at their “official” Spartan home, the farm King Leonidas owned out in Effingham County. That place was about family, too, of course, and he shared it with his Spartan brothers. He and Juliana had an apartment of rooms downstairs, and she’d turned the space into a romantic love nest for the two of them, hardly “Spartan” at all, with all the flowery fabrics and framed prints and soft pillows.
But some days, when one was just an extra step toward crazy, he’d come hole up in Shay Angel’s kitchen, inhaling the history and smells of homey goodness that infused the cramped space. Today definitely qualified as one of those days, after the battle he and his fellow Spartans had waged only twenty-four hours before.
And Shay Angel, being both his sister-in-law and a demon hunter herself, understood exactly the sort of baggage he was dragging into her kitchen this particular morning.
He wasn’t two steps into the room before she smiled at him, her blue eyes shining with awareness of exactly how shit-crap-awful he undoubtedly felt.
He grunted and smiled in return, half limping toward one of her tall barstools. “Pour me some of that java, would you? Been smelling that brew from ten rooms away and want my share before all greedy and needy bastards show up.”
She gave a small chuckle. “Feeling that good today, are we?”
Ari rotated his shoulder, trying to work out some of the tension, and settled on a barstool. “Think a chiropractor would be able to fix me up? Though, I’m not sure explaining more than twenty-five-hundred years’ worth of battle damage would be worth it.”
“I’m thinking this is family business.” Shay laughed. “But Sophie will look after you; she always does.”
Ari looked around the kitchen hopefully for any sign of Sophie, running a hand down the length of his thick black hair. After yesterday and the ensuing sleep of the dead, he was pretty sure his long hair was plastered to his face, but one palm down his ponytail reassured him that it was neat enough. “Sophie getting here anytime soon?”
Shay gave a sympathetic smile, placing a coffee mug in front of him, her own thick black hair falling over one shoulder. She was American, but she was also Greek by heritage, and it showed in her almost black-eyes and raven hair. “My sweet cousin is downtown at her carriage house. She’s pretty worn out, after the last few days. Her empathy really took a hit with everything that went down.”
“So you’re saying I’m stuck? In pain and needing some kind of specialized immortal medical care that doesn’t exist?” He spun his mug around, trying not to wince at the movement of his muscles. “And I thought universal health care reform was taking hold in your country.”
“I’m pretty sure immortals don’t qualify for benefits. I mean, there’s grandfathering certain people in—and then there’s grandfathering, right? You’d probably get the boot based on age, immigration status, and frequent need of care, Old Dude.”
“Maybe I should start tagging along to the VA hospital with Mason.” Shay’s brother was an Iraq War veteran working through some pretty hardcore PTSD issues and had been seeing a counselor at the VA. With an in like that…
Shay gave him a slightly troubled look at the joke and a quick “He hasn’t been going lately” before continuing. “I’m pretty sure they wouldn’t know what to do with an immortal warrior anyway. Imagine all the paperwork. You’d be in the waiting room for another twenty-five-hundred years while they tried to sort it all out.” She laughed. “Or, actually, you’d be institutionalized as bat-shit crazy the second you told them you’re a Spartan.”
“Ah, if only your fine country knew the many ways I’ve protected its backside.”
“They’d sing you odes, brother of mine. They’d have parades, launch lines of cologne. ‘Aristos: for the passion.’ Can’t you hear the jingle now?”
“Even better—I can see myself in my tighty-whities on a giant billboard. And the solid coin in my pocket, paying me for my handsome good looks.”
“And your ego expanding to match the size of those Times Square undies,” she said, smirking.
“But maybe my shoulder would be healed in all that five-story glory. Skata but this hurts, Shay.” He rubbed the muscle, scowling.
“Well, old guy, things could be worse. You’ll be right as rain in a few hours. At least your shoulder’s not like Nikos’s.” Shay’s eyes flickered with concern, her gaze growing thoughtful. Nik was the lover of her middle brother, Mason Angel, and she undoubtedly knew a great deal about the silent pain the warrior endured.
Nikos hadn’t complained once since acquiring the lasting injury at Marathon, but he had been afflicted with chronic, recurring shoulder problems ever since. In fact, that shoulder weakness had led to his death at Thermopylae, a death that, for all seven of the Spartans, had been temporary, ending the moment Ares had resurrected them, turning them immortal for his own twisted purposes.
Shay filled Ari’s cup with coffee, and the hint of chocolate in the aroma practically sang to him. “Have you ever tried to heal Nikos?” Shay asked. “Sometimes I wonder if there’s not more that could be done.”
“Nah, his issue predates our immortal bargain, so he’s stuck. It’s just one of those things none of us really understands but whatever Ares chose to leave with us—certain scars or pains�
��is permanent.” Ari sighed, suddenly weary as he thought back over all the years they’d served Ares like his trick ponies. “Another Bob Seger kind of day, I guess.”
When Shay gave him a blank look, he just said, “Turn the page.”
One day, after another day, after another, and what really changed? Ares was gone and Aristos should be flying high, happy and free. Instead, his shoulder hurt like it had been winched right out of the socket, and he was oddly glum. And for a smartass joker like himself, his current mood was disorienting. It was his job to be the glue—the one who held them all together, made people laugh and feel better during times of strife. And they certainly had more than their fair share of times like that.
He took a cautious sip of the coffee, but it was too hot to drink. He sighed again, tantalized by the strong aroma yet unable to really enjoy it. It seemed symbolic somehow, or might have if he’d been the sort to believe in signs and reading tea leaves and animal entrails or the like. But he wasn’t that ancient, at least spiritually or philosophically, no matter how long he’d lived. And, damn, but some days he really did feel his almost twenty-six hundred or so years. But who was counting, anyway.
“Does the reality of the fact that we’re all old as dirt ever hit you? I mean, seriously?”
“I like older men.”
“And yet your husband doesn’t have a single gray hair and, unless something dramatic should change, never will.”
She shrugged. “He has the wisdom of the ages and I like that in my guy.”
“Well I can’t speak for your love nest, but I’m feeling my millennia this morning. Just sayin’.”
“Post-battle blahs hitting you hard? Wondering how you’re going to fit in now, since you’re still stuck as a demi-god and all?” His sister-in-law gave him a smile that was and yet a bit wickedly playful. The two of them were regular sparring partners, a real gift since Ari hadn’t had sisters in his mortal life. And she knew that, above all else, he both loved the power that he’d inherited as a result of their recent bargaining with Ares, and despised being saddled with it.
Ari grumbled into his coffee cup. “Not a demi-god. Just have the power of one. You know that drill, blah, blah, blah.”
Red Blooded: The Gods of Midnight Series, Book 3.5 (Paranormal Romance) Page 6