Possessed by An Immortal

by Sharon Ashwood

  Amelie tilted her head in a gesture Bree recognized from newsreels. “So did Kyle. I shouldn’t have doubted him but—it is not easy being so public a figure. Trust becomes difficult.”

  With a cautious look in her violet eyes, the princess sat down on one of the hospital chairs. She looked like a little girl afraid to be sent to bed early. “I understand you have had quite an adventure getting to Los Angeles. Please, sit and tell me all.”

  Bree didn’t answer right away, but first looked down at Jonathan. A surge of love and sadness shot through her, making her breath catch in her chest. She wanted to give all her focus to him and ignore this interruption, but she sensed Amelie still needed something from her.

  How to respond? Bree had grown so isolated, either hiding or running, she’d almost forgotten how to carry on a conversation with another adult.

  Except Mark. Somehow he was always the exception.

  She touched her son’s dark hair, wondering what to say to the woman. “Yes, it has been an adventure. May I ask, how is Prince Kyle?”

  Amelie gave a tiny, elegant shrug. “He is very well. Very busy. He is—how do you say it? Getting up to speed with affairs of state. His father, the king, wishes to hand off more responsibility to his heir.”

  Bree smiled. “Kyle will enjoy it and hate it at the same time.”

  “Exactly.” Amelie gave a quick smile, but still looked uncertain. “I am going to ask something entirely impertinent.”

  Bree met the princess’s eyes, wondering what was behind the question. There was nothing in Amelie’s face but guileless curiosity. Maybe she really was the gentle, slightly naive girl that Kyle had claimed. “What is it?”

  “Who was Adam Swift?”

  Bree’s mouth opened, shocked more than angry. That was nobody’s business.

  “Don’t be cross!” Amelie held up her hand. “There is no reason to tell me if you do not wish to.”

  But how do you refuse a princess? “Adam was my best friend from when we were children. He was a musician, a good one. He died in a surfing accident.”

  To Bree’s surprise, saying it felt good. She sat down in the other visitor’s chair, suddenly too tired to stand. “We were very, very close.”

  “I am sad for you,” Amelie said gently.

  Tears burned Bree’s eyes. Adam’s death was so senseless, it hurt to the core to even talk about it. That’s why she never did.

  She had cried herself out long ago, but she was so tired, there were no defenses left. “I don’t think we would have stayed romantic partners over the long-term. He wanted a life in the music business, traveling all the time, and I didn’t. But he never lived long enough for us to figure it out. We, uh, didn’t intend to have a child together but I would never undo it. He gave me an incredible gift.”

  Amelie’s expression was soft and sad. “How unfortunate that he will not see his son grow into a man.”

  “He would have been a loving father.” Adam was the one who saw her through all the breakups and breakdowns of growing up. He was the rock she’d leaned on. Losing him was like her foundation splitting in two. “It bothers me that Jonathan will never have that connection to where he came from.”

  “He has your family.”

  “Not quite the same. I’m not close to my parents.”

  Amelie shook her head. “Ah, but that is so different from my situation. My family, its very royalty, is who I am. It defines me. It sometimes suffocates me. That is why the notion of marriage is so terribly important to Kyle and me. We are more than a man and woman saying our vows. Our houses will unite.”

  “That sounds so daunting.”

  Amelie grew serious. “I must make sure my marriage is a good one, because I am gambling with the happiness of a nation as well as my own. So thank you for being so frank with me. I needed to know the truth about your son.”

  And why this gentle-looking woman flew all the way to California to make sure Kyle didn’t have any lovers or children she didn’t know about. He’s got his hands full. And yet—she couldn’t help liking the woman. There was a grace about her that went far beyond mere beauty. Still, it was time to change the subject.

  “I used to work with Jessica Lark, you know. I worked on your wedding trousseau.”

  Amelie’s face puckered in distress. “I have the dress, but the rest was lost. But of course you know that. Poor Jessica!”

  “I still have the sketches for the rest of the clothes.”

  Amelie’s eyes grew wide. “Then you must finish them!”

  “Me?” Bree automatically looked toward Jonathan. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t.”

  “Why not? Are you not able?”

  “I could do the work, I know how, but—”

  “Then think about it, at least.”

  Bree wished she could. A princess’s patronage was the gift of a lifetime. Everything she’d ever wanted. But she was a mother first, and Jonathan needed her attention.

  Amelie put a hand on hers. “I understand you have other concerns. Don’t decide now. Everything will unfold as it should.”

  Bree’s throat was tight. “But your wedding is in February. Getting it all done now—even if I could—would be a huge job. Maybe someone else could do it?”

  The princess sat back in her chair, thoughtful. “No. You were Jessica’s chosen. When it is time, you will begin.”

  But Bree’d had her fortune told, and it didn’t sound anywhere near that hopeful. Too bad Amelie and Mirella didn’t compare notes.

  Both women started when Mark knocked on the open door.

  Chapter 28

  Mark. Bree flushed, a tingling flooding over her body as she remembered what they’d done the night before. She couldn’t help letting her gaze linger on the line of his shoulders. She swallowed, mouth suddenly dust-dry.

  Mark’s expression was thoughtful, cautious at first. Then he met Bree’s eyes and gave her a look that made her blush deepen. It was like staring into a fire of banked coals, knowing that flame could burst back to life at any moment. Time seemed to hang suspended until, finally, he gave her a polite nod and turned to the princess.

  “A thousand pardons, Your Highness,” Mark said, making a graceful bow that said he was a man from another time. “Forgive my intrusion.”

  “You are never an intrusion, Dr. Winspear.” The princess held out a hand, palm down.

  Mark bowed over it. “I need to speak with Bree about the treatment of her son.”

  Bree sat forward, her heart speeding. Was it good news? Bad news? She wanted to blurt her questions, but Amelie was already talking, and a warning look from Mark made Bree hold her tongue.

  “Then you must do so at once. I, meantime, have a security detail with strict instructions to whisk me home to Marcari for another session of organizing cakes and place settings.” The princess rolled her eyes. “I had no idea our new wedding planner would be such a task mistress, nor that she had all the vampires in the Western Hemisphere under her thumb.”

  Mark smiled. “Chloe has Sam as her husband-to-be. If she can manage him, well, as the moderns say, they shall be a power couple to be reckoned with.”

  So Sam’s human fiancée was the royal couple’s wedding planner. An interesting detail, but Bree fidgeted. What about Jonathan’s cure?

  Amelie was still addressing Mark. “I want the Horsemen back at the palace as soon as possible.”

  “You have trusted members of the Company as your guard, Your Highness. They are loyal to Marcari and always have been.”

  “I want the Horsemen. Nothing else will do. I know you are training new recruits, but as soon as that is done, my father requests that you return to the palace.”

  Mark nodded gravely. “As you wish, Your Highness. I will come as soon as I can.”

  “I know you, D
octor. You will come when you are good and ready.” Her tone was scolding, but also affectionate. Amelie rose and kissed his cheek. “I tolerate your insubordination because your reasons are always from the heart.”

  The smile he gave her was indulgent, like an uncle humoring a willful niece. “Always, my lady.”

  Amelie turned to Bree. “You must forgive me for intruding on you. If there is anything at all my family, or my kingdom, can do for your son you have but to name it. I am certain Kyle feels the same.”

  The look on her face said she meant it. She had come to get answers, but now she was willing to help. Bree looked at her son, wishing a cure was as easy as asking a favor of a princess in a pretty dress. “Thank you, ma’am. I truly appreciate your kindness.”

  Amelie gave that small, shy smile. “Then farewell to you both for today, and good luck.”

  She swept out of the room in a swirl of designer skirts. Bree got to her feet, for a moment distracted by what she’d heard. “She wants you in Marcari?”

  Impatient though she was, Bree felt strangely bereft.

  Mark gave a slight shrug. “For the wedding. Security will be paramount.”

  Bree looked after the slender, dark-haired princess, a hollow feeling growing inside her. Amelie had put everything on the line for this union. It was no mystery why she wanted her trusted guards—but if Mark was leaving, where did Bree fit into the picture? Or did she?

  She forced the thought away. Jonathan. She cleared her throat, struggling to keep her voice steady. “You have news about a treatment?”

  “Yes. As you can understand, we’re dealing in highly theoretical science here. However, testing confirms Ferrel injected you and Jonathan with the second version of Thoristand’s virus. In a way, that’s good news. We know what we’re dealing with now.”

  Bree’s pulse hammered in her ears. Mark’s words were meant to be reassuring, but they stirred up her deepest fears. “You said he wasn’t likely to...to change.” Her mouth could barely form the words.

  Mark touched her hand. “He’s not. This version of Thoristand’s genetic cocktail is essentially a failure. It was meant to be more subtle, but as a result it is not powerful enough to complete the transformation. All that it’s doing is damaging his organs. We need to introduce an antibody that will reset his genetics to their proper pattern.”

  “How?” Bree grasped at the idea, but was afraid to hope. “Is that even possible?”

  Mark’s tone was businesslike, but she could hear excitement just below the surface. “Fortunately, we have been able to access some of the best geneticists around. We need a significant sample of living DNA.”

  “DNA? Jonathan’s father and his paternal grandparents are dead!”

  “Easy.” He took her hand in his now, pressing it. “We can work with your family, because what we’re actually looking for is mitochondrial DNA. That’s inherited from the mother. We’ll need blood and tissue samples.”

  She exhaled a grateful breath. “I’m all yours.”

  Mark winced. “I’m sorry, that won’t work. You were injected. We need clean samples. It will have to be your mother.”

  Light-headed with disbelief, she fell back a step. Her back hit the wall, and she braced herself against it. She might have fallen otherwise. “You mean my blood isn’t fit to save my own child?”

  Mark said nothing, just shook his head slightly.

  Of all the things Nicholas Ferrel had taken from Bree—her safety, her career, her sense of safety—this was the worst. He had stolen her ability to nurture her child when Jonathan’s very life depended on it. There weren’t words enough to describe the depth of this violation.

  Bree pressed her face into her hands. Shame and anger wrestled inside her, bringing a hot flush to her cheeks. “I hate him. Ferrel—”

  “I know. We’ll deal with the Knights, don’t you worry. But right now we need to think of Jonathan. Is your mother in town?”

  Bree jammed her fingers into her hair. “I think so? But, um...” She trailed off weakly. “I haven’t seen her in years. I don’t know if she’ll help.”

  “Why wouldn’t she help? It’s for her grandchild.”

  How could she answer that? That was exactly what she’d been thinking when she phoned her father just the other night—and got his answering machine. “It’s complicated.”

  Where had her mother been during all those years? When she’d needed guidance for those first few dates? When she’d needed someone to intervene when the drinking got too much for a girl of seventeen?

  “Complicated how?”

  “She was never there. She never flew out to New York to see Jonathan. She was always too busy.”

  Mark took Bree’s arms, holding her gently. “Will you try? For Jonathan? He doesn’t have long.”

  She knew that. She could see it written in his hollow cheeks, the dark circles that sat like bruises under his eyes. Bree hung her head, fear, reluctance and a traitorous hope fluttering in her belly. Once more she cursed Nicholas Ferrel for driving her to desperation. “Of course.”

  Going home was going to hurt. Not just swallowing her pride and asking for help, but the fear that her parents would turn their backs on her one more time. She would have thought the wound would hurt less after being rebuffed time and again, but it never did. Mothers could kiss life’s injuries and make them better, but they could also cause overwhelming pain.

  Mark kissed her on the top of the head. “Then let’s go. We have no time to waste.”

  * * *

  The house Bree had grown up in was really a mansion, although they never called it that. At eight bedrooms—plus a pool house and separate servants’ quarters—it wasn’t the largest place around, but the hilly property it sat on gave it more privacy and a better view than most. A large, arched gate sat across the entrance to the winding driveway. From there, all anyone could see was the corner of the red peaked roof jutting above the rocks and trees.

  Bree chewed a nail, trying to sort out her feelings. She’d picked up the phone to call, but hadn’t been able to push the numbers. Instead, she’d checked her mother’s webpage. The schedule on her blog put her in the city that week, taking personal time at home.

  That meant she was probably in the house. Seeing the place brought a nostalgic ache to Bree’s heart, and yet there was an ocean of anger, too. She had vowed never to come back even once.

  Five bucks says the folks won’t last ten minutes without sending a press release all about how they saved their grandkid. They’d never know the supernatural details, of course. Bree figured they could fill in the blanks with whatever their publicist suggested.

  “Is all this silence because you’re nervous?” Mark asked.

  “Maybe.”

  “Everyone wants their family’s approval. We’re just wired that way.”

  “I never thought I’d be the prodigal daughter, coming home with cap in hand. I always thought I’d walk away and be free of all this.”

  Mark didn’t answer. He just patted her knee and pulled up to the gate, bringing the Mercedes to a full stop. He looked cool and calm in the air-conditioned shade of the tinted windows. In an Italian-cut sports jacket and hand-sewn loafers, he looked the part of a high-priced medical man, handsome, successful and full of authority. He’d be the first man she brought home that her mother would relate to.

  “Does this look right to you?” Mark asked quietly, pointing ahead.

  On a normal day, the gate was locked and operated through an intercom. Today, it was ajar about a foot. Bree shrugged. “Sometimes Dad leaves it open if he’s expecting a lot of company.”

  “Not smart.”

  “He was never a big fan of the Fort Knox look. He said he needed to believe in humanity’s better nature.” Despite herself, Bree smiled. “He didn’t say he did believe in it, jus
t that he needed to. I understand that more now than I did as a kid.”

  Mark gave her a sideways look. “You’re still very young.”

  “But wise in experience, O ancient one.”

  She hopped out of the car and pushed a button on the stone gatepost that powered the mechanism the rest of the way open. They’d put it there because her dad kept losing the remote. The feel of her thumb on the sun-warmed metal was familiar enough to remind her she was truly home and this wasn’t a dream. She got back in the car feeling as though she was retreating to safety.

  The car crawled up the winding drive. It was a beautiful house, with white walls and a red-tiled roof, arched doorways and wrought-iron detailing. The architect who had designed it had used a light hand with the Spanish styling. It was more than a mere imitation of the real mission houses, but something unique. That, Bree knew, had been her mother’s influence. Everyone assumed Bree got her artistic sense from her dad, but Althea Meadows had an eye for design, too.

  The thought filled her with an unexpected hope. Maybe, just maybe they did have something in common after all. When Mark stopped the car, she touched his arm. “Let me go in first.”

  “Are you sure?” He turned off the motor, swiveling in the seat to look at her better.

  “Yeah.” Bree fidgeted. “Give me about twenty minutes to talk to them before you bring in the doctor’s bag. There are some things we need to get through in private.”

  Mark looked around, scanning the grounds for any signs of life. Bree did the same. The place did look quiet, but it wasn’t like there were always gardeners and pool boys around.

  “Do you have your cell phone?” he asked.

  Bree patted her pocket. “Check.”

  Mark held out his hand. She gave him the phone and he thumbed the buttons. “I’m putting my cell phone number in it. If you need me before fifteen minutes are up, just call.”

  “Twenty. I’ll need at least that much.” She gave him a slight smile. “Don’t worry. These are my parents. They’re scary in their own way, but they’re not psycho killers.”