Bleeding Hearts: Book One of the Demimonde

by Ash Krafton

  It drove me crazy. He apparently preferred fountain pens with loud scratchy nibs, too. The noise couldn't have been more annoying had he used a quill on sandpaper and an abacus.

  "You need a life, Rode," I said at last. "Computers are faster."

  "And you carry a notebook, why?"

  I looked down at my spiral-bound journal, which lay on the couch next to me. "It's portable."

  "So are laptops."

  "You're such a pain."

  "Because I make sense." He cracked his knuckles. "Why argue against hand writing when you do it your-self?"

  "In my case, it's different."

  "No, it's not."

  "Please," interrupted Marek. "You sound like hens pecking at each other. My ears grow weary."

  Rodrian smirked at me once before going back to his work. He sent a tiny pulse, a touch of mocking, as close to a poke and I got you last as any dignified DV would let himself get.

  "Yeah, well, Marek just called you a chicken. So there," I hissed back.

  "You know..." Marek dropped his paper and gave us each a reprimanding look. "When I said I wished for you to consider Sophie your family, I didn't mean school-aged siblings."

  "Oh?" Rodrian grinned, inappropriate hope in his tone. "What did you mean, then?"

  Marek sighed and retreated behind the financial section.

  The door banged open and a giggling mass of girl whirled in, a blur of long blonde hair and Express jeans and expensive handbag.

  "And how is the most important, most incredible, most generous man in my life today?" She sang the words as she hopped onto the desk, scattering Rodrian's papers beneath her perch.

  He tilted his head up at her. "I'm fine, though suspicious."

  "Suspicious? Why?"

  "It sounds like you want something. Again."

  "Can't a girl just be appreciative of someone and heap lavish praise on him?"

  "I'm not a king, Shiloh."

  "That's right," called Marek. "I'm king."

  "Yes, you are." She laughed over her shoulder toward him, and as she turned, she noticed me. "Oh. You have company. Sorry, I didn't see you there. Am I interrupting something?" She eyed Rodrian, pursing her lips and lowering her chin like an expectant school teacher.

  "Just my work, dear. Is there something you want besides an opportunity to adore me?"

  "Now that you mention it, I could use a little cashola."

  "Shoes again?" He sighed and reached for his wallet.

  "You mean you don't like my shoes?" She pouted and held up one foot for inspection. The sunlight sparked off her gold Baby Phat sandals. I stifled a sound of admiration: I'd seen them in last week's Cosmo and had been talking myself down ever since.

  "I like your shoes just fine. It's your closet space and its nearing extinction that I dread."

  "Typical man. When will you learn a woman's closet has magical properties that accommodate many, many shoes?"

  "Maybe when you're a woman, you can teach me."

  "Beast."

  "I love you."

  "You better." Shiloh plucked away the money Rodrian held out and slid off the desk. "Who'd love you back, if not me?"

  "Oh, I could think of a few people."

  "You'd better not." Her voice held a playful but warning tone and I caught the doubtful glance she gave me. "I don't share."

  "Get." He straightened out his ledgers. "I have work to do."

  "Love you, bye." She pulled the door shut with a bang.

  "Wow, Rode. Isn't she, ah, too young for you?" Once the sound of her footsteps had faded, I couldn't resist asking.

  Rodrian looked up from his spreadsheets, confused. "What do you mean?"

  "What do I mean?" I echoed with a weak laugh. "Shiloh—she's, what, nineteen? Twenty?"

  "No. She's fifteen."

  My jaw dropped. "You're kidding. That's sick."

  "What's sick? Marek, what is this woman talking about?"

  Marek dropped the pages low enough to peer over the top. "Apparently Sophie thinks Shiloh is your lady friend."

  "Oh." Rodrian sat back in his seat and didn't say another word. Picking up his pen, he resumed scratching numbers.

  I pulled a paperclip off my notebook and threw it at him. Better that, than the whole book. "Isn't she?"

  "Sophie." Rodrian plucked the paperclip from his shirt and set it on his desk. He had such a superior air about him I almost threw another. "Shiloh is my daughter."

  Speechless, I shot an accusing look over my shoulder at Marek. Cripes, you'd think he'd clue me in before I made an ass out of myself. Marek remained silent, although the newspaper bounced. He was laughing behind that damned paper.

  "Your... daughter?" Open mouth, insert foot. "Oh. Right, then."

  "My youngest daughter." He emphasized his words with a wicked smile, twisting the knife of embarrassment just a teensy bit more.

  My mouth opened and closed a few times but no words came out. My foot must have been in the way.

  "Is it so hard to believe, Sophie?"

  "Rode, you're, like, college boy pin-up of the century."

  "Ah, Soph?" Marek's inquisitive voice held a bit of warning not to drool all over myself.

  "No, Marek, really. He's too scrumptious to be someone's old man."

  Inquisitive became anguished. "Soph, please."

  Rodrian slouched back in his chair and smirked. His brother's girlfriend waxed poetic over him and he absolutely loved it.

  Marek, on the other hand, hated it. Knowing he was jealous made me love him even more. Wasn't it twisted? It was like saying I love you because I know I can hurt you.

  "My brother is quite the family man." Marek's tone was stiff. "If not for him our family line might have died out by now. Brother, remind me—am I a great uncle, yet?"

  "Great uncle? Holy crap, Rode. A grandfather?" I dropped my head back on the couch and groaned. "You? I gotta say, it's easier to believe you drink blood. Hell, it's easier to believe you have three nipples or something."

  "Jeez, Marek." Rodrian looked distressed. "Did you have to tell her about that, too?"

  "Ew!" I shrieked and leapt to my feet, scrambling to the door with my fingers in my ears. "Not listening! La-la-la-la-la!"

  Rodrian chased me down before I could open it, laughing like a kid who'd dangled a spider in front of a little girl's face.

  "C'mon, Soph. I was just kidding." Pulling my arm, he spun me to face him. "I only have two nipples."

  He stepped toward me, stalking like a panther. I backed up, wary of the sudden change in Rodrian's power, and thumped against the door.

  I slowed my breath, hoping to slam the brakes on my thudding heart, trying to not react. It wasn't easy. Rodrian's sexuality demanded a lot of attention. His voice sank deeper, rougher, and his eyes filled with amber heat.

  "Want me to prove it?" He hooked a finger around his tie and tugged it loose, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt with a hot grin. "You can look. I don't mind."

  A growl from the other side of the room threw a figurative bucket of cold water on Rodrian and he backed off, playful once more. "Do I feel like a grandfather to you?"

  Fluffing my hair to hide my relief, I flopped back onto the couch. "Hell no, you don't."

  I laughed and fanned myself, stealing a glance at Marek, whose paper lay in a heap on his lap. I blew him a kiss. "Relax, sweetie, or your face will stay that way."

  He glared back at us, jaw clenched hard enough to break teeth, before ducking back behind his paper.

  Rodrian took his seat, pulling off his tie and dropping it on the desk. "Shiloh is my youngest. She lives with her sister."

  "So, you have kids, huh?" This time I kept the utter disbelief out of my voice.

  "Mmm," he assented. "Sophie... let me tell you about my children."

  Something in his voice brought down Marek's paper. The playfulness had well and truly disappeared. Rodrian's tone sounded serious. Reflective.

  Sad.

  "When Boxer was born," he began
, "I thought I'd explode with joy. My firstborn, a son. The moment I saw him, held him for the first time, kissed his copper lashes, touched his fingers, admired his lips, curled like tiny rose petals... It took my breath. Love crushed me. Everything I had lived through had led to him, to that moment where finally, my life lay bundled in my arms."

  He looked down at upturned hands, as if gazing once more upon his newborn son. Rodrian's eyes glowed with warmth, hazel irises throwing off glints of amber and forest, the light emphasized by his warm smile.

  "But our family wasn't destined for a peaceful existence. Father had been a clan guardian and we were all targets, all the time. I couldn't abide the idea of losing Boxer and I put all my energy into keeping him safe. That was my mistake. I became too protective, too smothering. I didn't let him grow into his power."

  Marek shook his head, regret showing plainly in his eyes. "Boxer was talented. He came into his cusp early. His gifts had great potential, such tremendous strength behind them."

  "They did," Rodrian agreed. "But instead of encouraging him I held him back. I sheltered him, repressed him, and kept him out of danger instead of preparing him to face the world. And so, he rebelled. Typical teenager."

  Rodrian paused, chewing on a knuckle and staring at nothing. His voice dropped and the mood of his power sank with it.

  "Marek was in Asia. I couldn't bring myself to call him, to admit I needed help raising my own child. Boxer fell in with a bad crowd and started experimenting with blood rush. His strength convinced him he was strong enough to take anything. I constantly pulled him out of trouble, using anger to hide my fear. He lashed out, fighting me, seeking thrill after killing thrill. The rush twisted him and he became a 'lution junkie. By the time Marek returned, it was too late. Boxer Fell. He had to be exterminated."

  I gasped, tears rising. Sympathy chilled me as if the AC had kicked on full blast, and I rubbed fruitlessly at the goose bumps on my arms. "Oh, Rodrian, I'm sorry..."

  He raised his hand. "He evolved, Sophie. By the time he'd been tracked down in Germany and put to the sword, he was vampire. There was none of my son left in him. My only pain comes from not having been a better father. His end is my fault."

  "You are an admirable father." Marek interjected firmly, raising from his seat and standing in front of Rodrian's desk. "You have strength and talent and depth of heart I can never hope to possess."

  "Right," Rodrian responded. "This is why my son is dead."

  I could hear self-loathing in his voice, similar to what I'd often heard in Marek's. How could these amazing men have such pointed feelings for themselves?

  His guilt and sorrow was so thick it made me dizzy. I couldn't imagine what it did to him if I only got the run-off. How could he store all this inside and remain so mischievous on the outside? How could someone with so much light in his eyes have such darkness surrounding his heart?

  "You don't make life when you create a baby," I said. "You're blessed with a gift. When that life ends, it goes back to the big miracle it came from. You can't blame yourself when life is lost, Rode. You can only appreciate it while you have it and remember it when it's gone."

  Rodrian swung his chair around to face the windows. "What if you chased it away?"

  "You didn't chase it away. You were being a parent. You didn't hurt him, Rode—circumstances did. Don't blame yourself."

  "You make it sound easy."

  "It's not," I said. "You figure it out only after you've hurt enough to last a couple lifetimes. I know."

  "You've hurt like this? You've buried your own child?" He spat the words like poison.

  "No," I answered quietly. "My family. My brothers. My parents. It doesn't hurt any less, not when they were all you had."

  Marek sat down beside me, concern in his deep green eyes. I could feel him surround me with a soothing touch of power but I reassured him with a pat on his leg. "It's okay, love. Rode needs the comfort, now."

  With a curt nod, Marek addressed him. "It was all so long ago, brother. You must get past it. Death is a part of life. No sense mourning what you cannot control. It makes you weak."

  "No, Marek," I corrected him. "Pain has its own rules. It's a mountain, a big one that gets in the way of living. You can't just go around it. You have to find the tunnel and go through it. It's dark and scary but if you try to avoid it, you're just walking uphill the rest of your life."

  Rodrian still had his back turned to me. "I can help you, Rode. You don't have to go through it alone."

  He stood and stared out the window for a brief moment, tugging his sleeves down into place. Turning to me, he gave me a doubtful look. "How?"

  "Well, for starters, tell me about your daughters. Shiloh and her sister."

  "What can I say? I'm not even raising Shiloh. Brianda is. Brianda—now, there's a girl." His mood lightened and her name seemed to invoke a sudden glint in his eyes. "She's like their mother. Strong, clever..."

  "Vicious," added Marek.

  "Yeah," answered Rodrian with a dreamy smile. "My sweet girl."

  Marek rolled his eyes and turned to explain. "Brianda never showed an interest in taking a mate, at least not in a traditional sense. She may not be thinking of children of her own but she enjoys mothering Shiloh."

  "Don't you worry about them living alone in the city?" I remembered the arguments my parents had made when I moved in with a couple girls during college. They flipped, to be precise. The battles ceased when I offered to move into a house full of boys. Lesser of two evils.

  "Not as much as I worry I'll screw them up like I did Boxer."

  "Besides," added Marek, "Brianda is skilled enough to keep them both safe, as well as their neighbors. I've considered taking on Brianda as part of my guard. Beautiful and deadly. Just like her dear old uncle."

  I groaned. These guys were true proponents of healthy egos.

  "At any rate," Marek continued, "there's absolutely no need to worry about Shiloh while Brianda takes care of her."

  "See?" I said. "If there's one thing I almost learned, it's when Marek says don't worry, you don't have to worry much. Turn your attention to enjoying your daughters. Shiloh seems so bouncy, so fun, so full of life."

  "You haven't the faintest idea." Rodrian chuckled in spite of himself.

  "Then celebrate her. Use the joy to guide you through the pain. See how life goes on, all the more precious now because you know it's fragile and temporary."

  Marek reached up, smoothing my hair back from my face, over my shoulder. His touch seemed tentative, as if I, too, were fragile and temporary.

  For a long moment, no one spoke. Rodrian stared back out the windows, down at the teeming streets below us, the harbor further off. With a sigh, he pushed in his chair and approached me, crouching pensively. Gently grasping my hand, Rodrian placed a gallant, almost sacred, kiss on my skin.

  I reached out to him with my compassion, wishing to comfort him.

  Resting his cheek against my hand, he shuddered. His sadness and pain spilled into me, as if desperate for release. How many mornings did he wake in a cloud of regret? How many evenings did he sit alone, finding new depths to his despair? His eyes betrayed his anguish and I sent my heart out to him, praying for the pain to back off long enough for him to regroup and face it standing.

  I rested my head against his and closed my eyes.

  I could feel something else behind his grief, something bright and warming, something he'd forgotten. By releasing some of his hurtful guilt he uncovered it the way you'd find a favorite sweater when unpacking a bunch of heavy old blankets you'd put away for the season. It was bright and beautiful and buoyant.

  Hope.

  An encouraging sign. "I'll help, Rodrian. I promise."

  A strong arm slipped around my waist and Marek leaned closer to me, adding his confident reliable power to Rodrian's healing haze. "We'll help, brother."

  Rodrian looked up at him, surprised. His wide eyes revealed the child within, the younger brother who depended so much upon th
e older. "You, Marek? You will?"

  Marek let out a big breath, pushed his hair back from his forehead, and waved a dismissive hand. "Fine. You got me. She'll help. I'll just keep telling you what to do and expecting you to do it. What else is family for?"

  When we left Rodrian's office, Marek suggested a walk instead of heading straight home. We paused at the Overlook, a stone-walled ledge built along the outer wall of an old retired cemetery near the river's edge. The view showed the river below, the brightly lit bridge far beyond. Sunlight glinted off water and windshields as both streamed by in the distance.

  Marek leaned on his elbows, hands clasped. He'd loosened his hair and it tumbled over one shoulder, catching the slight breeze. "You are, in so many ways, truly an image of Isis."

  "I'm no goddess. If anything, I'm as far from one as I can get."

  "Ah, but the goddess is in you. Isis knows the orphan, knows the widow. Isis seeks shelter for the weak, justice for the poor. You do that. All those people to whom you've been kind, for absolutely no reason. All those people for whom you've shown compassion, who give you nothing in return."

  "All those people were weak or poor. What do they have to give in return?" I countered.

  "Yet, you champion them." He laughed, the sound harsh and full of disbelief.

  I shrugged. "Someone needs to."

  He shook his head and pulled his hair back over his shoulder. "Everyone has a choice. The test comes with accepting the consequences."

  "Fine, then." Crossing my arms, I leaned back against the wall. "When I became an advice columnist, I took an oath to save and protect."

  "Strange choice of words. Why save?"

  As spontaneous as the word had been, it was accurate. "I made a mistake a long time ago. A big one. Not a day goes by when I don't think about it and want to kick myself in the head."

  "The past is past."

  "Well, maybe yours is. Mine seems to be right behind me every step I take."

  "So. You made a mistake. What happened?"

  I chewed my lip and toyed with my rings. Funny how the breeze seemed to die down. Suddenly, the cemetery behind me ceased being a piece of scenery. The crumbling stone monuments seemed oppressively close, as if waiting for me to speak. "We don't need to talk about it, Marek. I'm past the point where therapy will exorcise my demon."