“I can meet with the council, or I can babysit Hanna.” Abernathy pinned his father with an irritated glare. “Which will it be?”
“Excuse me?” I sat forward on the couch. “Babysit me?”
“Half the attendees at this dinner would kill you as soon as look at you, and this before you knock them down or and hump them,” Abernathy said.
“I did not hump anyone. And, for the record, I only knocked over a guy pretending to be Vincent Van Gogh. A guy who tried to kill you, in fact. So pretty much, I did you a favor. In advance.” I coughed into the silence. “Okay,” I admitted. “Perhaps I could use a little guidance on these interactions.”
“If by guidance you mean a mean a straight jacket and a gag, I’m inclined to agree. But it’s a moot point.” Abernathy ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t take you.”
“What? No! I have to go!”
“Can’t,” he said. “Too dangerous to take you on my own.”
“Come on!” I rose from the couch and approached Abernathy’s desk. “You’re like the acting alpha werewolf. The big boss. The main man. You got this.”
“Part of what keeps me and everyone around me safe is knowing my limits.” Mark’s face had taken on the stony resolution I knew brooked no argument. His mind was made up.
I turned pleading eyes on Joseph. “Please come to the dinner.”
“Hanna—” he began.
“Please!” I turned my face to him, complete with big, watery pleading eyes.
“As much as I would like to accompany you, I am utterly committed elsewhere,” Joseph said, thumbing the perfectly pressed crease in his trousers.
“Right. What’s ‘er name den?”
I swiveled to find Allan standing in the doorway, arms folded across a paisley shirt loud enough to deafen the blind.
“Whose name?” Joseph asked.
“Oh stuff it, Joe. It’s not like I ain’t knowed you for eight centuries. Your commitments mostwy come wif tits like cantaloupes.”
“It’s not one of those commitments.” Joseph seemed genuinely disappointed at this admission.
“And I’m the bleeding’ pope. Not ‘at I blame you. These bloody state dinners are duller than a nun’s knicker drawer.”
A little lightbulb clicked on in my head. “You mean you’ve been to one?”
“Course I’ve been to ‘em. I’m older ‘an fuckin’ dirt.”
“So you can come with us.” I clapped my hands together triumphantly.
“Oh no.” He held up his small, sensitively shaped hands as if to stop an oncoming truck. “I ain’t been to one in decades and I ain’t about to start. ‘Sides, I just bloody flew here from England. I’m not about to hop a flight to Scotland tomorrow.”
“Scotland?” I looked from Mark, to Joseph, then back to Allan. “Who said anything about Scotland?”
“That’s where the dinner is, of course,” Allan said. “It’s our turn to host. Castwe Abernaffy, if I ain’t mistaken.”
“Let’s pretend someone in this room is capable of communicating all the relevant information in an order that makes sense.” I turned to Allan. “Go.”
Allan cast an exasperated look at Mark and Joseph. “Honestly, it’s a good fing you two are so good looking because you’re bloody useless. A’right. Once every ten years, ‘ere’s a Spring Lambing wherein de vampires get free reign for twenty-one days. A’fore de sucking, ‘ere’s a summit where de royalty from boff sides get to together to go over de rules. We alternate locations every ten years. Wast time, it were at Ahkentaten’s pad on account of he’s de vampire king. This time, it’s at Castwe Abernaffy in Scotland on account of Mark’s de king of de werewolves.”
Joseph cleared his throat.
“Sorry mate,” Allan added. “The acting king.”
I looked to Mark, who stared at the ceiling like it held far more interesting conversations. “You’re the king? What the hell? You’ve never told me this why?”
“It wasn’t essential for your survival,” he said flatly.
“So if my survival is your only motive, what was your hand doing in my pants earlier?”
“Crikey!” Allan said. “’ow come I always miss de good stuff?”
Irritation creased Mark’s brow. “Perhaps if you weren’t constantly fucking a broke-dick detective—”
“For the last time, I did not fuck Morrison! He was passed out on my doorstep and I—”
“Children,” Joseph said. “You two can finish this conversation in private. The matter at hand is the state dinner. I, for one, think Hanna should attend.”
“I would love to, Joseph. But Mark won’t take me unless someone goes with us.” I shot Allan my most hopeful look.
“Prowwy for de best love. A right bunch of gits dose vampires. Speciawwy Nero. Bleedin’ psychopath he is.”
I felt my eyes widen to the size of duck eggs. Mark dropped his face into his palms.
“The Emperor Nero is going to be there?”
Allan sent a contrite look in Mark’s direction. “Sorry, mate. I forgot ‘ow she gets. Yes ‘es going to be there. Probably bring ‘at creep old witch what’s been followin’ ‘him around for years.”
And then I was clasping Allan’s smooth hands in mine. “Please come. I promise I’ll be good. I won’t hump anyone. Not even a little bit. In fact, I won’t even talk. I’ll be this quiet, gliding presence at your elbow. Silent. Ethereal.”
The three men regarded each other. Laughter exploded in triplicate, filling Mark’s office like a flash of light.
“I could be ethereal.”
Allan was bent at the waist now, slapping his thigh. Joseph had collapsed onto the leather couch. Mark slouched back in his chair, shaking his head.
“You know what? You guys can suck a bag of dicks. I don’t want to go to your stupid werewolf party anyway.” I turned on my heel and walked toward the door, but was hauled back by Allan’s hand on my waistband.
“A’right, a’right, I’ll come.”
“Really?” I bounced forward and wrapped him in a hug. “Thank you!”
“Ready for lesson number one?” Allan asked, his voice sounding strangely hoarse.
“Absolutely,” I said. “Teach me all the things!”
“Let go of me neck, love. Neither vampires nor werewolves is all dat keen on spontaneous physical contact that doesn’t involve eatin’.”
“Right,” I said, realizing that, in my zeal, I had nearly crushed his larynx with my alarmingly bony Shoulder of Death. “Of course. I totally knew that.”
Allan blinked at me from behind his chic Gucci frames while rubbing at the red spot on his throat. “Right. What you goin’ to wear, then?”
“I hadn’t even thought of that!” My stomach became a nervous bird. Whether it was excitement of the prospect of dress shopping or the caffeine from the small battalion of lattes, I couldn’t say. “What does one even wear to a cross species gathering?”
“Black tie only,” Joseph said. “It’s at least one common ground where the dead and damned can comfortably mingle.”
I chewed on my lower lip. “The last formal dress I owned was a wedding gown, and its final resting place is the county landfill. Do I have enough time to shop?”
“Shop?” Joseph looked at me like I’d just suggested that I remove his testicles with a rusty spoon shank. “Oh no, my dear girl. You can’t show up in something off the rack to an event like this. You’d be eaten alive.”
“Metaphorically?” I asked hopefully.
Joseph’s enigmatic smile told me way more than I wanted to know.
“Where the hell am I going to get a custom gown on such short notice?”
Joseph and Mark both turned to look at Allan, who had been slowly inching backward toward the door.
“Come on!” Allan threw his hands up in a dramatic diva gesture only he could pull off. “I’m the bloody babysitter, and now the seamstress too? What am I? Fuckin’ Cinderewwa? You want I should go smelt some iron to build a jet for us to
ride in while I’m at it?”
Joseph rose from the couch and laid a chummy arm across Allan’s shoulders. “You know there’s no one better.”
“Course there isn’t! I’m the bleedin’ messiah of fabric. But in twelve hours? And wifout an assistant?”
“Don’t tell me you’re losing your touch, old friend.” Joseph gave Allan’s arm a squeeze.
“I don’t know what’s sadder,” Allan sighed. “That you’re stiww using ‘ose crap lines on me, or ‘at they stiww bloody work.”
“That’s the spirit!” Joseph clapped Allan on the back hard enough to make him cough out a mint.
Allan took a few steps back and eyed me like one of the gallery’s spectators, thumb and forefinger pinching his dimpled chin. His gaze traveled the length of my neck, past my chest, and snagged on my hips for a moment before sliding down my legs. “Right,” he said. “Sleeveless corset bodice, fuww skirt. Satin, not silk.”
“Nothing too low cut,” was Mark’s first and only offering in this conversation.
“And why not?” I asked.
“The guests at the state dinner will either want to eat you, fuck you, or murder you. Some of them will want to do all three, and in an order that wouldn’t please you.”
“Oh, lighten up,” Allan said. “Been at least twen’y years since someone snuffed it at one of ‘ese dinners.”
“Why am I not wildly comforted by this statistic?” I asked.
Allan laced his arm through mine and urged me toward the door. “Don’t worry, love. You’re more likely to be killed from boredom dan disemboweling.”
Just what I had been hoping to hear.
Chapter 13
The gray dawn broke over Mark’s face through the private jet’s small porthole window. Shadows lingered in some of my favorite places: the underside of his stubbled jaw, the crease where his shapely lips met, the expanse of smooth skin where his silky, dark-chocolate colored hair fell across his forehead. Dark lashes rested against his cheekbones. His broad chest rose and fell beneath his tailored button-up shirt in time with the slow breaths of deep sleep. Considering his impossible beauty as he slept made all that had transpired between us seem like something out of a Surrealist painting. Events that might have occurred in a parallel universe.
Those lips had kissed me. His teeth had been bared at me, and for me. I knew what the body beneath those clothes looked like naked, covered in the sweat of passion. And blood.
I’d been watching him for the better part of an hour, courtesy of seats that faced each other, yet another aspect of this journey I’d have to get used to.
That, and being called My Lady. Hearing Mark addressed as Your Highness by the flight crew had been one thing. To have them fall at my feet and wash my stiletto boots with their tears was something else entirely.
An heir, they’d said. Alive. A miracle!
Me? A miracle? A mess seemed far more accurate.
Mark’s long fingers began to twitch, peddling in the air. His eyelids fluttered. His shoes scuffled along the jet’s deep blue carpet.
My mouth broadened into a smile. Wolf dreams.
“My Lady, we’ll be touching down in Edinburgh in a half hour.” An attendant with a crisp white shirt and navy skirt leaned into view.
“Valerie,” I said, glancing at her nametag, “please, call me Hanna.”
Panic creased her pretty features. “Oh, Your Highness, I couldn’t possibly—”
“You really can, I promise.”
Her young, pink cheeks lifted into a smile. “Lady Hanna, can I bring you anything? A hot towel? Coffee? Tea?”
“Oh my gawd. I’d kiww for a cuppa, love.” Across the aisle, Allan pushed his glasses up on his head and rubbed at his eyes. “And troof be towd, I’d give you me firstborn for a hot towel.”
Valerie straightened and tucked a few stray hairs back into her chignon. “Lord Ede, that won’t be necessary.”
“Good. Cause I ain’t got a firstborn and ain’t likely to sire any pups any time soon.”
“Back in a moment.” Valerie bustled up the aisle with the steadiness of a woman used to remaining steadfastly upright even in the worst of turbulence.
Would that I could do the same.
“Did you get some sleep?” I asked, stretching my legs as best I could while still buckled into my seat.
“Not enough,” Allan answered, yawning widely. “How you howdin’ up?”
I arched my back and reached for the jet’s ceiling releasing a totally unsexy series of pops and cracks. “Not too bad.”
“Wiww you look ‘ese two?” Allan asked, glancing at Joseph and Mark in their matching reclining satyr sprawls. “Sleep like the dead, they do. And the snoring!”
“I know, right? Joseph too?” I asked.
“I’d rather sleep next to a jet engine turbine,” Allan said, shaking his head.
“Mark too!” I said. “When we were coming back from London—”
“What about London?” Mark asked suddenly, completely, startlingly awake.
“Lovely city. Lots of history. Can’t wait go back.” I beamed my biggest totally wasn’t talking about your snore smile at him, glad I had washed my face with a travel wipe and reapplied my make-up while he slept. “Hey! We’ll be landing soon.”
Valerie returned with a tray bearing two steaming cups, setting one in front of me, and the other in front of Allan. Tendrils of life-restoring bergamot-scented steam caressed my nose.
Joseph’s hand shot out and seized Valerie’ arm. His eyes lazily blinking open, he visually meandered from her hair to her shoes. “Well, good morning,” he said.
“Good morning, my lord,” Valerie replied in a register slightly huskier than she’d employed for Allan and I.
“Glad I slept through the sunrise,” Joseph said, grinning up at her.
“Why is that?” Valerie asked.
“The better to see you with, my dear.”
Valerie giggled and made her way back to the front of the plane.
“Was that strictly necessary?” Mark asked his father, irritation plain on his face.
“There’s necessary, and then there’s necessary.” Joseph revealed a wide shark-like grin.
At least Mark came by some of his more irritating habits honestly. My ears popped and I sent a prayer of gratitude toward the heavens as the jet began a gradual trajectory toward the earth. Leaning toward the window, I looked down on a patchwork quilt of fields embroidered by seams of dark trees. Squares painted moss, emerald, olive, chartreuse, and pistachio pushed up against each other like paint cards, competing to be selected as the official color of earth’s yearly rebirth.
“Home sweet home,” Joseph sighed.
Mark glanced out his own window, his thoughts inscrutable as he looked at the land below. “Once upon a time.”
Castle Abernathy grew from the rocks at the river’s edge like it had erupted from the earth itself. The rough-hewn shapes of the battlements’ edges scratched the gray sky beyond gnarled trees, too old and stubborn to yield to the first blush of spring.
If I had expected drafty stone halls and worn Persian rugs, I was sorely mistaken. The castle’s interior was as modern as its exterior was antiquated. Expansive wood floors spanned the broad stretches of space. The walls had been insulated, stuccoed, and painted. The ceiling’s lofty climes revealed wooden beams and trusses that brought the room’s height down to approachable proportions. Tapestry after tapestry was tucked away in the nooks aligning the great hall.
Our luggage sat in the entrance like a pile of building blocks, stacked there by the driver with more pressing concerns than our arrival.
“Everyone grab your gear,” Mark ordered. “There should be rooms prepared upstairs.”
“Where are all the servants?” Joseph surveyed the area surrounding the twin staircases spiraling into the castle’s heart like great arteries.
“Staff,” Mark corrected. “I only keep as many as needed to maintain basic functionality.”
; “Bloody ‘ell, Mark. If I knew I’d be schlepping me bags about like a porter, I might ‘ave left a few fings behind.” Allan approached the jumbled stack and dug out his matching Burberry bags with their distinctive horseferry check.
I slung my duffle bag over my shoulder and dragged my grandma’s powder blue suitcase out of the pile. It had been manufactured in the days before people understood the necessity of attaching wheels to luggage, and boasted a brass toothed zipper that was as likely to bite a hole in your clothes as it was to hold the suitcase closed. It had begrudgingly let itself be dragged up hostel stairs and down cobblestone sidewalks, and through puddles of asphalt scented rain. Never in the world would I have guessed that one day, it would end up in the foyer of the estate belonging to my centuries old werewolf boss/occasional make-out buddy.
I grunted as I hauled its taciturn bulk. “Did this thing gain weight on the plane?”
Taking this as a cue, Mark relieved me of both my burdens and strode toward the stairs. “This way,” he said. In my mind’s eye, the ghost of a small, dark haired boy haunted his practiced movements, a reflection of a much younger Mark who might have raced around these halls.
“Usual rooms, ‘en?” Allan asked, red-faced and panting at the top of the stairs.
“Should be.” Mark, looking annoyingly fresh and well-rested after such a long journey, turned to the right, leading our bedraggled parade down a grand hallway punctuated with tapestries, paintings, and even a suit of armor. He paused when we reached a set of large wooden doors of burnished walnut.
“This one is yours, Hanna.”
Joseph stopped short behind us. “You’re giving her this room?”
“Do you object?” There was more aggression in the question than Mark’s stony expression revealed.
“No,” Joseph said. “It’s just…interesting, don’t you think?”
“I think it will be easy for Hanna to find.” Abernathy set my suitcase down by the door, extracting a large, intricately carved key from his pocket.
Something inscrutable hid behind Joseph’s smile. “If you say so.”
Only when Allan and Joseph were out of earshot did Mark slide the key into the lock and turn it, releasing a brassy click from deep inside the wood. Mark pushed the door open and held it so I could enter first.
Love Lies (Tails from the Alpha Art Gallery Book 3) Page 12