His expression had grown hard. This was the less amiable side to Kenton Morley. The one who’d commanded her to leave his home immediately. The one who’d admitted to committing murder. She sensed danger from him now, but not toward herself.
“And then Lawrence’s sister-in-law—”
“Lady Isobel’s curse. I was not there, of course, but by Derrickson’s own admission, in her grief, she uttered aloud a curse upon my father and those responsible for the feud that led to her husband’s death, as I told you before.”
“She cursed you to an eternity of grief—”
“In an irony for the ages, since her own family was as responsible for the fighting as ours. Her father-in-law had refused to agree upon a peace between our families. Their hatred of us ran too deep.”
She looked at him, wondering if Lawrence would tell the same story. Alessandra had a feeling some of the details may be a bit different coming from the Scot. Such was the way of history—something that had always fascinated her—there were always two sides to a conflict, and only by combining them could you get a full picture.
It was clear the conflict between the two families ran deep, and yet . . . it was almost as if Kenton only hated them out of habit. His words lacked the kind of heat she would have expected.
“Has it truly been a curse, then?”
Kenton appeared thoughtful. “At first, no. But as the years drag on . . .” His shrug explained the void she’d sensed in him all along.
“Tell me again how the Cheld fits into all of this.”
He tensed beside her.
“When Lady Isobel realized what her words had wrought, she tried to reverse the curse. But she was no witch, just a powerful healer who had channeled her grief in a way she’d never intended. But nevertheless, she tried. And you are the result.”
The hairs on her arms stood straight. He’d said as much once before, but with this new knowledge . . .
“The curse remained intact, but a balance was created. Lawrence’s family had the luxury of knowing what was happening. Over the years, we’ve pieced together most of the details, but Clan Karyn still keeps many of Lady Isobel’s secrets from us.”
“You call them Clan Karyn. Were Lawrence’s other relatives turned too?”
“No.” He shook his head. “Just his mother and siblings. Out of habit, I suppose, after we learned to control our bloodlust, and after my father died, I ruled as earl, and Lawrence, clan chief. In some ways, it was like nothing had changed. For a time.”
So many thoughts swirled around in Alessandra’s brain that she didn’t know what to ask first. So she remained silent until their path finally led them back to the town square. The weekend visitors had gone home, leaving mostly locals behind. They all went about their business as if it were a normal day in Stone Haven.
But her days would never be normal again. If such a thing actually existed.
Acutely aware that Kenton was looking at her, she glanced his way.
It struck her that she wasn’t afraid of him. Not one bit. Didn’t matter that he’d shown her his fangs, or that she’d seen him actually use them on someone. She wanted him. And when she looked at those sexy lips, she didn’t think about his fangs—she thought about the way they’d parted as he brought her to climax.
Alessandra had lost her damn mind.
Or maybe, as Kenton had suggested, it was easier for her to accept their strange situation because she’d been born into the legacy that had started all those years ago.
She wanted to relent, to ask him if he would walk her to The Witch’s Brew. She wanted to learn more from him and to extend this fascinating discussion of theirs well into the day—and then the night.
And yet . . .
He would have to leave, wouldn’t he? He didn’t age, after all, so he could never stay in one place for too long. Besides, he’d lived God knows where around the world, and this sleepy little town would feel laughably small to him.
What would happen to her when he did go? He’d awoken something in her, something that felt barely within her control, and she wouldn’t know what to do with it when she saw the back of him.
“I need some time to think.” The words burst out of her.
If he was surprised, Kenton didn’t show it. Then again, one never knew exactly what went on in that enigmatic head of his.
“I’ve more to tell you, Alessandra. Much more.”
The lure was cast, but she would not be baited. Not in this.
“I’m sure you do. But I need some time.”
She pulled her hand away, summoning all of her inner strength, and said, “I’ll call you?”
“I look forward to it,” he said finally, inclining his head as if they’d just finished a dance in a grand ballroom, something he’d likely done more than once before. Just thinking about the events he’d lived through was enough to intimidate the most ardent student of history.
Attempting a smile, she watched him walk in the direction of his house. The Henry freaking Hutton mansion. Who lived alone in a mansion that had been an entire bed and breakfast?
Kenton did.
And suddenly the fact that he was a vampire didn’t even seem like the most enigmatic thing about him. Alessandra hardly knew anything about this man she’d been handing her heart to on a platter.
He was seven hundred years old, and she was a historian, for God’s sake. It was time to put those skills to use.
Chapter 19
Alessandra sat in the university’s library, head in her hands, exhausted. She usually never forgot to eat, but after talking to Kenton, she’d holed herself in here as if her dissertation depended on it. So far, nothing. She’d even dug out a promising article on microfiche, for God’s sake, but it had proven to be a dead end, nothing more than the ravings of a mad person from what she could tell.
She’d focused on stories of vampire slayers, and while some could have very likely been Cheld, separating fact from fiction was near impossible.
Specifically about the Cheld? Nothing.
Medieval vampires, nothing. Not even a glimmer of Kenton and Lawrence’s tale.
Simon of Winchester . . . the tale was exactly as Birdie had described it, but though the story was gruesome, it offered little usable information. Had a vampire killed the man? If so, how did that connect to her ancestry? Had he been a Cheld too?
One day she’d have to return and see about getting into the secret archives fabled to exist in the basement of the library. She’d always thought them to be a rumor, but who knows? There was certainly little to go on here.
She thought about seeking out Lawrence, but there was one person involved in the situation she’d yet to approach. And it was about time to involve him, even though she hated to do it.
When she dialed her brother’s number, she fully expected to get his voicemail. But just as she pushed her way through the front doors of the library, Garrett’s familiar drawl greeted her ears.
“Hey, sis.”
The sound of his voice made her realize she should have called him earlier. Garrett was three years her junior, enough of a difference that she would always see him as a kid. She loved reminding him of the diaper changes and temper tantrums she’d endured on his behalf, especially in the presence of one of his new girlfriends.
She missed teasing him, truth be told, although he probably didn’t miss it.
“Do you have a second?”
What time was it, anyway? She didn’t think to check, but her stomach told her it was at least seven or eight o’clock.
“What’s wrong?”
Part of her hated to do this. Garrett deserved to enjoy his last year of graduate school unburdened by the truth about their father’s lineage. On the other hand, she had a feeling he would have to find out sooner or later, and she’d rather it be from her. Besides, it struck her that he might have some helpful insights. She was the historian of the family, but her philosophy and psychology double-major brother had gotten the lion’s share of the brain
s. Garrett was a borderline genius.
Although he sometimes hid it well.
“You may want to sit down for this . . . ,” she began.
Walking back to her house, she told him everything. Well, almost everything. She wasn’t about to reveal the existence of vampires to him over the phone.
“I’m coming tonight,” he said when she finally finished.
She had a feeling he would say that. The semester was over, and normally he’d be back home by now, but in his typical overachiever fashion, he was taking a summer course to round out his studies.
“No, you’re not. If you do, I will be pissed.”
“I don’t care how pissed you are, if you’re in danger—”
“I’m not,” she said, feeling somewhat guilty for fibbing. “If I were, this call would have happened days ago. But I need you to keep your eyes and ears open. See if you can learn anything—”
“About an ancient sect of superpowered beings whose blood runs through our veins? It sounds to me these guys you’re tangled up with are crazy. Sorry to say it, sis, but—”
“I know it sounds crazy. But just do this for me. Pretend for a second everything I’m telling you is true. Please?”
Silence.
What had she expected?
“Garrett . . . please?”
“What the hell.”
Alessandra smiled. She loved this kid with all her heart. Although she was sorry to say so, he was more man than kid these days.
“But please stay where you are.”
More silence.
“You still there?” she asked.
“Allie . . .”
“I’m serious. If I wanted you to come, I’d tell you. Get off your white horse and—”
“OK. OK. I’ll see what I can dig up.”
She knew that tone. “What?”
“It might be worth a renewed effort to try and find out more about Dad—”
“I don’t like it.”
They’d agreed many years ago to stop letting the ghost of their father’s abandonment haunt them. The only way out of it was forward, which meant no looking back.
“But if he is the key to—”
“He was adopted, Garrett.”
“I know that, but—”
“A . . . we won’t find anything new. We’ve already tried. B . . . he would have told Mom if he’d known about any of this. C . . . you’re welcome to try.”
“The girl can recite her alphabet. I’m so proud.”
“Be serious, Garrett.” She paused before continuing. “To be honest, I thought you’d be freaking out right now, or trying to convince me to commit myself to the locked ward at the hospital.”
His uncharacteristic silence sent a chill down her spine.
“You’re right. I usually don’t believe half of what you tell me—”
“Thanks.”
“And yet . . . all teasing aside . . . I don’t understand how, but I suddenly feel like everything you’ve said is true.”
Cheld. His words sent a chill down her spine.
She reached her porch and was digging into her backpack for keys when Garrett yelled to someone in the room.
“On my way,” he called, and then to her, “We’ll play it your way, sis, for now. If I dig anything up—”
“Call me.”
“Right. And please, if—”
“If I’m in any danger at all, I will summon my gallant younger brother to ride into town on his white steed to save me.”
She could see him rolling his eyes. The image was almost enough to make her smile.
“You do that.”
“Later,” she said, hanging up. Then, pushing the key into the door, Alessandra froze. It was as if Kenton, Lawrence, and Laria had all appeared at the same time. The sensation was so powerful, so threatening, she didn’t need to be told what it meant.
A different vampire was nearby. And she was in danger.
Alessandra took out the knife Birdie gave her and held it as if she’d been born with the thing. She simply needed to step inside her house to assure her safety if, indeed, her instincts were correct. But still, she paused, knowing this was a fight she could win.
“What do you mean, you’ll handle it?”
Kenton paced the front room, vowing again to get rid of these garish red walls as his unwanted guests sat calmly across from him. They reminded him of a time when he’d once lost control, of an incident he’d rather not remember.
Laria spoke this time.
“We can’t explain how we hide them, Kenton. There’s no scenario here that doesn’t come back to haunt us.”
Lawrence cut in. “If you’d just recognize that most Cheld do not pose a danger, perhaps it would be different—”
“You’re trying to protect the woman you love,” Laria said. “Admirable. And very un-Kenton-like. But not good enough for us to jeopardize other lives.”
The woman you love.
Over the centuries, he’d loved only a handful of women. Getting too close always led to pain in the end, and he had a feeling this time would be no different.
He hadn’t expected the Derricksons to reveal everything they knew, but damned if he was just going to put her life in their hands. They’d failed before—he and his brothers had ensured it. What if they failed again?
“You will just have to trust us,” Lawrence said.
Trust a Derrickson? Never.
“We don’t have time for games, Lawrence,” he snapped. “You’ve met my brothers—”
“Unfortunately.”
“Lawrence!” Laria pressed her lips into a flat line and frowned at her brother. It wasn’t the first time Kenton had thought he might actually like the only Derrickson sister had she been born into a different family.
“If you hadn’t shown up,” Lawrence said, “she’d be safe already. Telling Alessandra I meant to kill her set back my plan—”
“I will not be kept out of this,” Kenton insisted, his fists clenched. “She is mine to protect.” Protecting those he loved was what Kenton did best, after all. Before Alessandra, it had been the only thing left to live for. He may have failed his parents, but he’d helped protect his brothers for centuries, hadn’t he?
“It would be easier with your cooperation,” Laria said, inspecting the red walls, “but we will protect her either way.”
Truly, his world had been turned upside down in Stone Haven. But did he have any other choice but to accept their help? Kenton did not have the means to keep her safe.
Vampires could detect Cheld, and as Alessandra’s abilities grew, his brothers weren’t the only ones who would rather kill her than risk being killed should her stance on vampires change.
“I’m going with her.”
Again, the siblings exchanged an infuriatingly meaningful glance.
“Tell him,” Laria prompted.
What the hell was going on here?
Lawrence twisted the silver ring he’d worn since his days of ruling Clan Karyn as chief. Could he be . . . nervous? He’d rarely seen the other leader act anything but confident.
“Our fathers despised each other,” Lawrence said, looking directly at him. “And their fathers before them. We very nearly lived in each other’s backyards, and a property dispute—”
After all these years, the accusation still roused flames of rage in his gut. “I assume you speak of the ownership of my family’s home?”
“—kept us from being allies rather than enemies.” Lawrence shot a look at him. “I’d always assumed our families were destined to despise each other for eternity—” a pause, “—but perhaps we might extend our temporary truce just a bit longer.”
Kenton knew what it took for Lawrence to say those words. He knew because saying them would have cost him the same amount of pride. In another life, it was the kind of concession that could have gotten a man killed. When a medieval warrior hesitated, on the battlefield or off of it, they did not survive, simple as that.
But they wer
e no longer living on the borderlands, no longer in charge of anyone but themselves and their families. Which was the rub. For Lawrence, protecting his family meant watching over the ancestors of the very woman who’d set the curse. For Kenton, it meant eliminating those same people.
Alessandra changed everything.
Smart. Bold. Gracious. Full of light and life. And more goddamn beautiful than any woman alive. Or dead.
It was for her Kenton stuck out his hand.
Lawrence didn’t hesitate to shake it. He’d always been the better man.
“I can ensure she is safe here in Stone Haven. You have my word.”
Drake and Rowan would kill him for this.
So be it.
Just as the thought popped into his head, as his brothers’ faces flashed before him, a rush of adrenaline coursed through him.
Could it be?
Fuck. He hoped not. And for God’s sake, please not Rowan.
Chapter 20
Alessandra sat beside Kenton on the riverbank, hand in hand with him. The connection between them felt so strong, as if it had been forged in iron. Together they looked down at the dark water. Then he reached out to touch her, sending a spark of warmth through her chest and down to her toes, and as she leaned forward to touch their lips together.
Their mouths opened at the same time, and what was sweet to start turned decidedly wicked as his tongue demanded more. She couldn’t get enough of him, and apparently Kenton felt the same way. The small ripple of desire grew and grew until it became a great big wave that still hadn’t crested. He reached down to open her shirt and then—
“Hey, sleepyhead.”
The riverbank turned wispy, and Kenton’s urgent touch was replaced by a nudge to her shoulder.
“Don’t worry, she’s perfectly decent,” said a faint female voice.
This made no sense.
“Though she apparently doesn’t want to move this morning.”
“Always the night owl.”
What the—
She sat up in bed and confirmed what her foggy mind had just told her. Her brother Garrett sat down next to her on the mattress. “What the hell are you doing here?”
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