Forever Vampire (18 page)

“I hope so. I'm not sure what will happen when the last flower has fallen.”

“You can get another from her?”

“Yes, but she must come to me. Banished, remember.”

“I hope you're not ashamed of what you did for Kit. That was an unselfish act, Vail. I don't even know Kit, but I'm glad she had a friend like you. You consider her family, don't you?”

He'd never thought of that, actually, but… “Yes.” He smiled. Truly Kit had been family, and still was, even though he might never see her again. He was pleased to know she had married a man she adored, and that her life would be happy. “You make it easy to talk about the tough things.”

“I'm going to make it harder. I want you to visit your mother.”

“Where did that come from?”

“You didn't have real family in Faery.”

“I had the closest thing to family I'll ever want. Don't worry about me, Lyric.”

“I don't. You're a strong man who doesn't need anyone for support. You've learned the mortal realm quick enough, though I do wish you'd take driving lessons.”

He chuckled, tilting back his head, but Lyric did not lighten. “I know what it's like to pine for a lost parent. And your mother is not lost. I want you to see your mother once. I'll go with you to talk to Rhys Hawkes. I think it may be good for both of you.”

Vail sighed and stretched out his legs. Lyric was a comfortable weight against his chest. “You think?”

She nodded.

“But we've faeries to avoid. They're out there, tracking us.”

“I suspect they won't think to look at Rhys Hawkes's home. That's the last place you want to be, yes?”

“Yes,” he agreed with a tousle of her hair. “Sometimes you're too smart for your own good.”

“Only if I've convinced you to visit your mother.”

“What's in it for me?”

She sighed. “Don't give me that faery bargain crap. What's in it for her? Have you ever wondered if your mother thinks of you?”

“Every day of my life,” he said softly. It was a wound that would never heal.

And with a nod, Vail confirmed he would do as she suggested. It would be painful, and it would go against every morsel of hatred and angst and irrational fear he'd built up against his real family, but life wasn't worth it unless it hurt a little.

Or so Zett had told him as he had plucked Vail up by his beaten and bruised arm and flung him into the mortal realm.

 

J
UST AS THEY WERE
locking up Leo's apartment to leave, Vail's cell phone rang. “Trystan?”

“Yeah, who else is going to call you, longtooth? What the hell is going on?”

“What do you mean?”

That Trystan had made himself dial up the brother he hated was huge. Yet Vail's hopeful anticipation sank as his brother explained.

“I've been worked over by a bunch of freakin' faeries. Faeries! Their damned wings cut like knives. I'm still bleeding. But I did take that skinny one out. You tear off their wings, they turn into babbling babies, you know that?”

“What did they want, Trystan?”

“They wanted you! Is this your idea of forging family ties? By bringing all this bad shit into the mortal realm with you? Because if so, I think you and I need to go mano-a-mano, brother.”

“They're looking for me.”

“Ya think?”

“Because of a mission your father sent me to do.”

“Yeah, I figured that one out. Which is why I didn't tell them where to find you.”

“Like you would know.”

“I called to warn you, but if you're going to be an asshole—”

“I'm sorry, brother. Can you tell me what they looked like?”

“Ugly with wings.”

That described a good portion of Faery. “Did they mention who had sent them?”

“Yes, some Zett dude sent them. The leader, the one who cut me across the nose—this is going to take a week to heal—said you were wanted for crimes against the Unseelie nation. And can I say, dude?
Crimes against an entire nation? Way to go! I didn't know my little brother had it in him!”

“Big brother,” Vail corrected. “By two minutes. Thanks, Trystan. I'll be on the lookout, but I'm already aware Zett is after me. Hell, you don't think they'll go after Rhys and Viviane?”

“You'd better pray not, longtooth. If anyone harms my family, I will tear out their hearts. And then I'll go after the reason for it, which is you.”

The phone clicked off. Vail shook his shoulders to shed the harsh vibes that always accompanied talking to Trystan. But his brother was right. If any faery caused harm to his family—be they blood or pseudofamily—he too would rip out their hearts and nail the bloody muscle, beating and dripping, to a tree with an iron stake.

Wow. He'd just thought about protecting his family. What was up with him?

“Vail?”

He focused on the beautiful woman who stood by the elevator door, waiting expectantly. She was a part of his family now and he considered her part of his inner circle. Worth protecting with his life.

If Zett laid one finger on Lyric, the sidhe lord would not inhale another breath.

“We need to hurry. My brother thinks the sidhe may go after the rest of my family, like they did him.”

“Your brother, the werewolf?”

“Tryst. Zett's gang worked him over. I'll call Rhys, while you drive there.”

T
HE
M
ASERATI IDLED
outside a trendy boutique on the Champs-Èlysées. Vail had declined accompanying Lyric to buy some clothing less risqué than what she'd rummaged from her brother's stash of ex-girlfriend discards. If she was going to meet the parents, she wasn't going to look like a harlot.

And she sensed he needed to stew by himself after his werewolf brother's call.

Lyric had smelled the acrid anger on Vail. He wanted to charge the vanguard, not visit his mother. But she suspected he needed this visit more, right now, than he could imagine. If he could connect on the smallest part with his mother, it might set him on the right path. Who knew, it could focus him for the inevitable battle.

And he did need to ensure his family was safe. She smiled to think Vail thought of them as family. Bet the misplaced vampire hadn't quite realized that. He was coming around.

The soft pink dress, with cinched waist and fluttery red ruffles at the back, was perfect. Not too uptight,
but not too sexy either, because the neckline stopped above her breasts in more ruffles.

No longer fearful of revealing the mark she wore, Lyric pulled her hair into a bun and stuck an ivory hair pick through to secure it. “He did say he liked librarians.”

 

H
E DID NOT WANT TO DO THIS
.

He did want to do this.

He had to do this.

Rhys wasn't answering his phone, and Vail needed to warn him about the Unseelie. He hoped this visit didn't lead the sidhe right to the Hawkeses' front door.

It would be difficult walking into the home of the mother he had never met. As long as Lyric stood beside him, her hand clasped in his, Vail would find the courage to walk across the threshold.

The Hawkes couple lived an hour east of Paris in a Regency-era two-story mansion that boasted one hundred leagues of surrounding forested land. Vail suspected Rhys did like to run as a wolf; a forest was a requirement. The foyer opened to a vast circular main room with a sunken pit entertainment area. An inner balcony all around led to private bedrooms and guest rooms. A hi-tech kitchen curved along the right wall, and straight through, Vail saw the glint of blue water in the pool.

After extending an invite to enter his home, Rhys introduced himself to Lyric when it was apparent Vail was too busy distracting his nerves by looking around.
He had worried only a moment about bringing Lyric along. Though Hawkes Associates was in deep shit, Vail trusted Rhys to give him the benefit of wanting to figure everything out, after he explained their latest discovery regarding faery trafficking, before turning Lyric over to her mother.

“You're looking good, Vaillant,” Rhys said after shaking Lyric's hand.

Vail nodded, speechless. He hadn't worn the eye ointment and Lyric had suggested he wear a crisp white shirt and dark trousers—which he'd borrowed from her brother's closet—so he wouldn't appear so scary to his mother.

Lyric thought he looked scary? Hell, he looked usual. Yet what would his mother think?

His mother.

Maybe he should leave.

No, you're stronger than that. You'll only let yourself and Lyric down if you leave now
.

“You didn't answer your phone,” he said to Rhys. “I tried to call.”

“Sorry, I was out on a run. This is fine, you stopping by like this.”

“No, I came here because I need to warn you,” Vail insisted. “Trystan was worked over by the Unseelie. Zett's crew. They could come here next.”

“They'll not find us,” Rhys answered confidently. “The mansion is protected by wards against virtually every creature that walks the land.”

“Then how was I able to drive up unannounced?”

“You think I'd put up a ward against you?” The
werewolf shook his head sadly. “Interesting to finally meet you, Miss Santiago. I'm sorry I can't say
nice
to meet you, but, you know.”

“I understand. I'm the cause of your troubles, Monsieur Hawkes. Believe me, I hadn't expected things to get so out of hand. All I wanted was to avoid going near the Lord of Midsummer Dark.”

“Vail insists he's got a handle on things. I trust him.”

“Why?” Vail intruded with spread hands. “You don't know me, old man. I could be working against you.”

The elder half-breed took a moment to sum up the two of them and, with a smiling nod, said, “You are not. And I do trust you. You are family, Vaillant. I look forward to the day you finally start believing that.”

He remembered Rhys telling him he'd believed him his own son for thirteen years—until Cressida had told him otherwise. Could love sustain after such a betrayal? Doubtful.

“I've spoken with Viviane,” Rhys said.

“I don't know if we should do this now,” Vail said. Odd how his heartbeats increased. Nervous? Not him. “There's so much going on. We have to be careful—”

“You're safe here, Vaillant.” Rhys laid a hand on Vail's arm. The connection was firm and quiet, married with a flash of the shimmer. It cemented the word
safe
in Vail's brain. Yes, he was safe here. He did trust Rhys. He had to trust him.

Lyric clasped his free hand and, standing between
the two of them, Vail did not feel as though they were ganging up on him, but instead offering support.

He sucked in a breath and nodded. “Yes. I will see her.”

Rhys spoke quietly as he led the couple around and to the kitchen counter where a bottle of wine decanted in an ice bucket. “I've explained to Viviane that you've come home from Faery.”

“You didn't tell her about this months ago, after my arrival?” Vail wondered.

Had he been the secret no one talked about?

“Of course, I did. But she tends to forget.” Rhys offered a goblet to Lyric and she shook her head. “You are bloodborn,” he said to Lyric.

“Yes.”

“Vail is bloodborn, too.”

“She knows.” Vail grabbed the proffered goblet and tilted the full-bodied sauvignon back in one swallow. “I didn't figure you for a matchmaker.”

The old vampire grinned. Hawkes was always vampire in human form, yet his werewolf mind directed him; when in werewolf form his vampire insisted on blood. “I've always said you possess great power, Vaillant. You stop drinking ichor and take vampire blood and you will come into that power.”

“Just a guess, old man. And please don't talk about Lyric as if she's some object to be bartered around for marriage. There's enough trafficking in innocent lives going on lately.”

“I'm sorry, Lyric,” Rhys offered. “So you figured out the Santiago secret?”

“You knew?” Vail asked. “And you didn't think that would be helpful in my investigation?”

“Vail, you found the missing woman four hours into your investigation. What help did you need?”

“You could have warned me Zett had made a deal with Santiago. That he'd marked Lyric—”

“What?” Rhys tilted a curious look on Lyric, who noticeably blushed.

“You didn't know that?” Vail pulled Lyric into a hug and kissed her forehead. “I'm sorry.”

“It's okay,” she said. To Rhys she explained, “Zett marked me as his bride when I was thirteen, before he could know I was vampire, and before I'd developed the blood hunger. He wants to get his hands on me now to do away with his mistake.”

“I see.” Hawkes set down his goblet. “May I…see the mark? Just curious, and always wanting to learn as much as I can about the sidhe nations.”

“Of course.” Lyric turned and tilted her head for Rhys to inspect.

As the old man moved closer to his woman Vail tightened his grip about the goblet. The wolf didn't touch her, but he was too close.

The goblet cracked. Wine spilled over Vail's hand.

“Sorry,” Rhys said, stepping back. He grabbed a towel from the sink and tossed it over the broken glass. “If I can recognize such things, it serves as a valuable tool, especially in my business.”

“Ch'yeah.” Vail stalked out from the kitchen toward
the open patio doors, needing a breath of air. And some distance, not from Rhys, but Lyric.

When had he become so possessive of her? It shouldn't have mattered to him that Rhys had wanted to inspect the mark. The old man hadn't even touched her! But he'd been close enough to smell, and werewolves were all about the scent.

Vail stepped into the sunlight and tipped the sunglasses from his forehead and down onto his nose. Hawkes was not a wolf now, his conscience reminded him, he was a vampire. Which made it ten times worse, because that meant the old man's werewolf mind now directed his actions.

“You want to go say a few words to Viviane?” Rhys called from the patio doorway. “She's in her gallery, painting.”

Lyric had joined him at his side. When had that happened? Her fingers twined within his, a connection that bolstered his courage and made him feel as though his heart was strong enough to endure anything. Hell, he'd survived Faery; he could do this.

“I'll go in with you,” she offered, bright blue eyes beaming hope at him.

He bowed to kiss her, and the whisper of her breath emboldened him. He needed that. Truly, he needed her.

“You stay here. I should do this alone.” He eyed Rhys. “Can I trust you with her alone?”

“What do you mean?”

“If you think to turn her over to her mother—”

“He's not going to.” Lyric hugged his arm and her
calm voice notched down his irritation. “I'm a big girl. I'm not going to let that old guy tell me what to do.” She and Rhys exchanged smiles. “I'll be right out here. You take all the time you need.”

“Fine.” He rubbed his palms over his thighs. “Do you need to tell her I'm here?”

“Just came from her room when the butler announced your arrival,” Rhys said. “She's expecting you. Go on.”

 

W
HEN
V
AIL HAD BEEN
banished from Faery—ousted from a world that was not normally a vampire's environment, yet still his home—into the mortal realm, he'd lost his breath. The mortal realm, while lesser and not so vibrant as Faery, possessed a pulse of its own, and had breathed the life he had often felt missing back into him.

Now, as he entered the grand art studio, lined along the far wall with bay windows that looked over a colorful garden, he lost his breath again. Within this room, a different realm existed.

Touching the lily bracelet, he connected to what he'd known, and then, with a heavy exhalation, he released the anxiety over what he could never have again. Faery was not his place.

Where was his home?

Taking everything in, the unbleached pine walls blurred out of his focus and he saw dozens of canvases in all states of the creative process stacked and propped and hung. The pictures depicted women in gorgeous eighteenth-century gowns that twinkled as
if decorated with real jewels, so much so, Vail felt he could reach to a painting and draw away the necklace glinting at the model's neck.

And there, a fine, dark-haired lord in silver damask frock coat and lace, revealed fangs within his wicked grin. Could that be his father?

The woman who had created these images, his mother, would know. She had known Constantine de Salignac, for good and for evil.

Had it ever been good for her?

Vail swallowed and ran a palm down the front of his shirt. He felt naked without the usual spikes on his clothing and faery ointment. Despite the lily bracelet, he had no armor to protect himself from this truth.

A truth he desperately wanted.

“Hello?” he called.

Rhys had said at her worst, Viviane would wail and beat her fists against the ground and then get lost in a silent stare. Those states were rare, and only if she had not fed the blood hunger for days.

He didn't want to startle her. But what could be more startling than meeting the son you gave birth to twenty-eight mortal years ago after being buried alive for two hundred and thirty years?

He heard faint, musical humming, and guessed she stood behind the canvas propped on an easel to the left and at the back of the room near the bay windows.

“Viviane? It's uh…Vail. Vaillant.”
Your son
.

No, he couldn't say that. It didn't feel right. He didn't own that title. Not until his mother brought him into her arms and hugged him.

“Vaillant is a princely name,” came a soft voice. Melodic and bright. She sounded like the mother he had dreamed about.

“It was given to me by my vampire mother,” he offered, stepping closer but still uncertain about broaching the distance. His pulse pounded at his temples.

Was it too late to turn and dash out of here? Run into Lyric's arms and hope she would forgive him his cowardice? She knew what it was like being at odds with her mother.

How could a man be at odds with someone he didn't know?

“Rhys told you I wanted to see you?” he tried. Now the soft strokes of a brush across canvas touched his ears. “I've only been in this mortal realm a few months. I'm sorry I've stayed away. I didn't want to do anything to upset you…”
Mother
.

No, it didn't feel right. Viviane?

“Is it okay? Do you mind that I'm here?”

A clatter, perhaps a brush hitting the easel tray, made him flinch. And then a woman swept out from behind the canvas. A beautiful woman dressed in flowing black silk and with long curly hair as soot-black as his own. Her bold azure eyes were lined with kohl, and Vail smiled a little because the similarity struck him.

She stood proudly, shoulders straight and countenance demanding awe. Gorgeous and youthful, she appeared no older than he. A diamond hummingbird glittered in her hair. She'd stepped out from one of the paintings.

Vail's heartbeat clattered, surprised and overwhelmed yet uncertain.

“You are Constantine's son?” she asked, arms crossed, her nose tilted up. Not about to let down her guard. To be expected.