Blood Bond (Anna Strong Chronicles #9) Page 20

  Frey pretends not to see Dad’s distress, instead bending toward me to kiss my cheek. “Any word?”

  Dad’s voice is steady again, composed when he answers for me. “No. Not yet.”

  “Dad, what happened?”

  He sits back down, motioning us to join him. Frey takes the chair to the left, I, to the right. Dad rests his elbows on his knees and buries his face in his hands. “I couldn’t wake her up this morning. She didn’t respond to my voice. She didn’t respond to my shaking her. Her breathing wasn’t labored. She just wouldn’t wake up. I panicked. Called her doctor. He said it would be quicker to drive her here myself than wait for an ambulance.” His voice drops, his shoulders sag but he straightens up in the chair. “So I did.” He glances toward the closed exam room door. “Dr. Gerard has been in with her since we arrived.”

  “Has this ever happened before?” Frey asks, voice leaden with concern.

  Dad shakes his head.

  I take his hand, fearful that he’ll flinch at its coldness. Instead, he takes my hand in both of his. “You’re freezing.” He begins kneading my hand, pulling me to lean my head against his chest.

  Another flashback to another cold room—only this one was a morgue and I was seated by myself outside a set of swinging doors waiting for my parents to come back.

  I close my eyes, trying to push the memory away, my body shaking with the effort the same way my father’s shook a few minutes ago.

  Dad’s arms close around me. “Don’t,” he says softly. “Don’t think the worst. Not yet.”

  I open my eyes to find Frey looking at me, his very posture humming with the need to do something and his face filled with frustration because he knows there’s nothing to be done. Feeling powerless is not an emotion either of us can abide. I hold out a hand to him and he grabs it.

  The door to Mom’s room opens. Dad and I stand, step apart, focusing all our attention on the man approaching. I try to catch a glimpse into the room before the door snaps closed, but I see only the end of the bed and a nurse writing on a clipboard.

  The doctor speaks to my father in French, adding to my exasperation. He’s young, thin, sober-faced, head covered with the kind of skullcap doctors wear in surgery, body cloaked in white scrub pants and a spotless lab coat. But my father’s face clears, his shoulders relax a little more with each word. Frey is at my side, has taken my hand again; he is interpreting Dad’s reactions the same way. The news can’t be all bad.

  Finally, the doctor shakes my father’s hand, nods to Frey and I, and strides down the hall.

  I barely wait until he’s out of sight before rounding on my father. “What did he say?”

  Dad puts a hand on my shoulder, smiles. “We can bring her home today. She was dehydrated. Overtired. But they’re giving her IV fluids. We can go in.”

  I’m the first through the door.

  Mom is propped up, still in her own nightgown and robe, one IV tube pumping clear fluid into her arm. She smiles apologetically. “I’m so sorry.”

  But I’ve already caught her up in a hug that muffles her words against my shoulder. “Don’t be silly. The doctor said you were dehydrated. That’s what you get from drinking all that champagne. And overtired. I was worried that might happen.”

  She’s shaking her head. “And I wouldn’t change a thing. The wedding was so beautiful. And what’s a French wedding without champagne?”

  Dad waggles a finger at her. “Well, you gave us quite a scare. From now on, less excitement and more rest.” He turns to me. “Why don’t you two go back and let the others know what’s happened. They must be beside themselves with worry. Especially Trish. Tell them we’ll be home for dinner.”

  I look at Mom. “You sure you don’t want me to stay, too?”

  Mom pulls me forward for a kiss. “No. You and Daniel should be with the children. Assure them I’m fine. Tell Catherine to prepare a nice dinner for us. We’ll eat outside—all of us—the family.”

  I hesitate, looking hard at her. Her voice is strong, her eyes clear, her skin radiant. “Okay. We’ll go. I’ll bring Trish back, though, if she insists on coming.”

  Mom shakes her head again. “No. I don’t want her to see me like this. Just assure her I’ll be home soon.”

  She’s adamant. Dad interjects, “Really, Anna. There’s no need for Trish to come. Maybe she and John-John can go riding this afternoon. Tell her by the time they get back, Mom will be home.”

  I hold up my hands in surrender. “Okay. Okay.” I lean over and give Mom another quick hug. “I don’t remember you ever being so stubborn.”

  “Who do you think you got it from?” Dad asks with a chuckle.

  Frey has leaned over to peck my mom’s cheek, too. “I’m not going to question it ever again.”

  I feign shock. “You think I’m stubborn?”

  “Obstinate. Inflexible. Willful—”

  That last gets Frey a sock on the arm. I’m not feigning this time. “Willful? You make me sound like a brat.”

  Dad and Frey both shoot me looks that in spite of it all, make me smile. “Well. Nice to know what my new husband and father really think of me. We’d better get out of here before this conversation about my character degenerates any further.”

  Mom is laughing and Dad smilingly waves us out the door. When I glance back, he’s perched on the side of the bed, Mom’s right hand clasped firmly in both of his own.

  CHAPTER 33

  RELIEF THAT MOM WILL BE HOME SOON IS MINGLED with the knowledge that the next time something like this happens, she might not recover. That eventually, she won’t recover.

  That eventually, every human I know and love will be taken from me.

  Mom, Dad, Trish, John-John.

  Frey.

  I close my eyes, flashing back to the wedding. Am I fooling myself with Frey? How many times will I repeat the ritual, marry someone I love with a promise of forever? Someone mortal, someone doomed.

  Frey is quiet on the ride back. He has taken one of my hands and rested it, covered by his own, on his knee as he drives. The contact is comforting and familiar. I told David yesterday life is too short and love too important to squander. I bring Frey’s hands to my lips. I’m going to appreciate every moment we have.

  Frey squeezes my hand. I smile, constantly amazed how my heart can soar one minute, and be plunged into despair the next. This is the saddest and happiest time of my entire life.

  Trish rushes out to meet us when we pull up. I put my arms around her shoulders and tell her what happened to Mom, why, and that she will be back with us by dinnertime.

  “I should be at the hospital.”

  “Mom knew you’d say that. But really, there’s nothing you could do there. That’s why I’m back. She kicked me out, too.”

  Trish’s watery smile is coupled with a sigh. “She can be so stubborn.”

  “Oh no.” I stop her with a hug then gently propel her toward the door. “We’re not having this conversation again. Let’s go get some breakfast. I’m starved.”

  She looks confused and Frey says, “Don’t ask.”

  Just then, John-John, David and Tracey are at the door, and we hustle ourselves inside.

  * * *

  CATHERINE IS DELIGHTED AT THE NEWS THAT MOM IS recovering well and promises to prepare a special dinner for us. We tell John-John and Trish that it was Mom’s suggestion that they spend the afternoon riding and after a little persuasion, they leave for the neighbors. David and Tracey insist on staying another night, as anxious as any of us to see for themselves that Mom is okay. They take the MG and Catherine’s grocery list to the village to shop.

  Then it’s just Frey and me.

  We’re sitting side by side at the dining room table, coffee mugs drained, some of the morning’s tension finally dissipating.

  I stretch my arms overhead and sigh. “What a way to start our first day as a married couple.”

  Frey stands up, holds out a hand. “Well, this is still the first day.”

 
I put my hand in his and he pulls me up. “And we did get interrupted. Mom is going to be all right. We have the house to ourselves. Now remind me, what is it we were doing this morning?”

  Frey pulls me close with a hand at the small of my back. “This refresh your memory?”

  The feel of him hard against me sends a rush of heat to my skin.

  It does.

  * * *

  “DO YOU THINK IN TWENTY YEARS WE’LL STILL BE spending afternoons like this?”

  I’m lying on my stomach, stretched out beside Frey. We’re both naked, both spent after an afternoon of energetic and imaginative sex. I didn’t know there were so many ways to give and receive pleasure.

  And I’ve been around.

  Frey makes a grumbling sound that is half purr, half growl. “I hope so. Or I’ll have to trade you in for a younger model.”

  “Is that so?” I prop myself up on my elbows. “Let’s see. In twenty years I’ll still be thirty, and in twenty years you’ll be—”

  “Okay.” Frey covers my lips with a finger. “I get it. I guess I’ll just have to keep coming up with ways to keep you interested.”

  “Well.” I draw the word out, my turn to purr. I lift myself so that I am now lying on top of him, stomach to stomach, hip to hip, my legs resting between his. I grind against him, feel a familiar stirring. “You’re off to a great start.”

  He pulls my head down for a kiss, tongue teasing, advancing, retreating, until I grip it gently with my teeth and draw it in. He puts his arms around me and I know he intends to roll me over. I don’t let him. Instead I sit up, straddle him, take him fully and deeply inside. His breath catches and his head falls back. He lets me take the lead, lets me draw pleasure from him as I lift and lower, thighs clenched tight, muscles contracting around and against him. His breath comes faster, his body tenses. I’m not there yet, but it doesn’t matter. I watch him, watch his face, watch as the muscles in his abdomen grow taut, watch as his back arches. His hands grasp my hips. He’s so close. A tiny movement, a tightening, and a moan escapes his lips as he empties himself into me.

  A moan escapes my lips, too. Intense pleasure as satisfying as any orgasm. Frey’s face, shining, open, so bright with love it’s like looking into the sun.

  This is what love is.

  I collapse against him. We hold each other. He strokes my hair, and I feel hot tears burn the back of my eyes.

  I think of my conversation with Vlad.

  Yes.

  Love is worth pain. Love is all there is.

  I bury my face against Frey’s chest, breathing him in, wanting to imprint his very essence into my brain, secure in the knowledge that I will remember this moment.

  As long as I live.

  CHAPTER 34

  THE TABLE IS LADEN WITH FOOD—A PLUMP ROASTED turkey, bowls of potatoes, steamed carrots shiny with butter, green beans in a casserole crusted with onion rings. In the center of the table, a simple salad in a broad wooden bowl—various greens and kale and still-warm-from-the-garden tomatoes with a dressing made from freshly pressed olive oil and one of Dad’s wines. The aroma from the breadbasket tempts even me. Thick slabs of a hearty, crusty baguette begging to be slathered with home-churned butter. Makes a vampire’s mouth water.

  Could be a typical American Thanksgiving feast.

  Except that we’re not in America. And this isn’t Thanksgiving. It’s my mother’s wish.

  I look around the table, my heart full. Dad is at one end, brandishing the carving knife like a miniature katana, much to the delight of John-John, sitting at his right, and Trish, sitting to his left. The kid’s faces are alight with the simple joy of family together. Next to John-John, Frey watches, too, his wonderful smile a reflection of his son’s. He has one of my hands clutched tightly in his own. Across from us, David and Tracey. Even they are smiling.

  I sit, wishing the unbridled contagion of happiness would infect me.

  But it won’t.

  It can’t.

  Mom leans toward me. She’s next to me, opposite Dad, at a table in a storybook setting under big, broad-leafed trees in the backyard of their villa. She reaches for my hand.

  I don’t pull back. There’s no longer any need. The coldness of my hand in the warmth of hers no longer requires fumbling excuses about poor circulation.

  “Please, Anna,” she says softly. “Don’t be sad.”

  I meet her eyes, so warm and full of life. My heart beats with dull, irritating regularity in my chest. “This is so unfair.”

  She sits back, smiling. “How can you say that? Here we are together. You’ve found a wonderful man in Daniel and a child that will bring you as much pleasure as Trish has brought us. You have much to give the world. I am so proud of you.”

  I close my eyes, tears spilling over my cheeks, filled with so much sadness, my guts twist with it.

  Mom reaches over again, touches the tears with the tips of her fingers. “No tears. This is a time of joy. A time to be together with no regrets. A time to make memories.”

  I take her hand in both of my own. “I love you.”

  “I love you, too, Anna.”

  Laughter from the other end of the table makes us look up. Dad has carved off a huge turkey leg and placed it on John-John’s plate. John-John doesn’t hesitate a moment, but scoops it up with both hands and takes a bite.

  This time, a smile touches my lips, too. Mom is right. No tears today. They’ll be plenty of time for tears later. When she’s gone.

  I’m both sad and elated.

  I’m looking at my future. Here surrounded by those I love. These are the memories I’ll cleave to in my lifetime.

  More than a lifetime.

  These are the memories I’ll keep for an eternity.

  EPILOGUE

  NO ONE REALLY EVER GETS A HAPPILY EVER AFTER. I don’t expect my story will be any different. There will always be conflict in the world—between mortal and immortal, between immortal and those who would challenge the way of things. I suppose that’s why I am. It is my burden to keep the balance. Having Frey in my life, and John-John, lightens the burden. Having a family and friends, humans I care about, lightens the burden. I didn’t choose this life, but I take comfort in the choices I do have. The choices I’ve made.

  My name is Anna Strong.

  I am vampire.

  Special Preview of Cursed

  Read on for a special preview of Jeanne C. Stein and Samantha Sommersby’s first Fallen Siren novel

  CURSED

  by S. J. Harper

  Coming from Roc in October 2013

  Meet FBI agents Emma Monroe and Zack Armstrong. She’s cursed. He’s damned. Together, they make one hell of a team.

  Emma Monroe is a Siren, cursed by the gods and bound to earth to atone for an ancient failure. She’s had many names and many lives, but only one mission: redemption. Now that she works missing-persons cases for the FBI, it could be just a rescue away. Unless her new partner leads her astray.

  Special Agent Zack Armstrong just transferred into the San Diego field office. He’s a werewolf, doing his best to beat back the demons from his dark and dangerous past. As a former black ops sniper, he’s taken enough lives. Now he’s doing penance by saving them.

  Emma and Zack’s very first case draws them deep into the realm of the paranormal and forces them to use their own supernatural abilities. But that leaves each of them vulnerable, and there are lines partners should not cross. As secrets are revealed and more women go missing, one thing becomes clear: As they race to save the victims, Emma and Zack risk losing themselves.

  Siren (noun)

  1. One of three sisters ejected from Mount Olympus by Zeus and cursed by Demeter for failing to prevent Hades from kidnapping Persephone.

  2. An immortal goddess bound to earth who, in search of her own salvation, saves others from peril.

  3. A beautiful and powerful seductress capable of infiltrating the minds of others in order to extract truth or exert influence.

 
; YOU’VE SEEN ONE DARK, RUGGED WEREWOLF, YOU’VE seen them all.

  That’s what I told myself the first time I laid eyes on Zack Armstrong. I was wrong. Dead wrong. And now it’s come back to bite me in the ass.

  I interrupt my best friend, Liz, in the middle of—something. I realize I lost the thread of our phone conversation the minute I spied Zack weaving his way through the maze of indistinct gray cubicles that make up the bull pen of the San Diego FBI field office. Save the hair and nine a.m. four-o’clock shadow, the man is all spit and polish. Tailored dark blue suit, starched white shirt, blue and gold silk tie and gleaming black shoes. The hair gives him a distinct edge—dark brown, slightly longer than regulation, no part. It’s swept straight back, accentuating the lines of his square jaw.

  I resist the urge to crawl under my desk. “I’ll call you back later. New partner’s here. I’ve got to go.”

  “Not until I hear the details. What’s he look like?”

  Liz is forever trying to play matchmaker. Ironically, I rely on her spellcasting to make sure a match will never happen.

  I turn around and lower my voice a notch. “Remember the guy from South Carolina I told you about? The one I was partnered with on that missing-person case in Charleston last year?”

  “Really?” New interest sparks in her voice. “He looks like him?”

  “It is him,” I say. “Which you’d think Johnson would have mentioned.”

  “So what’s the problem? I’ll tell you now what I told you then. You shouldn’t write off the possibility of a good romp with a guy just because he goes furry a few days every month. Weres have amazing stamina. Hey, did I ever tell you about Walter?”

  You name it, Liz has dated it. Being a witch with serious magical talent puts her in contact with a wide variety of supernaturals. A strong advocate for equal-opportunity love, she’s currently dating a vampire.