Queen of the Vamps: FourWinds Series, page 21
That they existed at all makes this a more than momentous occasion.
I reach for the limb, and Lyssa passes it to me.
She’s right.
Beneath my hand, the silver is warm to the touch. As though Nuada had just handled it and placed it in the tree.
Breathless, I trace the tattoos, then look up at the two of them.
“Kid in a candy store,” Lyssa murmurs, a pleased smile creasing her lips and not a trace of mockery there either.
I smile back. She knows how much I love stuff like this. One room in my house is dedicated to artifacts Dima and I have collected over the years. Anything from Ancient Roman torques to Egyptian embalming tools. This piece would be the king of my collection.
If I could collect it.
Unfortunately, I don’t think the Mother Goddess, the mother of even the Tuath Dé, left us this particular gift for it to languish in my gallery.
“Be careful with the sword,” Dima tells her. “That blade looks sharp.”
“Gee, ya think?” she mocks. “I’d managed to figure that out myself, genius.” Huffing, she reaches for the hilt. Once it’s in her lap, she bends down again and brushes the blade with her finger. The instant she does, she stills. “It’s vibrating.”
Dima and I glance at each other. “Vibrating?” I ask, and she nods.
“Maybe I should use the hand?”.
“Here, take it.” I pass the limb over to her, and awkwardly, because of its not insubstantial weight, she reaches down, using one hand to hold the silver arm and the other to maneuver the fingers into grasping the blade. It’s fiddly work, and only manageable because she's clinging to the tree like a monkey. By the time she manages to pick it up, she’s red and panting from the uncomfortable position.
The instant she moves the blade out of the hole, she drops it to the ground. It falls, its tip slicing right into the earth. The instant it slips through the soil, thunder rumbles.
Beneath us, the tree shakes.
All three of us, as one, look to the sky, but it’s as cloudless as it was five seconds ago.
Not a storm in sight.
Frowning at the blade, Lyssa murmurs, “Well, that was freaky.”
She looks at the hilt, then back up at Dima. She hefts the arm back to me, then reaches over to pass the hilt to Dima. The instant he touches it, though, he starts to wobble on his precarious perch.
Before Lyssa can cry out a warning, I leap to the other side of the tree to the branch above Dima. I grab his shoulders, steadying him, then grip his arms tightly in my hands.
Within seconds, I jump to the ground and settle him beneath the tree’s barren canopy.
“Is he having a seizure?” Lyssa cries out, fear in her voice.
I’d like to say he isn’t, but he is. His limbs jerk on the ground. His eyelids are flicking open and closed. I can do nothing but watch until whatever holds him in its grip chooses to release him.
Above me, Lyssa is sobbing. I can hear her, feel her terror for our mate. But I can’t move. If I look away from Dima… It’s a ridiculous notion, but as long as I’m watching him, he’s safe. That’s all I know.
I hear her stumble to the ground, and from the corner of my eye see her kneeling beside him. She moves, sits close to Dima, and urges his head onto her knee. The instant she does, he starts to calm. His flailing limbs cease to thrash, and he finally stops shaking.
Lyssa’s tears slide down onto Dima’s cheeks, and she presses them away with her thumbs then starts to rock, crooning to him in a way that touches my heart. When Dima opens his eyes, looking dazed and exhausted, she murmurs, “It’s all right, baby. You’re safe.”
“Fragarach,” he mumbles in my head.
Then his eyes flutter shut, and he sinks into sleep.
“Why does this keep happening?” Lyssa cries. “Is he all right? Should we take him to that healer looking after Zeke?”
I shake my head. “He wouldn’t go.”
She grunts. “He’s unconscious. He wouldn’t know he was there until he woke up in the clinic.”
“I don’t think it’s a healer he needs.”
“What do you mean?”
Licking my suddenly dry lips, I whisper, “It’s the price he must pay for his gift.”
“What if I don’t want him to pay it?”
I sigh, and no matter how I figure it, the sound is as sad as her tone. “We have no choice in this, Lyssa. We have no say in it. Neither does he.”
With a mutinous purse to her lips, she sniffs.
Regardless of the seriousness of this situation, my own lips twitch at her annoyance. That’s one thing that has come out of this whole mess: Lyssa’s slowly growing into her power.
For a woman so many years younger than Dima and me, it must be hard going for her. We’re stubborn, set in our ways. Hell, we’re old. But she’s gradually building her confidence.
Now, she’s railing against fate for daring to hurt her mate.
That’s the Lyssa I’ve always known existed at her core. None of the hesitancy that comes from being a human.
The problem with humans is they know they’re mortal. It makes them weak. Fear of death is their Achilles’ heel.
It’s always interesting watching how mates blossom after they’re bound to a supernatural. It’s like a butterfly emerging from a chrysalis.
These last few weeks, Lyssa has been learning how to fly. She can take us on because we’re her mates. In the presence of others, I doubt she’ll be as confident. That takes time, but it’s nice to see her growing into her own strength.
What man wouldn’t want his mate to be strong and sure of herself and her place in the world?
“What are you smiling at?” she snaps.
“You,” I tell her, being honest. “It’s nice to see you like this.”
She scowls. “What, pissing myself with worry for Dima?”
Shaking my head, I murmur, “Caring for him enough to wish the situation was different.”
She lowers her gaze from mine and focuses on Dima’s face. He’s calmed down now, breathing quieter, a lot more relaxed. “He’s my mate.”
The words and the meaning are simple, but to her, they have a profound effect.
I can understand that.
There’s nothing simple about knowing you’re intrinsically bound to another person. That their happiness has a direct correlation to your own. That your heart beats for them.
Again, humans can never understand how all-encompassing a mate bond is. They think if they read a few paranormal romance books, they get the idea of what it means, but they don’t.
Your heart is no longer your own. Neither is your body.
It’s the most terrifying and most wonderful feeling in the world.
Nothing like it.
I reach for her hand and squeeze gently. She squeezes back but keeps her gaze focused on Dima.
“He’ll be okay, won’t he, Niko?” she asks, a quiver in her voice.
“He has to be. For us.”
“Now who’s being arrogant?”
“He’s dealt with worse in his life, Lyssa. He’ll come to terms with this, and this gift of his.”
I look up and over to the field where, two centuries ago, the man lying here, a man I’d kill and die for, was my bitter enemy.
Every day of the battle, I’d tasted his blood on my tongue. Dreaming of the moment I’d wrench out his throat and swallow his blood.
What a difference two hundred years makes…
“Do you know, he lost three brothers on this field? And three others over the countless battles between our races?”
“Six brothers?” She pulls a face. “He said Lykes were fertile. That’s such a shame, though. Is he the only one left?”
I nod. “He has cousins, but they’re not close—they were against the treaty for a long while.
“Lykes always find the passing of their family hard. Harder than most,” I correct when she frowns. “They’re close, live in each other’s pockets. Most don’t leave the family den until they’ve met their mate.
“Living without them is impossible for either of us to comprehend, Lyssa. But he survived that, and he can survive this.”
She blows out a breath, then traces a finger along the line of his jaw. “It’s amazing how five weeks ago, I pretty much hated this guy. At least,” she amends, “hated being around him. Now… I can’t imagine being without him. Or you. It’s much worse than before. I used to think I was a freak, wanting to be with you so much.
“I’ve never been like that before. Never needed someone as much I did you. It should be crazy, I should feel crazy, but I’ve never felt as good as I do when I’m around you both. It’s like I’m the best Lyssa I can possibly be. Does that make sense?”
“It does, and it’s mutual,” I murmur, pressing the hand I’m holding to my mouth.
Her sigh is replete with the contentment my reply stirs. “I never thought I could be so worried about this man,” she whispers, but before I can reply, she clears her throat and asks, “What are we going to do? We can’t sit here all morning.”
“I’ll carry him back to the car.”
“You damn well won’t.”
The pissed-off retort is a welcome intrusion. I grin at her. “Did you hear that?”
I didn’t have to ask. The joy sparkling in Lyssa’s eyes turns the green orbs into dazzling emeralds.
“You frightened me,” she chides him, and mock glares when his eyelashes flutter open. “Are you okay?”
“It’s still hard to talk, baby.” He blows out a breath, managing to imbue the exhalation with a bone-deep weariness.
“Can you get down to the car? It’s far away after what you’ve just been through.” I eye him with concern. His skin makes wallpaper paste look florid.
“Tell me about it, but I refuse to let you carry me.”
“Don’t be a macho man, Dima. For Christ’s sake, if you need help, you need help.”
His eyelids flicker open to glare at her. “Not being a macho man.”
“Are too.”
When he sticks out his tongue, Lyssa grins. “My ass is cold, and you can’t be comfortable on the goddamn ground.”
He sighs. “Let me lie here for a bit longer. I need to get my bearings.”
“What happened? You mumbled Fragarach at the end. What is it?”
Lyssa blinks. “Fragarach? What the hell’s that?”
“It’s the sword,” Dima croaks.
“Swords have names?”
“Have you never heard of Excalibur?”
“Yeah, but that’s a legend,” she says dismissively.
“So is this one.” Dima groans, but in a flurry of energy, manages to sit up. His back bows as he slumps over, then yawns.
“How do you know its name?”
“I saw its history. And like I said, I read. I’ve read about this sword before.”
She scoffs. “It’s a good thing you two are mythology buffs. Otherwise, we’d be up shit creek.”
His grin is weak. “Well, we’re not out of the woods yet, babe.” He looks at me, eyes somber. His words say one thing, but that look says another.
“Later,” he whispers in my head.
My nod is minute, so small a movement Lyssa doesn’t notice it.
“I think I could make it back to the car now,” he comments, “but I need a hand up.”
After jumping to my feet, I bend down and heft him up. “Lean on me, Dima. That fit was pretty nasty.”
“I had a seizure?” he asks, sounding astounded.
“Well, I’m no doctor, but it looked like one to me.”
“Shit,” he grumbles.
“Yeah, shit.” Lyssa retorts. “Now you know why you frightened the life out of us.”
Rubbing his temple, he grits out, “I need to sleep.”
“Okay, the sooner we get you to the car the better. Lyssa, you stay here, love. Look after the artifacts. I’ll come back and help you with them.”
I can tell she’d like to argue. Instead, she purses her lips again and nods. Once. With that, she manages to convey how pissed off she is.
Man, is it any wonder I love this woman?
As Dima and I hobble down the hill, we do so in silence. Dima’s leaning on me but not enough. It makes the journey harder, because any minute, I know he could fall.
It would be a lot easier for me to carry him. But I get why he doesn’t want me to… In front of Lyssa, I’d have refused as well.
By the time we make it back to the limo, we're panting. Bearing in mind I can bench-press a Buick and run faster than Usain Bolt while running a marathon, making me pant is harder than it sounds. But Dima’s managed it.
I suck in a breath when I lower him carefully onto the backseat, then reach into the small cool box integrated into the console and grab some water. I swallow a huge gulpful, give the rest of it to Dima, then say, “Rest. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
I can tell how exhausted he is when he nods. That’s it.
Whatever the hell happened to him more than just zapped him of his energy. I’ve never seen him look this tired. And I’ve watched him in the middle of war campaigns, where sleep is nigh on impossible.
Trying to dismiss my concern because over the upcoming days I know there will be more rather than fewer things to worry about, I head back to Lyssa.
With her back to the tree and crouched down on the rise, she’s looking over the fields.
“It’s hard to think a war happened here,” she murmurs when I step up behind her and rest my hands on her shoulders.
“That’s nature for you. She’s more resilient than us.”
“How is he?” she asks, otherwise ignoring my comment.
“Tired. But he’ll be fine.”
Her nod is followed by her standing, then shrugging out of my hold and starting off down the hill, sword hilt in hand. Using the silver arm, I awkwardly carry the sharp blade down to the car and dispose of it in the trunk.
Taking a seat, we study our sleeping mate.
I knock on the limo’s roof, and the car immediately sets off.
“Are we going to your friend’s place now?”
I nod. “Yeah, he needs some downtime.”
“Not only him. I feel like I’ve been through the wringer today as well.”
My grin is naughty. “You’ve been a busy girl.”
A smug cast to her pout makes her look like the cat that got the cream. Oh wait, she already did.
She grins back, then settles into my side. I curl my arm around her shoulders, sighing with pleasure when she relaxes into me.
And like that, we doze until we pull up outside Freya Adison and Blake Newel’s plantation home. I wish we were going for a visit, just to spend time with two people who have been friends of ours for centuries.
Unfortunately, at the moment, that’s an impossibility.
If change is coming, then a simple visit with friends might be a thing of the past. I can only hope it isn't, that life doesn't revert to those dark days when a stranger was an enemy, a friend chosen because of their side in a battle.
When the gods get involved in our world, it's for epic reasons, and that means life, as we know it, will forever be skewed.
I'd like to deny it, but there's no denying the truth.
18
Lyssa
My daddy’s ranch house is big. Nice, comfortable. A bit worn.
Some of the rooms hail back to the eighties, but then, my grandma’s bedroom still looks like a flapper lived there.
The bathrooms in the guest rooms are all pretty tired, and only the ones that are regularly used house modern bathing facilities.
I mean, I’m not talking about outdoor crappers, but leaky faucets and rickety shower stalls.
While my daddy’s house is large but old, acclimating myself to Niko and Dima’s wealth is still pretty tough. They’re on a whole different playing field, and it seems like their friends are equally as rich.
When we passed Berkeley Plantation, a place that has seen fewer years than my mates and probably fewer battles, I was impressed. But this place? Where Freya and Blake live? Holy shit, it’s beautiful.
Red brick, gorgeous sashed windows, and a gabled roof with stacked chimneys. Tucked inside are the attics, which look onto the acres of fields surrounding the property via dormer windows. It’s literally a symmetry lover’s wet dream.
Set in the center of the large building, there is a gleaming white door complete with wolf-head knocker. Four other windows on the first story nuzzle either side of the door, and a grand total of five openings decorate the second floor.
It’s beautifully appointed, surrounded by boxwood hedges that keep the plantation private.
In the distance, I can hear the wind whistling over a lake. I don’t think traffic noise would even dare to intrude on the land here. It probably isn’t tolerated.
While the house looks like it belongs in both a history book and a stylish home magazine, it’s nothing in comparison to the owners.
Let me state here and now that if I were gay, I’d want to fuck Freya. Light blonde hair, slim enough that she should look emaciated but instead looks delicate, ethereal. Tall, dressed elegantly… She’s beautiful. She’s also the Pyre in this relationship.
Blake is the less attractive of the pair, but in his own way, he’s sexy as well. A scar bisects his eye. In fact, I don’t know how his eye survived such a cut. The scar is still red, angry, as though it happened recently. His black hair has a slight wave to it and reaches his shoulders.
Dressed as he is in a black suit, the only real color on his entire person comes from his green eyes. My newfound Scooby smell tells me he’s a wolf.
Pretty cool, huh? I can tell he’s a canine via smell. Even though he’s wearing a luscious aftershave.
It would be easy to feel in awe of these two. They’re incredibly…gracious. Like the perfect couple. And when we entered their home, where period antiques cozy up to fashionably appointed furniture, it was easy to feel like the poor relative.
In a way, it was a relief to escape to the bedroom. After their cool, calm kindness, I feel like a Texas hillbilly. Weird how Dima and Niko, with all their power, never make me feel that. I doubt they ever will.
