Banshee Cry (A Steamy Paranormal Fantasy Romance), page 12
I need to do something. But what?
A rush of latent energy washes through the air. I jump to my feet, not knowing what is happening but determined to protect Aleah. I stand over her broken body and growl.
A tall faerie woman in a long, pale blue dress appears in the clearing, staring at us. She has the same hair and facial features as Allie, but there’s a cold, translucent quality about this woman that denotes full fae, and a powerful one, at that.
“My daughter’s blood has been spilt. My blood.” She strides toward us, her mouth twisting as she stares down at Aleah. “What have you done this time, vampire? How many fae...how many humans...must die before the abominations are stopped?”
I ignore her question. “Can you help her? Can you save her? Is it too late...”
She kneels beside her daughter’s broken body and runs her hands over Allie from her head to her toes, stopping to dip her fingers into the blood that layers the ground around her neck. “Far too late, if she stays here even a minute longer. If I take her home with me—”
“You mean, to the fae realm?”
“Of course.” She looks at me as though I am nothing more than dirt beneath her shoe.
Under normal circumstances, my pride would prickle and I would attempt to put this fae in her place. With Aleah’s life hanging in the balance, I ignore her withering glare.
“If I don’t, I will shortly be singing in the death of my own child. I may still have to do that, regardless. Hurry.” She calls out loudly in a language I don’t understand, and out of a sudden silver mist another fae appears. A large man, in dark armor, who bends and lifts Aleah into his arms. “Take her straight to my quarters, Tarrien, and commence without me. Go.”
And just like that, Aleah is gone.
The faerie woman straightens and meets my narrowed gaze.
“I recognize you, vampire,” she says. “I know you were there at the death of my daughter’s father. Have you told her the role you played?”
My heart lurches in shock. I clench my teeth, and then look away.
“Not yet,” I admit. “I planned to, though I haven’t had the chance—”
“Now you never will.” Her voice is steely, leaving no room for argument. “Farewell.”
She turns away.
“Wait!”
Perhaps she can hear real desperation in my tone because she pauses and briefly turns back to face me.
“It—whatever it was—wanted her true name. It’s not Aleah, I take it?”
Shock ripples across her features and the misty aura surrounding her changes from silver to gray-green and back again. That got her attention, all right.
“That is not her true name,” she says. Her voice is hesitant, as though she isn’t sure she should be honest with me. “Did she give it to them?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
Relief flares in her features. It’s strange seeing her vulnerable. In that moment, she looks almost human. “Good.”
Aleah’s mother clearly knows more than she’s letting on.
“What’s going on?” I demand. “It was necromancer magic piloting that rogue. I saw the purple trace. Whoever it was spoke to me through the loup. Something, or someone, is creating these abominations, as you call them. That much is clear. Who is it, and why do they need her name? Why do they need her at all?”
The woman opens her mouth and closes it again. She appears to be considering how to answer. Finally, she says slowly, “You are correct. We believe there are a group of magical beings—a conclave—who wish to destroy the Accord. To do that fully, they need a banshee child’s true name, together with her blood.”
My mouth drops open at her words. “But why?” I push. “Why a banshee? Why not any fae, or...or my name, for that matter?”
I would gladly draw the danger toward me, if it would help save Aleah. Would have helped. Nausea threatens. Please let it not be too late for her. Please let the fae have reached her in time.
The woman shakes her head, her long, luscious hair moving gracefully with every turn.
“There is great power in any name, Luc Durand, but particularly that of a banshee,” she says. Her voice is still guarded but there’s a gentleness there I don’t expect. “We are not like other fae. We carry the life and death of whole species in our hearts and in our blood. A banshee’s true name in the wrong hands would unlock access to the darkness within our blood. Even a hybrid...especially a hybrid...the addition of human blood amplifies the very thing that they are after.”
“Why Aleah in particular?” I ask.
“All my babies are at risk,” she says through clenched teeth. Her nostrils flare. “But as to why her in particular... I believe that is on you, or at least, your Maker. Her father may have been chosen at random as a victim, but her cry was heard before the protector managed to blast her into silence to hide it.”
“Wait.” I narrow my eyes. “She has a protector? A fae protector?”
“Had. I dismissed him after a couple of years when nothing seemed amiss.” She waves a casual hand. “And it is now on those of you remaining in this world to find who would seek the power, and ensure you destroy them, before they destroy everything you all appear to hold dear.”
She disappears so quickly, even my vampiric eyesight doesn’t catch the exact moment she leaves. Now I have no way to know whether the beautiful woman who saved my life not once, but twice over, will even survive the night. I don’t know if I’ll ever see Aleah again.
***
Aleah
Warmth. Pillowy softness. Light. So much light, beating back the darkness.
I open my eyes. Am I dead? Is this heaven?
A pale face with strong cheekbones and pointy ears appears in my vision and I jerk back and away from the stranger. Definitely not heaven. But I don’t feel threatened.
“She’s awake.” The stranger speaks to someone else.
I blink and lift my head. I’m lying in a huge white bed with the softest and most comfortable mattress I’ve ever lain on. White netting drapes the four posts that lead up from the bed toward a ceiling somewhere far above. Presumably, anyway. There appears to be no ceiling whatsoever, only a silver mist that provides a sense of comfort despite its apparent austerity. What the hell is this place?
“Welcome home, Aleachiarsiwella.” A woman’s melodic voice washes over me, creating images in my mind of a dark-haired woman caressing my face and crooning over my cradle. Memories? A weird dream? Mother?
I sit up so fast a wave of dizziness hits, and I close my eyes for a second until equilibrium returns. When I open them again, I meet the curious gaze of the faerie seated in a chair beside the bed. Definitely my mother. There’s no doubt in my mind that this is the woman who birthed me. It’s almost like staring into a mirror. Only, this mirror is a distorted one, where the reflection staring back at me is one thousand times more beautiful than the reality.
“Hello, Mom.” Gut instinct tells me she’ll hate that term, and by the brief tightening of the skin around her eyes and her suddenly pursed lips, I know I’ve gotten it right.
A slight guffaw emerges from the dark-haired male fae standing a few feet behind her. He must be the one who was leaning over me when I woke. My mother turns and glares at him. He returns the glare, but backs away slowly. I note his hand lifts to hide a persistent grin.
“So good to see you again after all these years.” I can’t seem to stop the hearty tone. There’s so much emotion roiling around inside me that I don’t quite know how to process it. I died. Or so I thought. And now I’m not dead. And my mother, who I haven’t seen in forever, is sitting here staring at me as if I have two heads.
Her lips purse, but her negative reaction is brief. Annoyance makes way for apparent delight. “My darling, Aleachiarsiwella. So happy we could bring you home at last, and bring you back to the land of the living with our healing.”
“It’s Aleah, these days. Remember?” Now let’s see who can purse their lips the most out of the two of us.
“Of course.” She nods once. “But—”
“Wait. Did you say...” Heal? Oh, my God.
The memories come rushing back in. The crazed vamp. Luc fighting for his life. The yawning, stinky maw of that shifter...blood...darkness...the agony of death...
Is Luc okay? What about Laura and her son? What happened to the rogue?
I clutch at my throat, running my fingers up and down the flesh, searching for imperfection. Nothing. It feels completely normal. “What the actual heck?”
“Here.” My mother waves her hand and an ornate, silver hand mirror materializes in the air. She leans forward to pass it to me. I double-check my neck from every possible angle, confirming what my finger exploration already revealed.
How is that possible?
“I was dying. I was dead.” I can’t even formulate the questions—how am I alive? Why am I alive? Where am I?
“No, you weren’t.” Her gaze flickers to her nails, perfectly manicured and painted a blood red. “I would know.”
Vaguely, I recall saying something similar to Luc when I first met him, and the urge to laugh is ridiculous but strangely comforting.
“You were less than a minute away from death in the human realm, by my calculation,” she continues. She drops her hand to her side and the gesture is so graceful, it’s hard to acknowledge that this elegant creature is my mother. “You almost made me experience the banshee cry.”
Mother’s indignation is so strong she almost has me feeling sorry for her.
Almost. I furrow my brow and throw my legs over the side of the bed. “Hold on a—”
“Of course, I brought you back here.” She interrupts as if I haven’t spoken at all. She’s still not looking at me, and I’m not sure if I should take that as regret for her actions or not. “Our magics are strongest at home, and we needed everything we had to bring you back from the brink. We almost didn’t succeed.”
Now she does look at me, her green eyes reflecting curiosity. I falter in my attempt to stand and instead, remain seated. I’m intimately familiar with death and well aware how close I came to losing my life. My connection to living was as tenuous as spider silk, and not nearly as strong.
I don’t know how she saved me. I should be more appreciative, but in all honesty, I’m confused.
“We?” I narrow my eyes. “Was it you who saved my life?”
“Well.” If I didn’t know better, even after spending only a few minutes with this woman, I’d say my mother was embarrassed. “Tarrien did, I suppose.” She casts her gaze downward at her nails once again.
Tarrien? I look beyond her to the dark-haired male fae standing several meters away. He raises a hand and tips his forehead. I nod back, and tap my heart. He lifts his brows as if surprised, and then flashes me a quick grin. Bet dear old mom has never thanked him for anything.
I almost feel bad for him. If he isn’t appreciated by her, why does he serve her? Does he have a choice?
I’m not familiar with the ways of the fae. I’m not sure I want to be. The only thing I know of my mother was that she left my father and me to fend for ourselves.
Dear old mom is still speaking when I tune back in. “—at my say-so, of course. He’s a winter warrior, so he carries the power of healing as well as death.”
I nod, crossing my arms over my chest. It’s only then I realize instead of my own clothes, I’m encased in a soft white gown. I assume my mother is responsible for the change in attire, rather than the luckless Tarrien.
“Whereas your power—and mine, I guess—is only about death,” I finish for her.
Her grimace seems to imply I’ve said something wrong and she half rises out of her seat. I’ve clearly hit a nerve.
“No!” She moves her arms wildly as she speaks, and yet she still appears graceful rather than aggressive or disjointed. “My power is about life, Aleachiarsiwella. As is yours. We might be destined to forever experience the banshee cry of death, but that cry is as much about life as it is about anything else. It provides the balance and harmony. Where there is life, there is also death. The yin to the yang, as the humans say. Our call provides the living with enough warning that they have a chance to say goodbye. Many don’t ever have that opportunity, especially when a banshee is not there to furnish a warning.”
But that’s not enough. I don’t want to give people the chance to say goodbye. I want the power to save life. To protect the people I love.
“Is Luc alive?” I drop my hands so they’re resting on my thighs. The loose material of the gown is silky against my hands and my body relaxes a little because of it.
Mother raises a brow. How is it possible for her to convey supreme distaste in that gesture and still look elegant? It must be a practised talent mastered over the longevity of her life.
“You mean that...vampire?” Her mouth lifts in a sneer. “The one who was there when your father passed? Yes, he survived. Though why you’d care about a non-fae—and that particular creature especially—is beyond my understanding.”
I shake my head. I misheard her, surely. She can’t possibly have said that Luc was there when my father died. Luc would have told me, if that were the case. Wouldn’t he?
There were two vamps, that night, a woman, and a man...
Horror punches me in the gut and I nearly lose the contents of my stomach all over this pillowy white comforter. “Luc...killed Dad?”
Chapter Ten
Luc—the man I allowed to take my virginity? The one I thought I could love. He’s alive. Relief fills me, followed by horror. He killed Dad. But he made it. He made it. He’s alive. A roller coaster of emotions washes over me. It’s not possible. Is it? Surely, he didn’t...he’s alive. He made it.
I don’t realize I’m holding my stomach, rocking back and forth and moaning, until she gently takes my hands and forces me to stillness.
“Stop, child. You’re embarrassing yourself, and me, in front of others.” She glances over at the winter warrior. “Your supernatural lover is still alive. And no, he didn’t kill your father. Why do you have to be so dramatic?”
“Are you serious?” I stare at her, finally seeing her true nature. Seeing beyond the surface beauty that presumably attracted my father, to the cold and calculating creature that lies beneath. It is as if the deceptive silver mist has cleared. This banshee—this woman who birthed me—is not a nice creature at heart. She doesn’t care about anything except herself, and clearly, she receives enjoyment from baiting me.
I refuse to let her have that hold on me.
For the first time in my life I’m happy she left when she did. Imagine being raised here, in this cold, empty place by a woman clearly without empathy for others? I’m glad I was raised by my human half of the family. Even if my aunt was less affectionate toward me than she would have been if I were one hundred per cent human, she never deliberately said or did anything to make me feel bad. She never manipulated me and my feelings.
“If he didn’t kill Dad, then who did? And how do you know about it? Why was Luc there?”
The answer to that final question is more important than why or how I ended up in the faerie realm.
She shrugs. “His Maker went rogue and partnered with a were shifter,” she says casually, as though the whole episode is of no consequence. “Together, they killed many innocent humans before your pet vampire brought them down.”
He brought down his own Maker? Veronique, the woman he professed to love. I can’t even imagine the horror he must have felt at having to take such action. Oh, Luc.
I wish he had told me the truth.
Would it have mattered? Would anything he said have actually changed things?
I want to see him. I want to hold him. I want to confirm for myself that he really is alive. I rub my palms on my thighs to keep them from doing something else. Like delivering a slap to my mom’s cheek.
Thoughts tumble through my brain. I don’t really understand. Another rogue pairing? This sounds too strange to be a coincidence. Has this current strangeness in the world been going on for twenty-five years? Is it more common than everyone believes? Why wouldn’t he tell me that, if not the rest?
I think back to how quickly he disappeared out the door after he discovered my dad had been killed by a female vamp. There was opportunity then to mention it, surely? What stopped him? What made him run? Was it guilt? Was he afraid? Of what?
My eyes narrow at my mother. “And how do you know this?” I ask. I stop rubbing my hands on my dress. I push up so I’m standing. I don’t come to her height and I definitely don’t have her grace, but I hold my own, and I won’t back down from her even if she is intimidating.
Mother stands and begins to pace the bedroom, if that’s what this strange mist-filled room can be called. I step back, and let myself take in this room that I’ve woken up in. There’s a bed, and a chair and side table, but beyond that, nothing but white-tiled floor and a ring of archways around the perimeter, each guarded by a faerie in armor. Is that for protection, or to keep me imprisoned?
“I was not there, but others were,” she says. “I had someone watching over you back then, to ensure your continued safety. I arrange protection for all my babies. Your true names are powerful and in the wrong hands, can be used for ill.”
It’s strange to hear her say she’s concerned for us. Or at least, our names. I don’t even know who us is. From the sound of it, I have brothers or sisters scattered across the country.
I think on what she says about our names.
Your true names are powerful and in the wrong hands, can be used for ill.
What in fucking hell does that mean? I try to process her words as well as this overall situation, but it’s all becoming a little too much. I don’t really understand anything at the moment, and quite frankly, I just want to return home and check on Luc.
“It’s a lot.”
“I beg your pardon?” She furrows her brow and turns to me, annoyance marring her perfect features. “Speak up, child. Your voice may not work fully in the human realm but it should work perfectly well here at home.”
