A Guardians Passion, page 24
There were so many more important matters at hand, and yet some part of Freya had been disabled. She kept oscillating between the need to do something or hiding beneath Fen and protecting Bun. She knew it wasn’t cowardice to want to stay away from harm, but she worried that if she didn’t do something to kill the bogeyman haunting her thoughts, then she would never be able to.
Fenris seemed to have resigned himself to the notion that she would hunt; however, Rayne was unrelenting. His attention had been focused upon eating, but the crease hadn’t left his brow.
“You want me to stay here, Rayne?” she asked finally.
He looked up from his second platter of meat and vegetables, this time hunks of beef, carrots, and potatoes, and shook his head.
“He knows what must be done. It is the how that worries him,” Fenris muttered.
Freya turned in her alpha’s arms. He was somber but resigned, certainly nowhere near as compulsive and anxiety riddled as Rayne seemed to be. “He just needs to burn some incense, look into a bowl, or something, right? A spell?” That was what witches did, she figured. Rayne was always mixing up a concoction or healing wounds, and on occasion, she had even seen him create a charm or two.
Rayne finished chewing a large slab of meat before accepting a swig of tea from Ezra. “Don’t worry, my alpha. I have this covered. When would you like to leave?”
As soon as we can, she thought but reined in her impatience. With a sigh, she gestured for Fenris to let her go. Although content to remain within his bearlike embrace, she had work to do, namely to get dressed and find out what type of artillery Cole had brought. She knew that her mother and Gaea had undoubtedly brought a few choice weapons themselves, but she had no intention of seeing either until after she had dealt with the asprega.
The shit was already hitting the fan. While Rayne had still been deep in slumber, Ezra had informed them of Vaegar planning an all-out assault upon vampire kind. He had ordered enough communication, surveillance, warriors, and firepower to wage war in a small third-world country. Setting up his central command within the ballroom of the mansion, Vaegar was determined on tracking down every last female and cub who had been stolen.
Ezra had also let her know that the attacks were soon to begin, and that the plan was for brute-force invasions. There would be no kindly inquisitions, no diplomacy. Vaegar was forming large squads, coordinating with packs across the United States, Europe, Africa, and every other large landmass, five squads for every territory, with the sole intent of hunting vampires down. While many husbands and fathers yearned to be involved, Vaegar had deferred the task to the hunters and warrior wolves with the fewer emotional attachments, at Geraldine’s suggestion. Mistakes would be fewer that way, Geraldine insisted.
The efficient omega had even managed to get clothes and boots for them.
She moved over to the edge of the bed, missing Fenris’s warmth and strength despite the short time she had been without. Still, as much as she wanted to go back into his arms, and as welcoming as Fenris seemed to be to take her up again, Freya stood. She looked down at the sight of her three males. “Whenever you are ready,” she said, addressing Rayne.
Fenris eased back against a pile of pillows. Despite Ezra tentatively offering the big male food from the most recent platter, Fenris’s attention was on Rayne. “You will summon your father?”
Rayne groaned, casting a dark glare toward Fenris.
“She would have to meet him eventually.”
Freya felt as if she was missing something. She knew that Rayne’s father was a witch, a wytchen as he often corrected her. She also knew he wasn’t fond of the man. Freya had never pressed her beta for the reasoning behind every roll of the eyes, every hiss or scowl that Rayne gave whenever Dona was mentioned. At first, she had suspected abandonment issues, but Fenris had assured her that Rayne was quite happy to have been raised by wolves, as he put it.
“What’s wrong with your father? Why do we need him?”
“He can drop us right in the middle of the flock. He can teleport. He can do a lot of things.”
Gathering up her clothing, she saw the advantage. “That would be perfect.”
“It is perfect,” Rayne insisted before Fenris could give the comment that seemed to be teetering upon his parted lips. “He can get us silently among them. He may even be able to aid in the recovery of the other mothers and cubs.”
A wave of expectation crashed over Freya, joy filling her. Vaegar would still want his revenge, but a swifter, safer resolution was the ideal situation. “Now that’s what I’m talking about!”
Neither Fenris nor Rayne commented, both reserved before her enthusiasm. She didn’t like the long silence they both gave. She didn’t understand why they felt so reluctant about calling in an ace when they needed one. Assuming it had to do with their pride, Freya decided she would hold off on her judgment until she could see for herself. If Rayne’s father was the “business,” then it was past time to bring in a professional.
She was about to head to the bathroom with her pile of clothing in hand, when a knock at the door brought her to a halt.
Ezra scrambled off the bed and went to address the guest, who turned out to be a light-brown-skinned wolf in a tight black shirt that left neither bosom nor muscles to the imagination.
“How’s my girl?”
Clutching her clothing as tightly as her heart clenched inside her chest, Freya wondered at the motivation of her mother. Geraldine and Gaea both had agreed to give Freya and her males space to recover, yet the look in Geraldine’s eyes wasn’t one of worry. It was one of suspicion.
Freya bristled. She wasn’t a child, but she couldn’t deny that she felt like one in the unwavering scrutiny of her mother’s gaze. “I’m fine.”
“How are your boys doing?” Geraldine asked the question, but her gaze never moved from Freya.
Fenris and Rayne both grunted acknowledgment, with Ezra the only one muttering any semblance of an actual word. The electricity of alertness was obviously shared throughout the room.
“Fenris? Boys?” Geraldine inquired. “Can I speak to Freya? Alone?”
Fenris tried to run interference, a fearsome sight to everyone it seemed except the wolf at the door. Getting up from the bed, abs and pecs bulging as if chiseled from alabaster, Fenris wore only the boxers that Ezra had brought for him, and still he looked ready for any confrontation. Looked was the key word. “Geraldine. Anything you can say to her, you can say around us. We are family, and Freya requires us to be near her.”
Geraldine nodded as if she understood, but the resolve in her eyes spoke differently. “I’m gonna ask you again, Fenris, and I want you to know I mean no disrespect. I’ve given you all plenty of time to get it together. After I’m done, if you still need a moment, then you can have it. But right now I need to speak to my child, my cub. Alone.”
Freya was stunned by the amount of time that Fenris held out. While he could have easily bested Geraldine in a physical confrontation, within a minute even, the authority that she wielded wasn’t any easy thing to stand against. He managed nearly seven seconds before his dark blue eyes sought confirmation from her. “Freya?”
“It’s fine.” She sighed nervously, setting the clothing in her arms back upon the dresser. Somehow she suspected that she wouldn’t be getting dressed just yet.
Geraldine stepped into the room. “Off with you and you,” she directed Fenris and Rayne and then turned to Ezra. “You too, omega.”
Fenris waited by the door. Ezra was the first to leave. Fenris waited as Rayne took the last slab of meat from the tray and lifted the empty platter. He directed Rayne’s attention to the dresser. Rayne finished his steak before he got up. He padded across the floor, unabashedly nude but wearing more than enough reluctance. He grabbed a pair of sweatpants from the dresser and slid them on, taking his time.
Freya sat down on the bed as her safety nets one by one moved past Geraldine and through the door. Fenris paused until Rayne walked past him before he considered moving over the threshold, and even then, he paused to look at Freya as if she might demand that he stay.
Geraldine gave a dramatic sigh. “Out, wolf.”
Fenris took only one step before turning to look at Freya once more.
Freya nodded, giving him permission to leave. I’m okay, she mouthed.
“See if I ever cook smack bones for your ass again,” her mother snarled as Fenris finally crossed the threshold.
“But Ger—”
Geraldine silenced her son-in-law despite his anguish over the threat of not receiving his favorite gravy-smothered short ribs. “I’ll only need a few minutes. I’ll come get you when I’m done,” she added, taking hold of the door and then shutting it behind the big wolf.
Freya’s teeth were clenched together in her nervousness. Left alone with her mother, a force of terror all on her own, she willed herself to be strong.
Geraldine looked her over, eyes scorching Freya with an intimacy she couldn’t bluff past. “We haven’t had time to speak and rightly so. You needed the comfort of your mates more initially, the security of the berserker and his witch. The omega even. So how are you feeling?”
Freya shrugged, wishing that she could have at least pretended her mother wasn’t correct. She had been hunkered down in the bedroom with her mates ever since Fenris had calmed enough to be able to lift Rayne. She hadn’t seen her mother or anyone else after Geraldine had scouted a place where they could all rest. Vaegar had questions, but Ezra had ferried the answers. Even after the lengthy solitude, the loving affirmation that Fenris and Rayne provided, Freya still wasn’t sure of her reply. “I’m fine, Ma.”
Geraldine’s eyelids were closed, an upturned curve to her lips. “How’s the cub?”
“Bun’s fine,” she replied, patting her belly and feeling her cub stir. “Hungry but fine. I can’t shovel food down fast enough for the little fucker.”
“The cub is growing at an accelerated rate. You only have, what, three months to go, and the cub picks up most of its weight in the end.”
Freya considered the advice. “I know. I went to the seminars. I was at the retreat.” Because you sure as hell weren’t trying to tell me anything, she thought.
“Hmm. Yeah. So. You were planning on getting dressed, huh?”
“Can’t walk around old school.”
Geraldine’s eyes narrowed. She wasn’t amused. “I’m thinking that you want to head off to a fight.”
“What do you mean?”
Geraldine sucked her teeth in disgust. She didn’t buy the ignorant act one bit. Not that Freya had expected to be so lucky.
“Who the hell am I, girl?” Geraldine asked rhetorically. “Your mother is who I am. And when Vaegar just laid down plans to decimate half of the vampire population and you and your males didn’t even bother to attend the briefing, I began to wonder. Not that I thought you didn’t want to be in line for some payback. The witch was still ill. But then downstairs, when Fenris was doing the chimera thing, you were clinging to him like rag doll.”
Freya lowered her head, knowing what her mother was getting at. Her fingers quivered against the curve of her belly, thinking of Birathan, his tongue, his horrid breath, and how vulnerable she had been to him.
“The asprega—it hurt you?”
Freya said nothing, gritting her teeth instead. Her nails elongated in claws yearning for flesh to rend, bones to break. She had never wanted to destroy a fiend so badly that she could taste it—or was it her own blood brought forth by lengthening fangs? Her eyes rolled back, the allure of transformation singing through her veins until the touch of a palm gently stroking her back calmed her.
Geraldine was standing beside her, gazing down. Freya saw genuine concern in rich chocolate eyes. She could count on one hand how many times her mother had consoled her, but always there had been interest and support. Geraldine had never bought into Freya’s complaints about scraped knees, cramps, lost fights, or missed opportunities. Instead, her mother had always stressed will and strength…things her mother seemed to be able to summon all too easily.
Freya yearned for such iron. The cracks she felt within her made the desire harder to bear. More than anything, she wanted to consider Birathan as a passing joke, yet every time she recalled his threats gave her chills. She was stronger than that, Freya wanted to believe, especially before her mother. “Shit happened. I’m handling it.”
“I didn’t expect any less. And the boys are doing their share, I suppose?”
“Of course. They’ve been comforting…supportive.”
Geraldine shook her head. “And?”
Freya didn’t understand. She looked to her mother for some clue as to her meaning. What else did they have to do other than be at her side and give her warmth? They had proven their love and concern enough.
“I can assume that they know, specifically Fenris.”
“And?”
“And he’s not the forgiving type, I think.”
Freya gave a heaving sigh, finally comprehending what her mother was getting at. “Oh,” she said. “There is something in the works. You can trust that.”
“Look here, child. I know you’re going hunting, and I have a pretty good idea what you’ll be seeking to destroy, but Freya, it isn’t just you. I know the boys will guard you, and perhaps they will kill the fiend quickly. You want to see it done. Okay. You do what you have to, but”—she paused, the reservations clear—“don’t you let anything happen to my grandchild.”
As always, her mother saw right down to the soul. “I’m not,” Freya groaned, shaking her head. She would never put Bun at risk. Relying on Fenris and Rayne was one thing, but doubting her safety altogether was what motivated her to see the asprega prime dead. It wasn’t pride, wasn’t solely vengeance motivating her. Couldn’t her mother see? She wondered.
Geraldine sat down on the bed beside Freya, shoulder to shoulder, toffee skin against hazelnut. Geraldine was rigid, but her eyes betrayed her concern that Freya would have loved to fold herself into.
“Don’t look at me like that, Ma.”
“You have me in you, and believe it or not,” Geraldine said, “sometimes I’m as dumb as a sack of bricks and stubborn as cement, all fight and little thought until the consequences are spilled at my feet. We aren’t superwomen, Freya. You aren’t, I’m not, Gaea isn’t—”
“Helena wasn’t either,” Freya sulked. No, the Sohon matriarch had fought, had shown her true nature when at the breaking point, and Freya feared that the same would happen to her, whether Birathan appeared out of nowhere the next minute, the next month, or the next year. “She just…snapped.”
“And you feel like you’re gonna? Snap?”
“It changes from second to second,” Freya admitted. “One minute I want to send them off by themselves, and the next I need to hunt. I want my revenge. I felt… I feel helpless. I am not!” Her words were just as much for her mother as they were for herself. She had to believe them, shook with the conviction of it.
Geraldine said nothing but nodded as if she knew exactly what was on her daughter’s mind. Freya was certain that her mother did. For so long she had envied her mother’s strength, her take-no-bullshit mannerisms, even while longing to have Geraldine’s motherly warmth. Her mother had never been the type to coddle or to console, and whenever counsel was needed, it came a little too frankly. But it was always available.
After a moment, Geraldine slid her palms along her thighs and stood. She looked down at Freya with a nod of confidence. She reached out with her forefinger and drew a gentle line along the length of Freya’s nose.
Freya was confused. Geraldine had done it before, the endearing gesture. Freya couldn’t remember when, but she felt certain that it had happened.
“Look, Freya. I’m not gonna tell you which fights to pick and which ones to sit out, but I want to let you know that in no way should you feel that sending your males out to handle business is a sign of weakness. They are yours balls and bone. They belong to you. I can see it every time they look at you. Giving Fenris the command to bring you the spine of that asprega fucker is strength too.”
Freya didn’t know how to react. Her mother’s words held the weight of common sense. She could see the logic yet fought to retain the demands of her pride. “I want to see him dead, Ma.”
Geraldine reared back and cocked a brow. “You don’t trust Fenris? You seemed to trust him well enough when you influenced him, a Luna, to back down.”
Of course she trusted her mate. She just didn’t trust being alone. “Ma…”
“It’s okay, baby. I didn’t have a war machine. I didn’t have a witch-wolf either, but you should know that the only thing I did when I was pregnant with you was eat cheeseburgers by the sackful and ice cream by the gallon. And watch television. I never fought while I carried you. I wasn’t that badass.”
Freya wasn’t going to say it. She wanted to wail and scream that she wouldn’t be safe, but even she refused to accept that would ever be the motherfucking case. “It’s not about me being badass!”
“No.” Geraldine nodded. “It’s about you feeling vulnerable. And you are. Killing that beast with your bare hands won’t change that. Every time your cub stirs within your belly, you are vulnerable, and you are victorious,” she said, her eyes going to Freya’s belly. “You’re already in a war. You know how to attack. You’re my child.” Holding her chin high, Geraldine smiled proudly. “I only hope and pray you guard just as good.”
In that simple gesture, Freya found more strength than any amount of coddling, pity, or empathy could ever generate. Geraldine had never made her feel as if she was incapable, and Freya found that she was grateful for it.
Geraldine moved to the door and eased it open. “I’ll send your boys back. They didn’t go far. I can scent them from here.”
Freya nodded. She felt too weary to move, her thoughts too heavy to sort. Geraldine had pulled aside the curtain to the truth, and it had taken nearly all of Freya’s impetus away. More than anything, Freya wanted only to stretch out on the bed and let her mind drift. She didn’t want to think of Birathan, of the missing mothers, of Di’Amanda or Emily, of anything.
