NOX, page 21
part #3 of The Royal Protector Academy Series
“Callan has always been my favorite.” She winks.
Nervous, I smile before looking around the clearing.
Abby and my mother stepped in and helped organize everything for tonight. Serena wanted to hold our binding ceremony in the woodland realm, in the foxfire forest where I proposed. So here I stand, waiting for her.
Sora will oversee the binding ceremony and bear witness to us formally accepting our pledge of loyalty to one another’s clans and the Spiritual Assembly of Protectors.
Everything stills when Serena appears, holding on to Callan’s outstretched arm. I attempt a steady breath when she takes a small step toward me. Callan’s eyes brim at the corners as he escorts his daughter down the aisle.
I watch every breath she takes as she locks eyes with me and everything around us fades away. Never in a million years would I have guessed that this is how our story would end.
When they approach me, I take in a deep breath as Callan kisses his daughter on her right cheek, then her left.
“I bless you, on your binding day. May you have a lifetime filled with love and happiness. I love you, pumpkin.”
“I love you too, Daddy.” She kisses his cheek, and I swear the heartbreak and love on Callan’s face almost kills me.
“Thor.” He dips his chin at me before taking his seat.
And there goes my Callan moment.
“You look beautiful.” I take her hand and she smiles.
“Shall we begin?” Sora asks, and we nod our agreement.
Asher hands Sora a dagger made of my healing stone. The weapon was carved and charmed from the same hematite used in our stone state bed. She places the dagger on an ancient book with intricate Gaelic designs etched into the leather cover. Closing her eyes, she chants in Garish.
“Tristan, if you’ll unbutton your shirt so I may gain access to your protector mark,” Sora prompts.
I undo the top two buttons and push the material to the side, granting her access.
She finishes her blessing and catches our eyes. “Please hold out your left palms so that I may access the vena amoris. The vein of love,” Sora instructs.
We do.
Sora takes the sharp tip of the dagger and pricks Serena’s ring finger four times, while chanting “in-zen, mání, vas-wís, ew ter-ort,” between each puncture.
“Each represents your mating vows: heart, mind, body, and soul,” the elder gargoyle explains with each pinch.
She turns to Serena, handing her the dagger.
“Serena, you must bring the dagger to Tristan’s protector mark. Please make a small incision so the wound will open and release his blood.”
My heart leaps into my throat. This is it. How we become one, forever, of our own choosing. A heartbeat of silence passes before the tip of the knife caresses my skin.
Serena turns, revealing the deep cut in the back of her dress, exposing her clan’s mark on her lower back. It’s a dragon, but once we finalize our binding, it will become a lion to match my mark. I brush my fingers over it, calming her before making a small cut. I hand the dagger back to Sora when I am done.
Slowly, I brush my blood-coated fingertip over her mark. Peace floats over me when our blood mixes, binding me to her forever.
“I give to thee forever, Serena Elizabeth Vivian St. Michael,” I vow with a strong voice, healing her wound.
She turns, and when her eyes meet mine, they take my breath away, having fully become cognac in color.
Serena lifts her finger to my mark, infusing it with her blood again. This time, of her own free will.
“I give to thee forever, Tristan Armel Gallagher,” she whispers, and heals my wound.
Instantly, our heartbeats sync and my mind fills with her emotions and images. My heart feels whole. The mark on my chest comes to life, pulsing and throbbing, recognizing her as my forever.
“The Spiritual Assembly of Protectors and the gargoyle elders have accepted and bless your binding on this day. Serena and Tristan, you each must accept each other’s clans as your own family. Are you both prepared to declare unwavering loyalty to each member, to love and embrace them as your own kin of both the St. Michael and Gallagher names?”
“We are.” We both say at the same time.
“London clan, do you embrace your new kin?” Sora asks.
“We do,” her family says in unison.
“Paris clan, Prince Zander, and Queen Ophelia, do you embrace your new kin?” Sora questions.
“We do.” The three say together.
Sora smiles. “No blood ties between clans are required on this day, as we bring two races together. Tristan and Serena, it is my pleasure to announce you are one, forever.”
I pull her close and she wraps her arms around my neck and sighs. “Mrs. Gallagher, those sexy eyes you are giving me make me want to maul you right here.”
“Kiss me,” she whispers.
Just as my lips meet hers, Callan shouts in excitement.
“ZHEN EFFING PRI!”
“Must he always scream family first at bindings?” Eve asks in a whisper-shout. “It ruins the romance vibe.”
“It’s kind of his thing.” Asher kisses her temple.
“Well, it’s fucking annoying,” Kenna snips.
“Easy.” Keegan takes Kenna’s hand and kisses it.
“Listen, cutie.” Callan narrows his eyes at Eve. “You loved it at yours just like Serena and Thor love it!”
“Tristan. His name is Tristan, Dad,” I sigh.
“But I like Thor better!” Callan whines to Abby.
“Give it time, babe.” Abby winks at me.
I look over at my mother. She looks horrified. “Why does Callan want to call Tristan Thor?” she asks Zander.
“Long story. Serena was supposed to a boy named Thor,” he embellishes. “Turns out she is a girl.”
“This seems highly inappropriate to bring up now,” the Queen scolds.
Gage lights a cigarette. “Ophelia, you’re tied to the London clan. Forever. I would mentally prepare yourself for a lot of inappropriate moments in the future.”
“What’s next?” I shoot Serena a smug smile. “Bedroom?”
“Family dinner!” Callan announces.
How’s that for romance?
Serena
I TAKE IN A DEEP BREATH as the middle of my dress presses into my stomach, suffocating the two of us. I lay my hand on my stomach, trying to ease the discomfort.
My mother reached out to a designer friend, who carefully designed and skillfully made the ivory, form-fitting gown. It dips low in the back and has two straps crossing over my shoulder blades, designed to appear like vines. Ivory flowers embellish the delicate lace, which cascades, pooling on the ground like water. It’s stunning.
And I can’t wait to rip it off.
I watch Tristan from across the room. He’s laughing with Zander, Ryker, Ethan, and Lucas. I take a moment to just be grateful. Grateful that he’s mine. That he’s alive and that I get to love him forever.
Both the water and woodland realms are here to celebrate with us, gathered with family and friends, as well as protector clans. Everyone is happy, dancing, and enjoying themselves. For the first time in my life, I truly feel at peace.
Tonight, I look at my clan, at Tristan’s family, and at our friends and feel nothing but happiness. I’m no longer naïve; I know with the morning light will come hardships and uncertainties, but now, I get to face them with Tristan.
His gaze lifts and meets mine from across the room. And everything and everyone melts away. From this night forward, we will share everything, because we have a bright, long future to look forward to.
Tristan steps away from the group and walks across the dance floor to me. My breath catches in my throat as I admire him. When he gets to me, he pulls me into his arms.
“You happy, Mrs. Gallagher?” he whispers in my ear.
“More so than anyone deserves to be,” I admit.
“We deserve this, raindrop.”
I exhale again and he takes me in.
“You okay?”
“This dress is tight. Everything is tight.”
“You do realize we are going to have to tell them soon?”
I frown. “I was hoping we could wait.”
“Wait?” he laughs. “Until when?”
“He’s in college.”
Tristan’s eyes fill with love. “I think they’ll notice.”
“You’re probably right. How about next Sunday, at family dinner?” I give in.
“Deal. Although let’s not tell them it’s a boy just yet.”
“Why?”
“Your dad will want to name him Thor.”
I nod. “Point taken.”
“Besides,” he drops a light kiss to my lips. “I am looking forward to naming my son.”
I swallow. “Um . . .”
Tristan’s brow arches. “You know I love that word.”
“Actually, you can’t name him.”
He laughs. “What?”
“Remember how I lost that bet with Zander? I mean,” I ramble, “if you think about it, it’s really your fault I lost. You made me cry. And I rarely cry. Except that time . . .”
Tristan stills. “Please tell me you didn’t hand over naming rights of our firstborn child? To my brother?”
I bite my bottom lip. “Not to him, exactly.”
“Then who?”
“Rionach.”
Tristan stares down at me for a moment as he catches his breath. After a few minutes he nods his head, understanding the meaning behind what I am not saying.
“Do you know the name?” he asks, quietly.
“I do,” I smile up at him. “You do too. I whispered it to you while you were in your stone state sleep healing.”
He smiles. “That is unfair. I was out cold.”
“Shame you don’t remember. It’s a good one,” I tease.
“Knowing Rionach, it would be.” His voice sincere.
“It is, I promise.”
Tristan brings my hand to his mouth, kissing it. “I trust you.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he confirms.
“For the record, I am a pretty badass dancer. Want to dance with me, raindrop?”
“This marriage isn’t big enough for you and your ego.”
“Guess that means you’ll have to go. My ego and I have been together way too long to let a pretty lady get in the way of our relationship.”
I smack him in the chest. “How easily you toss me aside, Mr. Gallagher.”
“Never.” He pulls me tighter against him. “You are the love of my life.”
After a searing kiss, we make our way to the dance floor, surrounded by everyone we love and everyone who loves us.
Family.
Friends.
Clans.
Satyrs.
Gargoyles.
Our kin.
Our kingdoms.
For a brief moment in time, all is right in the world. Legacies are like the wind. They come and go.
Love—love is endless.
THE END
Twenty Years Later
I LET OUT A SHAKY BREATH, staring absently up into Tristan’s gaze. My growing love for him causes me to shudder under the weight of his body.
With a wicked smirk, he watches me. “Serena?”
I don’t respond. I can’t. It’s too hard.
He shakes his head, chuckling, understanding my silence. “Raindrop?” I can hear the smile in my nickname.
One eyebrow curves up in annoyance at him as I pinch my lips together, holding back a sigh and sharp response.
“It’s time. He’s ready.”
“He’s a child.” I pout.
“He’s a man.”
“He’s our son, Tristan.”
His expression turns serious. “Which is why he will succeed.”
“How can you be sure?”
“Because our blood flows through his veins.”
I release a light laugh. “Are you new here? That should be a huge red flag.”
Tristan bends down, brushing his mouth over mine in a tender kiss. Even now, years later, my skin breaks out in goosebumps at his touch. When he pulls back, I gasp for air, my fingers tracing the lines of his protector tattoo.
“If you keep giving me sexy eyes we are never going to get dressed and get there in time,” he scolds.
“Fine.”
Twenty minutes later, we are standing in Chancellor Chasin’s office at the Royal Protector Academy.
The gargoyle elder was hand-picked by my uncle Keegan to run the Academy years ago. He’s a long-time family friend and a trusted protector among our race.
I try not to fidget as we wait.
Ten minutes later, the doors to the office open.
“You summoned?” Striker mumbles, sounding bored as he walks into the room with his focus on his phone.
Striker’s impatience for all things related to his protector duties are much like my own were at his age.
It’s annoying.
Tristan turns to our son and cocks his head to the side, assessing him. “Where have you been?”
“Out.”
My heart sinks, knowing he was most likely in the company of a female whose name he’s already forgotten.
Striker is a mirror image of his father, mannerisms and all. With his good looks, intelligence, and charming personality, it’s easy to see why there has been no shortage of female protectors in and out of his life.
A lifestyle that will soon come to an end for him.
It’s hard to believe our son just graduated with top honors from the Royal Protector Academy.
It seems like yesterday he was born.
Striker slides his phone into the back pocket of his jeans, and Tristan hands him a folder. THE folder.
“What’s this?” Striker asks.
“Your assignment,” Chancellor Chasin answers. “You are top in your class, Striker. An impressive feat, despite your bloodline ties to this school. As you are aware, those who graduate top in their class are assigned immediately to their charge. The royal family has provided your protection details in that dossier.”
Annoyed, my son opens the file, thumbing through it.
“This assignment is in Spain.”
“It is,” Tristan confirms.
The eight-by-ten glossy photo falls to the floor and I flinch, knowing what is being asked of him. Striker snatches the photo off the floor and looks at it for a long time before his gaze lifts and slides between Tristan and me.
“You want me to protect a girl?” he asks, confused.
“Her name is Umbria,” I reply. “She is the great-granddaughter of a woman named Siobhan.”
“Who is Siobhan?” our son asks.
Tristan sighs. “Camilla Gallagher’s best friend.”
Striker’s eyes meet his father’s in surprise.
“And Umbria is special.”
STOLAS
ONE
DARK MIND
Hope
SILENCE ENVELOPS THE ROOM AS MY reflection peers back at me from the windowpane. The bright sun feels warm on my face, but the air surrounding me is chilly.
A deep shiver rolls through my body as I stare vacantly at the outside world.
“There is no reason this has to be difficult, Miss Annandale.”
Startled by the voice, I blink rapidly and pull my stare away from the dark figure hiding behind a snow-covered tree. An outwardly undetected quiver of fear shudders from within my soul. The figure’s constant presence is the reason my mind has turned dark.
“Miss Annandale?” the inquisitive voice firmly repeats.
I exhale and slowly shift my attention to the warm, vibrant gentleman who is assessing me with a curious expression. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” I manage.
The expensive leather groans under his weight as he sits back in his executive chair, quietly scrutinizing my disposition. Dr. Cornelius Foster has been silently studying me since I walked through the door, fingers tented under his strong chin. It’s unnerving.
Even so, I don’t show my discomfort. I’ve learned that displaying alarm is cause for medication. And the meds only serve to darken my mind further.
I focus on the prestigious degrees and awards the good doctor proudly showcases on the rich burgundy wall behind his mahogany desk. They’re impressive. He’s impressive.
None of it matters though. He can’t help me. No one can. “Let’s talk about the voices. Are you still hearing them?” The voices are constant. Never ending. But that isn’t what he wants to hear.The hundreds of thousands of dollars he’s spent on those framed degrees won’t allow the voices to still be there. What he doesn’t grasp is, if years of conventional medical treatments and medication haven’t helped, one hour in a Swiss “healing spa” certainly isn’t going to.
I fake a smile. “They’re much quieter now.”
Dr. Foster dips his chin. “And the demons? Do you still see them?”
I can’t help but notice how bright his crisp, button-down shirt looks against his dark chocolate skin. The white is pure. Ethereal. For a moment, I pretend he’s an angel sent from Heaven to protect me from evil. The light to fight the darkness that has settled deep within the corners of my mind.
“Hope?” he prompts, using my name.“I haven’t seen one since landing in Switzerland,” I lie. Dr. Foster’s brow furrows and he runs a large hand over his full beard. The gesture causes me to stare at the few strands of gray mixed in with the black. For a man in his early fifties, Cornelius Foster certainly is easy on the eyes. His features remind me of that actor, Idris Elba. Unlike the other doctors before him, he’s sharp and seems to be able to read me.
Lost in thought, I suddenly realize he’s now leaning on his desk in front of me, muscular arms crossed, gaze calculating.
“Hope,” he commands my attention again. “You’re safe here. Our patient-doctor relationship only works if you are candid during our sessions. I can’t help if you don’t truthfully tell me what is going on inside your head. While you are here, I expect open and honest communication. There is no judgment. I’m here to aid in your healing.”
An awkward silence lingers between us.
