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Butterflies swarm my stomach as we walk through the mansion and stirring images of Dacari with Decaux and the truth of it all once more flood my mind. So many questions ravage through me. And while the why and how of it all perplexes me, it is the who which disturbs me most.
Decaux Marchand.
Decaux Marchand is Dacari’s father.
Once more, I am reminded that the nightmare which has become my life is not as beautiful as I hoped.
My breathing is raspy as we near my suite and I can almost smell the effervescent and perfumed scent of my Aunt Delia luring me with each step. She’s always had a floral and warm smell, but today is the first time I can detect she’s something more.
More surprising is that it’s only her fragrance and Mark’s wolfy aroma permeating my pathway. I can’t smell Jackson or Dalcour nearby. Only faint traces of their scent remain. Odd.
Rounding the corner of the hall as we near my suite, I am shocked to find Vonnie seated in front of my door.
“Lady Damina!” Vonnie exclaims in a tone brighter and more pronounced than her usual timid manner. Pushing the chair back toward the wall, she speeds toward me faster than I can blink. “You have no idea how worried I was for you. I am just so thankful to see you doing well—and awake!” She professes, bringing me into a tight embrace.
“Well, I guess that’s my cue!” Mark adds. “I better get back to the CC and make sure things are secured for tonight or both Jackson and Big D will have my head. Besides, I think you’re in capable hands now.”
“Thanks, Mark!” I answer as I try to wiggle out from under Vonnie’s tight hold.
“My pleasure, Lady D! Oh, and by the way, don’t worry about tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“Yeah, Big D has me running routes with Jackson tonight to keep us Dunes wolves occupied and away from all the—um festivities. But I think Brae will be back to the mansion by then to keep you company. Just be sure to stay close to the mansion tonight with Brae, Vonnie and your aunt. No more—PJ flights, please!” Mark shouts and chuckles over his shoulder as he hurries down the hallway.
He’s out of eyesight before I have a chance to get more information. Turning to Vonnie, her tight-lip expression tells me there’s more to the story. Just as I part my mouth to inquire further, the botanical scent of peonies in bloom fills the atmosphere and I look over Vonnie’s shoulder to see Aunt Delia’s tall frame shadowing the doorway.
“Damina,” Aunt Delia begins softly, “It’s time.” Her words are short, but her tone delicate. I don’t have to read her mind to know she’s dreading this moment more than I can imagine.
Vonnie steps away from the door and pulls her wooden chair closer to the entrance. “I’ll be right here should you need anything, Lady Damina.” She says in her typical dutiful pitch.
Nodding briefly, I smile as she takes one more squeeze of my hand just as I cross the threshold. A warm and vibrant golden ray of light shines between our clasped palms as a pulsating current runs up my arms. Everything in me wishes I knew what Vonnie just did, or at least what it meant. And as painful as it is, I almost wish I could read her mind, but it appears Bulwarks are just as immune to Altrinion telepathy as wolves.
Despite my budding interest in my newly supernatural state, seeing my aunt once again reminds me all my effort and attention should be on finding my cousin.
“So I suppose you have many questions,” Delia begins as she gestures toward the bench at the edge of my bed. I am almost irritated that my aunt has returned to her more commanding manner, but I opt to ignore it for now.
“And I presume you have the answers,” I quietly reply. Although I try to stifle my newly dominant stance, the twitch of my aunt’s nose lets me know my tone isn’t quite what she expected. I suppose even my aunt will have to learn, I’m not the same woman who left D.C.
I have changed. In fact, everything has changed.
Aunt Delia remains standing near the door. She looks out into the hallway before slowly closing the door shut as she lets out a loud sigh. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was holding herself back from racing out of the room just to avoid this conversation. Not that I wouldn’t understand if she decided to bolt. It’s been my go-to as of late. Still, this is Aunt Delia we’re talking about. I can’t imagine her running from anything or anyone.
Especially not me.
Pressing herself against the wooden doorframe, she tilts her head back and gulps a heap of air, exhaling once more as she brings her eyes locked with mine.
“Then we should start with the elephant in the room,” she starts.
“You mean Decaux?”
“Yes. Dacari’s father.”
There’s a long pause as we both stare at one another while my aunt locks her hands together, grasping at her wrist and twirling her fingers through the charm bracelet Dacari and I gave her this past Mother’s Day.
“How, Aunt Delia? How is Decaux even a part of the discussion? I mean, did you know who Dalcour was all this time too? And if everything I’ve heard about Decaux is true, how could he be her father? Even more, how could you be with someone like him?”
“You mean like you and Dalcour?”
“That’s not the same! Not even remotely!”
“But isn’t it?”
“Hardly.”
“Well, that’s not what I thought back then. In fact, I wasn’t so different from the woman you are now. Although, I was much younger when I met Decaux. Only eighteen. But I was quite a mess. Still grieving over the loss of my father, I guess you can say I was in a bit of a rebellious state.”
“You? Rebellious? I can’t even imagine.”
“Ha! Ha! You would think I’ve been sprayed with a starch-iron spine from birth, but that’s the furthest from the truth. Now, your mother on the other hand was born perfect. At least everyone thought so. Even me. And especially your grandparents.”
“But Papa Roux wasn’t her father—right?”
“Ah! That’s right, Dalcour told me you discovered that part so far. Well, for all intents and purposes, Papa Roux was your mother’s father. Our father. He raised her and loved her as his own. Sometimes in my envy it felt like he loved her more than me. Now, don’t get me wrong, I loved your mother—how could I not? She was a wonderful sister. Just a wonderful woman through and through. But I loved my dad and longed for the attention he gave to her so freely. As a parent myself, I can now say that I think he went out of his way to ensure she never felt abandoned or alone since she wasn’t his.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I’ve had to do the same for you. At least I’ve always hoped you’ve felt a parental love from me. Although I know I could never replace your parents.”
“Of course, Aunt Delia! Of course! There’s never been any doubt.”
“I am glad to hear it. Even though I know I must regain your trust.” Aunt Delia pauses once more and bites her lip as she looks up at the ceiling, blinking her eyes rapidly and forcing her tears aside. Everything inside me wants to embrace her, but she clears her throat, pushes away from the door, and walks toward the window, opening the blinds as she settles into the adjacent wingback chair.
“I’m more interested to hear of this wild and rebellious side of you that I never knew existed,” I interject through the awkward silence.
“Ah, yes! My rebellion. Well, a few years after Papa’s death I became eligible for my alpha valuation and I longed to finally have the one thing that made me feel close to him. But due to the state of the New Orleans wolves there was no one of rank or available for my valuation. The thought that I’d be just another rankless Dunes wolf infuriated me. It angered me more than anything! So much so, I looked high and low—mainly low for anyone who could help me achieve my alpha status. That’s when I met him.”
“Decaux.” My croaky tone almost chokes me as the wretched frog makes his return in my throat.
“Yes,” Aunt Delia lowly responds with her eyes fixed on me. Twirling her fingers through the blinds above her head, I realize this is the first time I’ve ever seen my aunt fidget.
She’s nervous.
Clearing her throat once more, she blinks rapidly again and turns her attention back toward me, but this time averting her eyes from me.
“Well in the beginning it was all about helping me find someone of rank for my valuation.”
“I don’t understand. Why would Decaux even be interested in helping a wolf?”
“Oh, well I’m sure he had reasons even I still don’t understand but mostly it was because I was a Dunes wolf. You see, Damina, the Dunes wolves—the Beta Primes—were largely responsible for the guardianship and protection of Altrinions.”
“I thought that was the job of Alpha Primes like Jackson?”
“I suppose technically all wolves are to protect the sacred Order of Altrinion, but the weight primarily fell to the Dunes. After the Dunes were cursed, Altrinions were hunted to almost near extinction. Decaux always said he wanted to realign the Dunes to their places of prominence. I suppose he saw me as a steppingstone to that end.”
“And he obviously saw you as much more,” I add softly.
“That he did. But his affection was not lost on me. I know I should’ve known better, but I allowed my rebellion to override my intellect. For the time I spent with him, he was dutiful, kind—loving.”
“How can you say that, Aunt Delia? Everything I’ve learned of Decaux Marchand is that of a monster!”
“Yes and a monster he was. But never to me. At least that’s what I told myself. I was so blinded by my need to be something special—an alpha—that I was willing to overlook everything I knew to be true. You see, Damina, we were raised with stories of the vicious Marchand brothers. The Altrinion-Vampire lords.”
“You mean stories of Decaux?”
“No, she said it right. The Marchand brothers.” The tenor of Dalcour’s voice is more pronounced than usual. Just as he speaks, a powerful whiff of his jasmine and lavender scent implodes the space between us as he watches me from across the threshold. His jaws are tight as he searches my face, likely trying to discern my mood. His eyes are glassy and his posture rigid. Everything in me wants to wrap myself in his embrace, but only a half-cracked smile is all I have to offer. Seeing him still stirs me in ways I never thought capable. Relaxing his mouth slightly, his eyes alone tell me he wants to hold me just as much as I desire to be held.
“What do you mean, Dalcour?” I quietly reply, tightly squeezing the wooden bars of the bench, desperate to calm the frenzy brewing within me at the sight of him.
Dalcour’s smile widens and I know he’s pleased to know he’s affecting me. “Well, my brother, as wretched as he may be, is not the sole progenitor of all things evil. And whatever villainous acts he’s committed could equally be laid at my feet!”
“Please, Dalcour! You’re nothing like him! You’re not a monster!”
“Oh how I wish that were true, Beautiful. Although being with you surely keeps the beast at bay,” Dalcour answers with a broad smile and chuckle as he saunters into the room.
“There was a time I thought I could keep Decaux’s beast at bay, but I wasn’t enough. You see, the day I discovered I was pregnant with Dacari was the day I saw the beast in full bloom,” Aunt Delia interjects.
“So I take that to mean, you left before ever telling him you were pregnant,” Dalcour asks.
Delia nods with her eyes only and bites her lip once more, terror filling her countenance.
“What did you see, Aunt Delia? What made you leave him?”
“It was the most vicious thing I’d ever seen in my life. He and some of his disciples were tearing through the flesh of young children. There was no way I could raise a child with such a monster! I left that day and never looked back!”
Aunt Delia’s eyes are vacant yet filled with horror as she recounts her last moments with Decaux. I want to know more, but I’m afraid of forcing her to relive such torment.
“This actually makes a lot of sense!” Dalcour exclaims, breaking both me and Aunt Delia from our speechless state.
“What do you mean, Dal?” I question.
“Outside of his first love, Calida, there was only one other time where I can recall my brother being in love. Only one other time I can remember him forsaking his savagery.”
“How can you say that, Dalcour? Didn’t you just hear my aunt? He was killing—feasting on children!” I shout.
“Well, sure, but—”
“But what, Dal? How can there be any reasonable excuse?” I protest, bothered by his apathetic appeal.
“Because it is clear his heart was beating.” Dalcour gazes at me, hopeful I comprehend his intent.
“What? I don’t see what difference,” I answer confused.
“Oh, my!” Delia loudly gasps. “I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of that!”
“Of what? What am I missing here?” I yell, rising up from my seat.
“Damina, remember when I told you how you settled the—um—beast within me? How only you were able to assuage the wickedness within me? Now do you also recall how only my love for you reignited the beating of my heart?”
“Yes, I remember,” I mumble as I watch the wary glances both Dalcour and Aunt Delia exchange. While faint to most mere ears, I hear the pace of Dalcour’s heart quicken and I know he’s nervous.
Taking a deep sigh, Dalcour swallows the thick air in his throat and turns away from my aunt, keeping his eyes locked on me. “When our hearts beat, it also signals the liveliness of every part of us. Do you understand what I mean?”
“No. I’m certainly missing something.”
“I mean every part.” Dalcour whispers, shooting a cautious glance over his shoulder and away from my aunt and then down toward my waistline.
Just before I have the chance to try to force my way into his thoughts, Aunt Delia forces a loud groan and makes her way between us. “What he’s trying to say is that their reproductive man parts stop shooting blanks!”
“Aunt Delia!” I gasp at her admission. My aunt has never been crass, and witnessing this outburst of hers is both unnerving and intriguing.
“Hold on, are you saying you can’t—unless your heart is beating?” I question Dalcour.
“Oh, no! Believe me, Beautiful, my performance isn’t hindered at all beating heart or not—but the only way one such as I can be a father is with a beating heart. We have to be fully free of the curse.”
“So, you mean to tell me Decaux’s heart was beating when you two were together. Are you trying to say you two were in lo—”
“Don’t!” Aunt Delia protests. “Don’t even speak it! Now look Dalcour, I’ve never thought of such since that day. How could I? Seeing him the way I did, it never dawned on me that he—that we—the thought is ridiculous!”
“Delia, as ridiculous as it may seem, it must be true. How else could Dacari be his daughter?” Dalcour counters.
Aunt Delia paces between us, chewing on her nails and fidgeting with her bracelet. I’ve never seen her so jumpy. This is obviously more upsetting to her than I imagined.
“So I suppose Dacari was conceived in love,” I say softly.
“No! It can’t be!” Aunt Delia shouts back as she continues her pacing.
“Well, that does put some of the puzzle pieces together. But I guess I’m still confused about one thing,” Dalcour states.
“What is it, Dal?” I ask.
“While I recall my brother taking a brief pause from his bloody deadline, I vaguely remember him mentioning a woman that had him in a tizzy. He begged me to get an Altrinion elder to perform an alpha valuation. But if memory serves me correct, it was for someone named Anne.”
“Yes, it’s my middle name.” Aunt Delia tepidly replies just shy of a whisper.
“Right that is your middle name? But I thought you hated that name. You always told us to never use it—” Just as I turn to face my aunt, the puzzle pieces Dalcour mentioned become clearer. “You didn’t want him to find you. Is that right, Aunt Delia? You told him your name was Anne?”
Aunt Delia nods, keeping her eyes closed shut as tears race down both sides of her cheekbones. “It’s all my fault, Damina! I’m so sorry,” she sobs as she plops down onto the ottoman.
“Auntie, it’s okay. I know Dacari may be upset right now, but once you tell her everything, I’m sure she’ll understand.” Sitting down next to her, I try to grab her rigid shoulders to console her, but she pulls away from me, tossing her head to her knees.
“Delia, is there something more?” Dalcour asks in a dark and gritty tone. I gaze up at him and see his posture now just as stiff as my aunt. While I know our telepathy doesn’t extend to wolves, a reminiscent eerie feeling makes me wonder if I’m the only one in the room out of the loop.
“Aunt Delia, please it will be okay.”
“No, my darling. It is not okay, and it is all my fault. You have me, and me alone to blame.”
“Please, there’s no one to blame for anything,” I reply, reaching for her hand, but she pulls away.
“Let her finish, Beautiful,” Dalcour darkly mutters.
“He’s right, Damina. There is more. As I’ve said, I told Decaux my name was Anne.”
“Well yes. We’ve covered that part.”
“Anne Nicaud. I told him my name was Anne Nicaud. I used your mother’s married name.”
“What? Why? Why would you do that? And what does that have to do with anything?”
“It has everything to do with everything!” Aunt Delia shouts back. “Nicaud, Damina. I told him my name was Nicaud. I knew he was a monster! I knew what I was getting myself into. No one just leaves a Marchand! And no one leaves with something that belongs to him!”
“You mean Dacari? But Aunt Delia, she will understand—”
“No Damina, it’s not Dacari! It’s you!”
“What? I don’t understand. What are you trying to say, Aunt Delia?”
“He came for me, Damina. Decaux. The only name he had to go on was Nicaud.”
“No, Aunt Delia. I know you’re not trying to say—”
“Damina,” Dalcour says in a muted breath as he walks toward me, concern glaring in his eyes once more. I retract from his advance, keeping my gaze set on my aunt.
I need to see her when she says it with my own eyes.
“It was Decaux, Damina! Decaux killed your parents.”