THE MASERATI IDLED outside a trendy boutique on the Champs-Èlysées. Vail had declined accompanying Lyric to buy some clothing less risqué than what she’d rummaged from her brother’s stash of ex-girlfriend discards. If she was going to meet the parents, she wasn’t going to look like a harlot.
And she sensed he needed to stew by himself after his werewolf brother’s call.
Lyric had smelled the acrid anger on Vail. He wanted to charge the vanguard, not visit his mother. But she suspected he needed this visit more, right now, than he could imagine. If he could connect on the smallest part with his mother, it might set him on the right path. Who knew, it could focus him for the inevitable battle.
And he did need to ensure his family was safe. She smiled to think Vail thought of them as family. Bet the misplaced vampire hadn’t quite realized that. He was coming around.
The soft pink dress, with cinched waist and fluttery red ruffles at the back, was perfect. Not too uptight, but not too sexy either, because the neckline stopped above her breasts in more ruffles.
No longer fearful of revealing the mark she wore, Lyric pulled her hair into a bun and stuck an ivory hair pick through to secure it. “He did say he liked librarians.”
* * *
HE DID NOT WANT TO DO THIS.
He did want to do this.
He had to do this.
Rhys wasn’t answering his phone, and Vail needed to warn him about the Unseelie. He hoped this visit didn’t lead the sidhe right to the Hawkeses’ front door.
It would be difficult walking into the home of the mother he had never met. As long as Lyric stood beside him, her hand clasped in his, Vail would find the courage to walk across the threshold.
The Hawkes couple lived an hour east of Paris in a Regency-era two-story mansion that boasted one hundred leagues of surrounding forested land. Vail suspected Rhys did like to run as a wolf; a forest was a requirement. The foyer opened to a vast circular main room with a sunken pit entertainment area. An inner balcony all around led to private bedrooms and guest rooms. A hi-tech kitchen curved along the right wall, and straight through, Vail saw the glint of blue water in the pool.
After extending an invite to enter his home, Rhys introduced himself to Lyric when it was apparent Vail was too busy distracting his nerves by looking around. He had worried only a moment about bringing Lyric along. Though Hawkes Associates was in deep shit, Vail trusted Rhys to give him the benefit of wanting to figure everything out, after he explained their latest discovery regarding faery trafficking, before turning Lyric over to her mother.
“You’re looking good, Vaillant,” Rhys said after shaking Lyric’s hand.
Vail nodded, speechless. He hadn’t worn the eye ointment and Lyric had suggested he wear a crisp white shirt and dark trousers—which he’d borrowed from her brother’s closet—so he wouldn’t appear so scary to his mother.
Lyric thought he looked scary? Hell, he looked usual. Yet what would his mother think?
His mother.
Maybe he should leave.
No, you’re stronger than that. You’ll only let yourself and Lyric down if you leave now.
“You didn’t answer your phone,” he said to Rhys. “I tried to call.”
“Sorry, I was out on a run. This is fine, you stopping by like this.”
“No, I came here because I need to warn you,” Vail insisted. “Trystan was worked over by the Unseelie. Zett’s crew. They could come here next.”
“They’ll not find us,” Rhys answered confidently. “The mansion is protected by wards against virtually every creature that walks the land.”
“Then how was I able to drive up unannounced?”
“You think I’d put up a ward against you?” The werewolf shook his head sadly. “Interesting to finally meet you, Miss Santiago. I’m sorry I can’t say nice to meet you, but, you know.”
“I understand. I’m the cause of your troubles, Monsieur Hawkes. Believe me, I hadn’t expected things to get so out of hand. All I wanted was to avoid going near the Lord of Midsummer Dark.”
“Vail insists he’s got a handle on things. I trust him.”
“Why?” Vail intruded with spread hands. “You don’t know me, old man. I could be working against you.”
The elder half-breed took a moment to sum up the two of them and, with a smiling nod, said, “You are not. And I do trust you. You are family, Vaillant. I look forward to the day you finally start believing that.”
He remembered Rhys telling him he’d believed him his own son for thirteen years—until Cressida had told him otherwise. Could love sustain after such a betrayal? Doubtful.
“I’ve spoken with Viviane,” Rhys said.
“I don’t know if we should do this now,” Vail said. Odd how his heartbeats increased. Nervous? Not him. “There’s so much going on. We have to be careful—”
“You’re safe here, Vaillant.” Rhys laid a hand on Vail’s arm. The connection was firm and quiet, married with a flash of the shimmer. It cemented the word safe in Vail’s brain. Yes, he was safe here. He did trust Rhys. He had to trust him.
Lyric clasped his free hand and, standing between the two of them, Vail did not feel as though they were ganging up on him, but instead offering support.
He sucked in a breath and nodded. “Yes. I will see her.”
Rhys spoke quietly as he led the couple around and to the kitchen counter where a bottle of wine decanted in an ice bucket. “I’ve explained to Viviane that you’ve come home from Faery.”
“You didn’t tell her about this months ago, after my arrival?” Vail wondered.
Had he been the secret no one talked about?
“Of course, I did. But she tends to forget.” Rhys offered a goblet to Lyric and she shook her head. “You are bloodborn,” he said to Lyric.
“Yes.”
“Vail is bloodborn, too.”
“She knows.” Vail grabbed the proffered goblet and tilted the full-bodied sauvignon back in one swallow. “I didn’t figure you for a matchmaker.”
The old vampire grinned. Hawkes was always vampire in human form, yet his werewolf mind directed him; when in werewolf form his vampire insisted on blood. “I’ve always said you possess great power, Vaillant. You stop drinking ichor and take vampire blood and you will come into that power.”
“Just a guess, old man. And please don’t talk about Lyric as if she’s some object to be bartered around for marriage. There’s enough trafficking in innocent lives going on lately.”
“I’m sorry, Lyric,” Rhys offered. “So you figured out the Santiago secret?”
“You knew?” Vail asked. “And you didn’t think that would be helpful in my investigation?”
“Vail, you found the missing woman four hours into your investigation. What help did you need?”
“You could have warned me Zett had made a deal with Santiago. That he’d marked Lyric—”
“What?” Rhys tilted a curious look on Lyric, who noticeably blushed.
“You didn’t know that?” Vail pulled Lyric into a hug and kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she said. To Rhys she explained, “Zett marked me as his bride when I was thirteen, before he could know I was vampire, and before I’d developed the blood hunger. He wants to get his hands on me now to do away with his mistake.”
“I see.” Hawkes set down his goblet. “May I…see the mark? Just curious, and always wanting to learn as much as I can about the sidhe nations.”
“Of course.” Lyric turned and tilted her head for Rhys to inspect.
As the old man moved closer to his woman Vail tightened his grip about the goblet. The wolf didn’t touch her, but he was too close.
The goblet cracked. Wine spilled over Vail’s hand.
“Sorry,” Rhys said, stepping back. He grabbed a towel from the sink and tossed it over the broken glass. “If I can recognize such things, it serves as a valuable tool, especially in my business.”
“Ch’yeah.” Vail stalked out from the kitchen toward the open patio doors, needing a breath of air. And some distance, not from Rhys, but Lyric.
When had he become so possessive of her? It shouldn’t have mattered to him that Rhys had wanted to inspect the mark. The old man hadn’t even touched her! But he’d been close enough to smell, and werewolves were all about the scent.
Vail stepped into the sunlight and tipped the sunglasses from his forehead and down onto his nose. Hawkes was not a wolf now, his conscience reminded him, he was a vampire. Which made it ten times worse, because that meant the old man’s werewolf mind now directed his actions.
“You want to go say a few words to Viviane?” Rhys called from the patio doorway. “She’s in her gallery, painting.”
Lyric had joined him at his side. When had that happened? Her fingers twined within his, a connection that bolstered his courage and made him feel as though his heart was strong enough to endure anything. Hell, he’d survived Faery; he could do this.
“I’ll go in with you,” she offered, bright blue eyes beaming hope at him.
He bowed to kiss her, and the whisper of her breath emboldened him. He needed that. Truly, he needed her.
“You stay here. I should do this alone.” He eyed Rhys. “Can I trust you with her alone?”
“What do you mean?”
“If you think to turn her over to her mother—”
“He’s not going to.” Lyric hugged his arm and her calm voice notched down his irritation. “I’m a big girl. I’m not going to let that old guy tell me what to do.” She and Rhys exchanged smiles. “I’ll be right out here. You take all the time you need.”
“Fine.” He rubbed his palms over his thighs. “Do you need to tell her I’m here?”
“Just came from her room when the butler announced your arrival,” Rhys said. “She’s expecting you. Go on.”
* * *
WHEN VAIL HAD BEEN banished from Faery—ousted from a world that was not normally a vampire’s environment, yet still his home—into the mortal realm, he’d lost his breath. The mortal realm, while lesser and not so vibrant as Faery, possessed a pulse of its own, and had breathed the life he had often felt missing back into him.
Now, as he entered the grand art studio, lined along the far wall with bay windows that looked over a colorful garden, he lost his breath again. Within this room, a different realm existed.
Touching the lily bracelet, he connected to what he’d known, and then, with a heavy exhalation, he released the anxiety over what he could never have again. Faery was not his place.
Where was his home?
Taking everything in, the unbleached pine walls blurred out of his focus and he saw dozens of canvases in all states of the creative process stacked and propped and hung. The pictures depicted women in gorgeous eighteenth-century gowns that twinkled as if decorated with real jewels, so much so, Vail felt he could reach to a painting and draw away the necklace glinting at the model’s neck.
And there, a fine, dark-haired lord in silver damask frock coat and lace, revealed fangs within his wicked grin. Could that be his father?
The woman who had created these images, his mother, would know. She had known Constantine de Salignac, for good and for evil.
Had it ever been good for her?
Vail swallowed and ran a palm down the front of his shirt. He felt naked without the usual spikes on his clothing and faery ointment. Despite the lily bracelet, he had no armor to protect himself from this truth.
A truth he desperately wanted.
“Hello?” he called.
Rhys had said at her worst, Viviane would wail and beat her fists against the ground and then get lost in a silent stare. Those states were rare, and only if she had not fed the blood hunger for days.
He didn’t want to startle her. But what could be more startling than meeting the son you gave birth to twenty-eight mortal years ago after being buried alive for two hundred and thirty years?
He heard faint, musical humming, and guessed she stood behind the canvas propped on an easel to the left and at the back of the room near the bay windows.
“Viviane? It’s uh…Vail. Vaillant.” Your son.
No, he couldn’t say that. It didn’t feel right. He didn’t own that title. Not until his mother brought him into her arms and hugged him.
“Vaillant is a princely name,” came a soft voice. Melodic and bright. She sounded like the mother he had dreamed about.
“It was given to me by my vampire mother,” he offered, stepping closer but still uncertain about broaching the distance. His pulse pounded at his temples.
Was it too late to turn and dash out of here? Run into Lyric’s arms and hope she would forgive him his cowardice? She knew what it was like being at odds with her mother.
How could a man be at odds with someone he didn’t know?
“Rhys told you I wanted to see you?” he tried. Now the soft strokes of a brush across canvas touched his ears. “I’ve only been in this mortal realm a few months. I’m sorry I’ve stayed away. I didn’t want to do anything to upset you…” Mother.
No, it didn’t feel right. Viviane?
“Is it okay? Do you mind that I’m here?”
A clatter, perhaps a brush hitting the easel tray, made him flinch. And then a woman swept out from behind the canvas. A beautiful woman dressed in flowing black silk and with long curly hair as soot-black as his own. Her bold azure eyes were lined with kohl, and Vail smiled a little because the similarity struck him.
She stood proudly, shoulders straight and countenance demanding awe. Gorgeous and youthful, she appeared no older than he. A diamond hummingbird glittered in her hair. She’d stepped out from one of the paintings.
Vail’s heartbeat clattered, surprised and overwhelmed yet uncertain.
“You are Constantine’s son?” she asked, arms crossed, her nose tilted up. Not about to let down her guard. To be expected.
He nodded. He’d hoped to avoid mention of his father’s name. It couldn’t bring good memories to her.
“Step closer. Let me look at you.”
He took a few steps, too quickly, for she hissed and backed toward the canvas.
Vail stopped, putting up his palms. “Sorry.”
He tried a few slower steps until he stood about six feet from her. Now her fingers flexed at her sides, unsure. As did his. He should have worn a jacket, something to protect—
You don’t need protection from your own mother!
“Your paintings are incredible. You are talented.”
“Of course.”
Not chatty, then. What had he expected? That she’d wrap her arms about him and coo that everything would be all right?
Yes. Oh, yes.
“I’m Vaillant.” Duh. You said that already!
“Vaillant.” And then so softly he had to lean forward to hear, she murmured, “My dark prince.”
Vail swallowed. She had claimed him in some small way. Or did she mistake him for someone else? His father? Did he look like him? Dare he ask?
“Why have you come to me now?”
“I…” He had expected this reaction, but to stand here receiving her vitriolic question confused him more than he could have imagined. His sweaty fingers and racing heart gave away his nerves. At once he wanted to pull her into a hug, and yet keeping his distance felt wiser. Safer. “I wanted to look at you.” Mother. “To know where I came from. Forgive me.”
“Forgive you what? You’ve done nothing to me.”
“No, but…”
“That bastard.” She hissed and snarled at him. The diamond pin in her hair flashed angrily. “You look like him.”
“I do?” If he reminded Viviane of the one man she must despise most…
He could sense her agitation. The scent of anger always hit the center of his tongue with an acrid bite. He should leave. “I’m sorry.”
“You apologize too much. I hate you.” She flung up her arms and declared loudly, “I love you!” She slyly eyed him from over her shoulder. “You are pretty, my dark prince. Like me. You think me pretty?”
“Very.”
“Your eyes are bright.”
“Never so bright as yours…” Mother. The word dallied at the tip of his tongue. The notion to step forward and pull her into his arms—
“Go away from me. I don’t want to see you.”
Vail stiffened. For a moment his heart stopped beating. Go away echoed between his ears in a screeching red tone that scratched at his soul.
“Now!”
“I will.” He nodded and stepped back, grasping for security, yet his hands found nothing. He was stepping away from a tragedy he wanted to fix but could only further break beyond repair.
She did not want him. Could not stand to look upon the man who reminded her of her rapist.
“Sorry. Goodbye, Viviane. Mother.”
She hissed and clawed at him.
Vail retreated, leaving the gallery door open. The breeze from the patio wafted chlorine into his nostrils. He winced at the sudden plunge back to reality. Marching into the kitchen, he swerved as Lyric put out her arms to embrace him.
“I have to leave,” he growled.
“It’ll take a while,” Rhys tried. “She needs to get to know you.”
“She doesn’t want to know me!” He gained the foyer and turned, unable to look either of them in the eye. “Will you drive Lyric to her brother’s home? It is the only place she can be safe. I need to be away from here.”
Rhys nodded. Vail didn’t meet Lyric’s eyes, because to do so would reveal to her his failure. She’d had such high hopes for Viviane and him. He’d let them both down.
Turning and entering the cool night air, Vail’s boots dug into the pebbled surface as he raced toward the car. He shifted into gear and peeled out of the driveway. The security lights flashed on as he peeled down the long curved driveway.
He had to get away from it all.
Turning onto the main road, Vail jammed his foot on the accelerator and raced the car into the night.
* * *
LYRIC STOPPED HERSELF from running after her lover when he made his hasty retreat. She knew better. He needed to get away.
She glanced beyond Rhys, who leaned against the kitchen counter, then to the gallery, from where Vail had charged out as if hellhounds snapped at his ankles.
Was Viviane LaMourette so much the monster, then? To have made her son, a powerful, confident man, flee as if the devil Himself were on his heels?
“Sorry,” Rhys offered.
“He just wanted to know his father,” she blurted out, feeling defensive for her lover. “Why won’t you give him the information to find him?”
“We have a deal.”
“A deal? You sound like the sidhe who won’t agree to anything without a return reward. You want the gown? I’ll hand it over.”
Rhys’s eyebrows lifted. Of course, both he and Vail had to have guessed she had the gown all along. Wasn’t as if she could have fenced it in the mortal realm.
“He’s in love with you,” Rhys stated.
“No, he’s not.”
“You are in love with him.”
A statement she couldn’t find words to deny, so she kept her silence.
“It would be a betrayal of Vail if I allowed you to hand over the gown.”
“How so? It would end this stupid deal the two of you made. End of story.”
“He needs to hand it over to me. To complete the quest, so to speak.”
“But I insist! I’ll go retrieve it right now. Don’t you see how hurt the man is? He wants connection with a family he’s never known.”
“He has family. I am his family. His mother—”
“Just sent a grown man racing out of here. What kind of monster is she?”
Her comment struck a painful chord in Rhys, and he turned away from her.
“Sorry.”
Rhys sighed and shook his head that it was all forgiven. “Do you know when I first met Vail, he sat down before me in my office, and said as a means of introduction, ‘I’m Vail the Unwanted.’ Just like that. And he believed it. So, no, I will not make this easier for him by taking away his opportunity to learn that he is truly loved and can become the vampire we all want him to be.”
“Thank you for telling me that. He’s getting better.”
“I hope so. He’s a fine man. Honorable in ways even he isn’t privy to.”
The front door opened and in marched a wild, red-haired man sporting two black eyes and a split lip. A gash cut across his nose, but he managed to smile with a wince and at the same time blatantly ogle Lyric.
“Who is this fine bit?” he asked Rhys, who had moved alongside Lyric protectively.
“She’s vampire,” Rhys stated.
The man stepped back and put up a palm. “Oh.” That one word dismissed her to the ranks of something vile and of small regard.
“What happened to your face, Tryst?”
“Tryst?” Lyric looked from him to Rhys. There was resemblance about the square jaw and eyes. “You’re Vail’s brother?”
“Who are you?” the werewolf asked defiantly.
“I’m Lyric Santiago,” she said, holding out her hand, which he almost shook but, at the last moment, flicked his hand away from her offer. “Vail told me the Unseelie got to you. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, man, faeries are after Vaillant. Because of her. I can see why, too. Nice. For a vampire.”
“Tryst, mind your manners. Lyric is a welcome guest in my home.”
“Yeah? I thought she was the one you were supposed to find for the client? Aren’t you going to hand her over and end all this?” He pointed to his bruised face.
“You can’t handle a few cuts and bruises?” Rhys chided teasingly.
“You know I can. But do you see the trouble my brother has brought to us? Where is he, anyway?” The werewolf sniffed. “Did he abandon her here like yesterday’s baggage? Because if he did, that bastard is luring the faeries right to my home, and I warned him not to.”
“That’s not it at all,” Rhys said. “He came here to warn me after I missed his phone calls. As well… Vaillant finally met Viviane.”
The wolf stilled and shoved his hands in his front pockets. “Oh.”
At that moment, Lyric sensed Trystan Hawkes was much more receptive to the idea of having a vampire brother than he wanted anyone to know. He didn’t hate Vail; he just acted the role he assumed others expected of him.
Rhys cleared his throat. “I was going to offer Lyric a ride into the city, but if you are able?”
She exchanged looks with the werewolf and suspected the last thing he wanted was to spend a moment with her. Yet she wanted to get to know the brother better. To determine the accuracy of her assessment of the brothers’ relationship.
“Good, then.” Rhys shuffled Lyric toward Trystan. “He can give you a ride into the city. Don’t worry, his bark is worse than his bite.”
“But I just got here,” Tryst said. “I was going to sit with Viviane.”
“She’s in a mood,” the old man said lowly.
The werewolf sighed, and cast his gaze down the hallway toward the gallery.
“Return tomorrow, why don’t you?” Rhys offered his son. “Bring her some of those white chrysanthemums she favors so much.”
“I can do that.” He flicked a gesture toward Lyric. “Come on, faery bait.”
THE MASERATI SKIDDED on loose gravel. Vail pulled up the emergency brake. The vehicle spun. The back tires left the ground.
He opened the door and flung out his body, hitting the gravel with a bounce. Stones spattered his face, hands and skull. The car door narrowly missed shaving his scalp. The car spun and went over the edge of the riverbank.
Water splashed over Vail’s dirt-dusted face. He tilted back his head to laugh.