Mason uncrossed his arms as he sat at his desk. It was eight o’clock. His employees were long gone, and he was left alone in the offices of Lane Liquors Corporation, with the exception of a stray guard or two. He should leave, but what did he have to go back to?
A cold empty condo on the beach. Sure, it had a nice view, but what was the point? He had no one to share it with. Besides, this time of year the beach was crawling with couples and families. Every time he saw one, it was like a knife in the gut.
He’d been alone most of his life. He turned up in Maccon City as a kid. After struggling with his first Change, he’d garnered the attention of an older Werewolf in the Pack. The guy had helped him get emancipated from the state and set him up at the little motel he’d lived at until his late twenties.
He was fine with all of that. Mason made his peace with his parents’ death a long time ago. But he cursed the day he took Abigail Vicente home in his pick-up truck. His blood still burned with anger at the thought of the woman who stole his heart and changed him forever.
Damn you, Abigail. The vixen had made him believe in love. She’d made him feel things he would have been better off never knowing. And now, his emptiness grew inside of him like an invisible disease. Eating him alive.
Oh, enough with the pity party! He cursed and ran a hand through his hair. He wasn’t going to get any work done when he was in this kind of mood, that was for damn sure. He might as well try and get some sleep. He had important meetings in the morning. Business to conduct. Another day another dollar.
That was his life now. He stood up and walked to the hidden door along the back of his office. He pushed the panel that opened to reveal a private bathroom. Past the shower there was another hidden panel, after pushing that one, Mason entered the small private bedroom he’d had constructed in the office.
He’d sleep there tonight. He had plenty of tailor-made suits hanging in the closet. There was no reason to go home. What home? He thought as he crossed the room and undressed before climbing into bed.
In his heart, he reluctantly recalled the only time he’d ever felt truly at home. Abigail.
Abigail’s thoughts were stuck in the past as she breathed in the familiar scents of her hometown in June. The salty ocean spray and the warm, sweet fragrance of summer-blooming roses hung in the air.
It was good to be back, but she’d never forget her time in Alaska. Especially the way her clan had helped her when her transformation took place the night of her eighteenth birthday. Less than forty-eight hours after she was literally dropped on their doorstep. Oh, that night!
She remembered the searing pain in her flesh and the bone deep hunger that welled up inside of her. The moon had been full and high in the enormous black sky that seemed to go on forever. The stark contrast between that sky and the white of the snow-covered mountains and trees where The White Hand had made their home was awesome.
She’d never seen so many stars. Happy Birthday, Abby, she’d told herself when the pain had started. It had begun in her gut, then it spread like a cognizant thing throughout her entire body. The searing, ripping sensation had felt like lightning striking again and again on that one central point in her abdomen, and then spreading all the way to every possible nerve-ending.
After the pain had eventually stopped, Abigail had noticed several things at once. Her blood temperature had dropped significantly, where she’d been freezing before she was now comfortable in the Alaskan weather. She’d later learned that her body temperature would always be about fifteen degrees below normals.
Her typically fair skin had become even paler, nothing like her Spanish father who was very olive toned. Her eyesight had improved significantly, as did her hearing, and, of course, she grew in physical strength and speed.
Along with the perks, there was a downside. A significant one. Abigail needed to drink blood from a living source. The longest she could go without it was about a month, but that was pushing it. She’d tried using small animals at first, but they couldn’t keep her hunger at bay for more than a few hours, and days at most.
A hungry Dhampir was dangerous. She’d learned early on to control her cravings. She’d hunted larger game, but it was a poor substitute for the blood of intellectually higher beings. Her chief’s mate offered her vein, but Abigail refused. It was a scared thing to share your blood and she did not feel it was right to intrude on their bond.
She had qualms about taking the vein of other warriors in the beginning, but after the first few weeks she’d had little choice. The hunger was everything. There was no big ceremony. It was simply a matter of survival. Nothing would ever change the fact that without blood, Abigail would die.
Dhampirs could feed on each other since they were half-human. Eventually, it had become easier for her and her blood supply was always plentiful when she lived among the clan. She’d worried about her move back home. As a Dhampir, she could not hypnotize normals the way full-blooded Vampires could. It was a tricky situation. She’d need to find a blood source and soon.
That worry was for another day. She had bigger things on her mind right then. She inhaled past the dust and the dank air. Her senses worked overtime as she stepped into the house where she played as a child. She smelled her father’s peppermint and whiskey-laced scent among the books and furniture.
She stopped at a picture that hung up on the living room wall. It was her parent’s wedding picture. Her mother looked so young. She was just nineteen-years old when she’d met and married Abigail’s father.
Hector Vicente was born in Spain. He’d travelled to New Jersey with his family when he was a boy. His father wanted to open a winery but wound up with a whiskey distillery instead. Very American, her father had often said.
When he was nineteen, Hector had gone on a trip to Alaska. Wildlife expedition, he’d been young and curious about the world. He’d gotten lost from his party in the woods and was horribly wounded by an angry grizzly bear. He’d only survived the attack because of the healing attributes found in the blood of a Dhampir, given to him by a dark-haired woman in the middle of the night.
The woman, Helena, had been Abigail’s mother. Keo, the clan Chief, had told her this tale the first night she’d arrived. Abigail knew parts of the story from her father. He’d told her the story of their meeting, hasty courting, and consequent marriage before she’d boarded the plane. Of course, she’d been crying silently the entire time, so she hadn’t been certain that what she’d heard was real.
“I did not know things would end like this, my daughter, forgive me,” he said, his brown eyes swimming in tears as she looked back at him one last time before the gates closed.
Abigail had known that her father was sending her away, that she would change after her birthday. Her father had told her so that night just before she’d gone off with Mason. In fact, that was why she’d asked him to come and get her. It’s a lie, she’d told herself, but deep in her heart she’d always known the truth. She was different.
She’d thought if she told her father that they planned to get married, he’d stop insisting she’d leave. She’d had no idea that she would’ve been a danger to the man she loved. That he might have had a reason to be frightened of her.
When she’d returned home, she found her father waiting in her bedroom. Abigail had quarreled with him. After the angry words, he’d finally told her the truth about what she was to become. Monster, he called her, abomination. She’d begged him to tell her he was lying. She’d asked him to let her go to Mason and explain why she had to leave, but he forbade it.
He’d told her the human world would never accept her. He’d said she was an unnatural and cruel thing, and it would kill Mason the way it killed him inside, knowing what his wife was and living with it. Would she really do the same harm to the man she’d claimed to love? Would she damn him to knowing all her filthy little secrets?
Abigail saw his disgust and shame. Her once loving father had looked at her with the eyes of a stranger. He hated what she was, and he blamed her even though it was not her fault.
Her father had explained that he could not let her mother feed off him. He had believed she could survive on rare meat. Weak, he’d called her. Devil, he’d said. She became ill, but he had blamed it on her pregnancy. His voice trembled as he recounted the gruesome tale of his wife’s death to his daughter.
Too weak to survive the pain and blood loss of the birth, Helena died in the hospital. Of course, the human doctors had no idea how to treat her. They could not save the thing he’d married. He had hopes his daughter would turn out better. That she would be human, like him, but she’d disappointed him.
Abigail felt her father’s betrayal like a bullet in her heart. Fear, hatred and shame. She took it as a sign. Normals could not accept Dhampirs. If Mason rejected her the way her father did, Abigail could never have survived.
So, she left. To protect him, she’d told herself, but really, it was to protect her. He was the only man she’d ever loved. Memories of making love to him in the back of his pick-up truck still made her body shivered.
She hadn’t discovered she was pregnant until weeks after her transformation. She thought the weariness and fatigue were from her initial refusal to feed off another Dhampir. The Clan shaman soon discovered her body had another reason for tiring out so quickly. It was her developing son that was taking all he needed to survive. But the shaman warned her, he’d need more otherwise they would both suffer and die.
The Clan Chief, Keo, allowed her to remain with him and his mate, Lara, throughout her pregnancy. She was protected and cared for. She’d started feeding from other warriors and she found true strength.
She’d made a life for herself there. She’d been educated by the Clan Council on their history and their mission, to police and control the Vampires of the world and protect humankind. Under their tutelage, she became tracker, warrior, diplomat, and finally, healer. She had learned how to control her hunger and her strength. She had an affinity for non-traditional medicine and even pursued an online degree in holistic care.
Alaska was good to her, but she found she still longed to be back home. The sounds of the ocean and the smell of the beach had never been far away from her mind. Oliver was born and grew strong and fast.
He was treated with care and respect there. The Chief and his mate had adopted him as a grandson of sorts, and he was much loved by the community. He excelled in his lessons. Yes, he was quite the boy, her son. She was proud to be his mother.
Keo and Lara had begged her to remain with them, but they knew she’d made up her mind. After a tearful parting, they’d wished her well when she came and told them she was going back after she’d learned about her father’s death.
“I understand, daughter,” Keo had said in their native tongue, “It is time to face the past.”
Now she wondered if she’d been wrong. She’d learned so many things over the years, but the one thing she didn’t learn was how to stop loving Mason Lane.