Embrace the Mystery [03] Blood Rose Series (6 page)

“Was this a vision then?”

She shook her head, looking back at the paintings. “No, no vision. Images, like I told you before. I’ve had dozens of offers, mostly for them as a set. But I won’t sell. I can’t explain it but they mean something to me.”

“I’m tempted to make you an offer myself. I’d put them in my mountain home.” Most of the mastyrs had more than one home for security reasons.

“Really?” She pivoted toward him slightly. “You are a complete enigma to me.”

His smile curved on one side, something she’d begun to associate with him. “You think that because I’m a Guardsman, and I battle the Invictus for a living, that I couldn’t appreciate fine art?”

“I guess that’s a bit of a stereotype.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Huh.” He was so damn handsome and she loved that he could meet her gaze and not look away. She knew she had something of a dominating presence and frequently the men she met couldn’t always look her in the eye.

Quinlan had no such problem, another reason
he
was a dilemma for her.

She was about to turn away, to shift her attention anywhere but at him, when a familiar and oh-so-welcome voice ran the length of her gallery.

“What happened here, most beloved daughter of mine?”

“Papa,” she called out, whirling.

Davido stood at the top of the room, near the entrance to the back hall, his arms wide, waiting for an embrace. He was an ancient troll and had more power than Batya would ever understand that he could have passed through her enthrallment shield so easily.

She crossed the gallery quickly, and though she stood several inches taller and had to lean down to hug him, somehow she felt like the little girl he’d loved and raised all those centuries ago.

He didn’t release her but looked at her with strong affection glowing in his light blue eyes. “How is my favorite one, my most beloved of all?”

She giggled. She must have lost at least a century of her real-age hearing that comment. “Papa, you say that to all of us.” Because he was over two thousand years old, Davido had several dozen children, grand-children, and innumerable ‘greats’. But he loved his offspring more than life itself and it showed.

“My sweet love, I feel that way about all of you, so why shouldn’t I be able to say each is the most beloved? And how could I feel anything less?”

“It makes no sense.” She grinned so hard, her cheeks hurt. She hadn’t seen him since Bernice’s birth nine months ago. “And how is your new most-favorite daughter?”

“Beyond splendid, growing into her third little baby troll ridge. But how are you, my darling dove?”

She rose up and quickly looked around. “Papa, how did you get past my enthrallment shield?”

He chuckled. “I closed my eyes.”

She shook her head at his dismissive response. However, she now feared that the ancient fae could do the same. “I just need to know if we’re at risk from the enemy. We’re holding a very powerful woman at bay with my shield. If you could get in, maybe she could as well.”

“Trust me, daughter, you have nothing to fear. Your shield will do its job.”

As secretive as he was, he rarely answered questions pertaining to any of his powers. So, from long experience she chose to trust him and let the subject drop. “Fine. I don’t care how you got in, but I’m so glad you’re here. You know Mastyr Quinlan, of course.” She gestured with a sweep of her hand toward him.

Davido pretended to block a strong light by holding up his hand. “Is that Quinlan? I thought it might be a bonfire. What the deuce are you wearing, my good man?”

“What your daughter provided for me.”

Batya didn’t know why it was that Quinlan’s voice always surprised her. Davido had an excellent resonant voice, a nice baritone. But Quinlan’s timbre sank into the deepest registers, which in turn affected the ability of her knees to hold her upright.

Davido lifted his brows and met Batya’s gaze. “Indeed? You gave him this shirt?”

Batya smiled. “As you know, Quinlan can be very provoking. He’d had his clothes burned off in the battle, you know.” She then told him about the attack.

“Ah. Vojalie is so wise. She’d been troubled for days, insisting that I come to you, that something terrible was afoot. And now we have Quinlan wearing a clown’s costume, workmen replacing your plate glass window, and you having created a very fine and exquisitely powerful enthrallment shield. I’m most impressed, daughter.”

Batya wasn’t fooled by her father’s light tone since the three ridges of his forehead had become compressed—a sure sign that he didn’t like the current situation at all.

“But come,” he added. “I’d like to go elsewhere so that your workmen can finish their job, I can enjoy a cup of tea, and you can tell me in greater detail exactly what happened.” He glanced at Quinlan. “Both of you. My talented wife insisted that each rendition of events would be important.”

“Of course,” Quinlan returned.

Davido sounded so serious that a new shiver went through Batya. Some part of her must have been blocking all that had transpired until she could assimilate what the recent attack might mean for the future.

She knew one thing for certain, she was not going to like what her father had to say.

* * * * * * * * *

Quinlan stunned Batya by telling her he would make the tea. One of his reasons was very selfish, however, since he couldn’t bear the thought of Lorelei preparing anything else. He felt certain she’d add too many bags or not enough, or something.

Of course the real reason was much closer to his sense of self-preservation. He wanted time to think.

If he’d been bothered before by what seemed an impossible situation, Davido’s sudden presence, urged by his wife, one of the most powerful fae in the Nine Realms, cemented the idea that the recent attack and continued surveillance had huge realm implications.

Not that his thoughts had been much different, since the sheer size and power of the radical mastyr vampire wraith-pairs told him that a new threat had entered the war.

But when visionary elements intruded, like Vojalie’s, brought here by one of the most enigmatic and powerful trolls in his world, Quinlan’s heart had turned to stone and started sinking.

Sweet Goddess, what was going on here?

He took his time making the tea, then finally carried the tray into the sitting room adjacent to the dining room. Batya, he’d come to discover, owned the entire building.

Davido stood with her next to a large north-facing window that overlooked a small enclosed patio garden. They were discussing weather control options and planting some specialty roses that would bloom all winter for her.

Davido was a renowned gardener.

He set the tray on the coffee table, the sound serving as a call to tea since both turned and headed in his direction. Father and daughter kept talking while Batya took charge of the teapot and poured out three cups through a strainer.

As Batya and Davido sipped their tea, Quinlan told his side of things in as much detail as he could recall.

Since he remained standing, his audience looked up at him while he spoke.

“Could you see her face?” Davido asked.

“No. Just a powerful glow but I could smell her, like something that had been rotting for a long time. I remember the smell from Sweet Gorge.”

“Sounds like an herbalist of some kind,” Davido remarked. “And the quality of her smell might be an effect she created on purpose, like a dramatist. After all, a pleasant fragrance wouldn’t incite fear, would it?”

“No. But what’s her game? What does she want with your daughter?”

Davido’s brows rose, which in turn deepened the lines between his three forehead ridges, typical troll features. “Nothing. She wasn’t here for Batya. Vojalie was very clear about that.”

“You’re mistaken, Davido, or your wife is. I can remember the ancient fae stating, ‘He wasn’t supposed to be here’, meaning me.”

“Then we have a mystery.” Davido sipped his tea.

“Did Vojalie say anything else, some detail you might have forgotten?”

“No, that was it. Wait, there was one more, small thing, but it didn’t exactly make sense. Maybe it will to the two of you. She said, ‘speak to the siren’. But what could that mean? Were the police here?”

“’The siren’? Are you sure?” The stone in Quinlan’s heart sank farther still because he thought he understood, which meant that Batya wasn’t the object after all.

“No,” Batya murmured, shaking her head. “No, no, no.”

“What’s going on, my children?” He looked from one to the other.

At that moment, Lorelei appeared in the doorway, only she wasn’t walking, her soft brown eyes were now almost lavender in color but darker, her limbs had lengthened and thinned, and she now wore a long flowing black gown made up of gauzy strips of fabric. She floated several inches above the floor. “Your wife meant me. I’m what the ancient fae wants. I’m what she’s after. I’ve hidden all these decades, but she’s finally found me. I just don’t know how and I don’t know what to do.”

“Lorelei.” Batya’s large hazel eyes widened. “You’re a wraith. But that’s impossible.”

Chapter Three

Batya knew she stared at a wraith, but she couldn’t believe her eyes, couldn’t believe that sweet Lorelei was a wraith. On the other hand, given that so many wraiths had chosen to become Invictus pairs, she wasn’t surprised that the woman hid the truth of her DNA.

Yet not all wraiths were bad. She knew that a large portion of the wraith population had long ago either gone into hiding or now lived on an island colony off one of the eastern realms.

Whatever the truth about the location of the wraith community, Batya had been living side-by-side with one all this time. Unbelievable.

In her wraith form, Lorelei’s skin was the color of chalk, her lips a dark hue, the whites of her eyes pale yellow, and her irises violet. Her long hair floated around her as though moving underwater, almost weightless.

She drifted slowly into the room.

Batya’s cup had frozen halfway between her mouth and the saucer she held in her left hand. Two other cups hung midair as well.

“You really are a wraith.” Batya still couldn’t believe her eyes.

“Part of me is.” Lorelei frowned, a pained expression crossing her face. Then suddenly, the wraith became a blur, transforming into a lean white wolf that leaped high in the air, landing on the coffee table to snarl in Batya’s face.

The tea tray and pot slid over the edge, clattering to the carpet below.

Lorelei howled.

Batya dropped her teacup and saucer and covered her ears, not because the sound hurt but because the emotion behind the plaintive cry pierced her heart. She felt Lorelei’s pain, an old wound fitting for a wolf’s howl. Batya wept because of the pain.

She didn’t know what to do. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head back-and-forth. She needed the sound to stop.

Suddenly, it did.

She opened her eyes, and saw the cause. Her father had embraced the wolf, from the side, softly around the neck and spoke into Lorelei’s ear.

Batya recognized the cadence of the old language. Davido had used it to calm her more than once when she was a child.

When Davido drew back, releasing the wolf, Lorelei whirled through another transformation, resuming her fae form. She sank down into a chair across from the table, her feet turned in like a child as she shaded her face with her hands.

She’d finally unveiled her secret, but Batya still didn’t understand. “You can shift, but you’re a wraith?”

Lorelei nodded.

“Yet you’re also fae.”

“Yes. My mother was…is…fae and wraith. I carry all three strains.”

“That’s not possible.” Quinlan, still standing, flared his nostrils. “No such thing exists in our world. You can’t exist. The wraith gene can’t exist with more than one other strain.”

Lorelei chuckled bitterly. “And yet, I do. A product of extensive experimentation.”

“How old are you, child?” Davido remained nearby.

“Ninety.”

“And who is your mother, though I believe I already know.”

Lorelei lifted her gaze to Davido. “Do you? I’ve always wondered if you or Vojalie or some of the mastyrs had ever known her.”

“Yes, I knew her but she disappeared from the realm world for several centuries. Now it would seem she has decided to make a reappearance. And for your sake, I’ve very sorry my dear.”

“Who are we talking about?” Batya glanced from one to the other, but got a sick feeling in her stomach as though her body already knew what her mind did not want to accept.

“Fuck.” Still standing, Quinlan set his cup on the table and turned his back to Lorelei. He shoved his hands through his hair, dislodging the woven clasp.

The sick feeling worsened. Batya turned back to Lorelei and held her gaze. “Who’s your mother?”

“Quinlan knows. So does your father. Can’t you guess?” Tears now rolled down her cheeks.

Batya once more shook her head over and over. “It can’t be.”

“Her name is Margetta, the ancient fae, the one who smells of a land fill, the one who enlisted Mastyr Ry, turning him against Bergisson Realm, who caused all that misery at Sweet Gorge six months ago.”

Davido drew close once more, standing behind her. He petted her head with his short, thick fingers. “My dear, you are among friends.”

“Am I? But for how long? And where will I go now? I was so happy here.” She glanced up at Batya, tears glistening on her long lashes.

Lorelei then stood, shook out her hands and straightened her shoulders. Drawing in a deep breath, she blew it out slowly. “Not your problem. I know that. If I leave, Margetta will not bother any of you again. I’m the one she wants. I’ll pack up now.”

Batya rose to her feet as well. “Well, eff that, Lorelei. You’re not leaving, so don’t even think about it. We’re family here.”

Davido nodded, an approving light in his eye as he met Batya’s gaze. “Listen to my most beloved daughter. She speaks the truth from her heart. You have a home here.”

Lorelei glanced from him to Batya. She nodded several times but kept her lips pinched tightly together. “Thank you. I don’t know what to say.”