At Blade's Edge (10 page)

Chapter Nine

The driver Clive had attempted to saddle her with waited patiently for them, door open.

“It’s weird, you know? Being served like this.” She got in and Clive followed.

“You grew up at the Keep. How many servants work there?” Clive smirked.

“
I
was one of the servants when I grew up at the Keep. Don’t ever forget that, Clive because I sure as hell can’t.”

He paused and she regretted being so snippy with him. He was only teasing. But before she could apologize, he squeezed her hand.

“I do sometimes forget. Which I suppose is a testament to your strength. I apologize.”

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I know you meant to be lighthearted.” Apologizing sucked, but he deserved one.

“If someone had told me two years ago that I’d be hand in hand with my wife, who is a Hunter, so in love I’d move mountains for her, I’d have laughed in their face.” Clive scooted a little closer to Rowan and she allowed herself to lean into him.

“Before you killed them?”

He laughed. “Depends on who said it and how it was delivered.”

“I find laughter tends to tip people off balance. It ups the scare factor. Also some people need to understand how ridiculous they are before you punch them in the throat.”

“Of course you do.” He kissed her and she harrumphed even though she was in a very good mood once again.

“You’re fucking kidding me that they live here, right?” They pulled up to a gate, which slid open to let the car pass.

Here
was Kensington. A stone’s throw from the palace. No big.

“They have an actual country manor but they love the city too. They’ve had this house for several hundred years now.”

“Does the queen come over for tea?” Rowan asked as a joke and then realized it probably wasn’t. Because Vampire families as old as the Stewarts probably did indeed have tea with the queen and others in the royal family who knew of the existence of Vampires.

And because this neighborhood was all super rich people with loads of power and those types all ran with one another.

“When she was young, the Queen Mum used to go horseback riding with my mother.”

Rowan cursed under her breath, but by the time they got out, she’d pulled herself together so she didn’t gape at the facade of the beautiful pinkish stone house. Columns as big as oak trees, marble, a front garden with a fountain.

“If I was watching a period movie about English rich people in the time when everyone wore fancy clothes and had picnics while the poor toiled away in factories, I’d totally imagine this place.”

“I’m sure that was a compliment.” Clive brushed invisible lint from his lapel.

“It was.” Mostly.

She was so unfit for this stuff outside diplomatic areas. She wasn’t meet the parents who live in a giant mansion material!

The door swung open silently to reveal a dour-faced man in a black uniform. He bowed to them both.

“Scion Stewart, Ms. Summerwaite, please, come in.”

“Thank you, Hill.” Clive placed the palm of his hand at her back to steer her inside. It anchored her, steadying her pace. “Are they in the salon?”

“Your father is in his office, finishing up some business and your mother is in the salon, yes. Follow me.” Hill led them, though Clive certainly seemed capable of knowing the way.

Hill left them with a quick bow as they entered a beautifully appointed room with comfortable seating scattered in clusters throughout.

“There you are.” Antonia came toward them and Rowan sighed her relief that the voice had been retired. Her clothes were far more modern and her hair not so fluffy.

But she shared Clive’s eyes, the near amusement around his mouth.

She bared her throat to him, an act of deep intimacy and affection as well as one of fealty.

Clive kissed her cheek and stepped back. “Where’s Father so we can do the official introductions and I can have a drink.”

Antonia gave him a steely glare. “Really, Clive. This is one moment you know I’ve wanted a long time. Stop being so grouchy and let me enjoy it.”

Rowan couldn’t help but like the woman.

Hill came into the room though Antonia hadn’t said a thing. It meant, like a lot of humans in the service of Vampires, he had a mental connection to his employer. Usually it came from blood sharing. Theo gave his blood in very small amounts to the closest of his human staff. It extended their lives, kept them strong and healthy. He also took theirs as a tithe of sorts.

That dual sharing of blood allowed him to poke at them without leaving his couch. Annoying, she remembered, to get the Theo version of a missive dropped into her head any time of night.

She hadn’t felt that in a long time. That sense of never truly having privacy. Always at his mercy and his whim.

Powerlessness had left a metallic taste in her mouth from a very young age. So she worked and struggled and got beat down a lot and struggled and worked some more until she now could stand toe to toe with those most powerful of beings.

She’d used the feelings to forge an armor no one could get through but this dude beside her. She’d given him her blood again. Willingly. Each time she did, their connection and bond would strengthen and deepen.

It wasn’t anything like what Theo and Antonia were doing.

But the powerlessness had left a lot of fucked-up bullshit in her head. Enough that she looked at Hill and liked her in-laws just a little less, though she knew Hill would tell her he was not abused. That he loved his position.

Sometimes it would be so much easier if anything in her life could be either good or bad. No gray. No complication.

Instead, she’d
chosen
to re-enter this world of intricate rituals and puffery. She’d let Theo back into her life and heart. Clive she’d bonded with, cementing her into a lifetime more of this.

Panic hit, just a slight twinge, that she’d never be what Clive truly needed. He came from this world. No, he ran it.

Rowan knew how play this game. No matter how ill fitting the suit got sometimes, Rowan loved Clive enough to wear it when he needed her to, to remember sometimes she was Rowan Clive’s partner, as well as the Vessel and the Hunter.

“Rowan, would you like a drink?” Clive directed her attention away from the rabbit hole of examining every single one of her choices.

She’d made them. And looking at this man who stood before her, knowing how much he gave for her when he was the most uptight, rigid person she knew, let her breathe through it.

“Let’s wait for your father.” She straightened her spine. “Crazypants over there is right. Don’t be a jerk. Let her have her memory.”

“Crazypants is a very apt nickname, you must admit.”

Rowan turned in the direction of the voice and got snagged in the charisma and intensity of the Vampire who’d just entered the room.

“Charles Stewart. Patriarch, House Stewart,” Hill said before moving discreetly in the direction of the cart Rowan bet had drinks ready under the cover.

“Father.” Clive went to his knee and bared his throat.

It stole her breath to see it. He did the same to Theo, and once, to her. This male who ruled so much gave over to his father with love and respect. There was something noble in that.

Charles touched Clive’s jugular with his wrist. Vein to vein. Father to son. Clive stood and they clasped one another’s wrists a moment before he turned to Rowan to draw her to his side.

In their old language Clive introduced her as his bonded mate. Rowan knew the ritual because she’d studied the material Theo’s office had sent her about it.

Rowan had the option to share blood with them, but she was sure Clive or Alice or someone like that had informed Antonia and Charles that part wasn’t going to happen. Other than Clive in those brief moments when she’d willingly given him the smallest amounts of her blood, Rowan had made—and kept—a vow as she’d walked away from the Keep. She was in charge of herself. Of her body and mind and of her will.

Her blood had been manipulated. Stolen from her and used to keep her compliant. Used to control and monitor and she would never allow that again. Not without inflicting some serious harm on her way out to whoever tried.

But Rowan would do this right, and be respectful not only to these Vampires whose home she was in, but to her husband and the promise she’d made to do her best by him. She did respect this part of their world. This deep dedication to families and lines.

So, she spoke her part, in their old language, introducing herself to them officially. She gave the name of her people. Her mother’s line and then her father’s, as she showed her wrist briefly to expose the mark of service there. They would forever be the people who gave her life. But then she gave the name of the father she’d finally come to accept, bloody flaws and all. Theo would be the father who presented her to them and their Vampire family.

Because Rowan wasn’t a Vampire, Theo had to give an oath of sorts that his daughter or charge was honorable and worthy. It was sexist as fuck, so Rowan modernized it just a little in the translation so she wasn’t being insulting in any way, but the worst of it had been smoothed out.

Charles nodded approvingly as she finished and Antonia just smiled. He spoke the words of welcome—every family had their own version—and then it was done and she was part of their family, house and line.

“
Now
we can have a drink,” Antonia told Clive.

“I hear there was some excitement yesterday,” Charles said with a brow raised in Rowan’s direction. It was a seriously awesome brow thing she bet could easily say a dozen other things if he wished. These Stewarts were on top of their imperious facial expression game.

“A day that ends in Y is a day full of violence and excitement in my life, unfortunately. It accompanies my job.” Rowan tested him a little, wanting to know if she could relax with him like she could Antonia, or if they’d need to stay formal.

“It could also be that trouble follows the wicked.”
That
comment was aimed at his wife before he looked back to Rowan. “I hear you met your new mother-in-law in a rather novel way. I would apologize for it, but you should simply brace yourself to expect more of the same over the course of your life.”

Antonia sniffed, haughty, but teasing. “Am I worth it?”

“Most of the time, yes.” Charles’ humor was dry, like Clive’s, but he had one and Rowan could work with that.

He was a century older than his son but he looked more like Clive’s brother than a father. He wore a suit; gray to the navy one Clive wore. Wore it like he loved it. Rowan bet he insisted his underpants be ironed too.

Rowan took her glass of champagne and tuned in to the ebb and flow of the power in the room. It seemed to crackle and hum at points. They’d all get used to one another and things would ease up, but Rowan sort of liked it. Liked being as strong as they were, even as she was different.

“I do like your cravat, boy,” Charles told Clive.

“A wedding gift from Rowan. She had several custom made for me.”

“You got my son custom cravats?” Antonia asked, surprised pleasure in her tone.

“He got me a house. I mean, compared to that a few squares of silk or whatever seems fairly minor.”

“Technically, we gave the house to him first.”

Rowan laughed, liking her more by the minute.

“It’s quite handsome and it shows you know Clive well enough to understand he’d love them. Cheers to that, darling. Much better to have a come back than something like the ruff or powdered wigs.” Antonia raised her glass before taking a sip.

“Did
you
wear a ruff?” Rowan asked, horrified and thrilled all at once.

“I did! All the women did for a time. And then the men did. Scratchy. And if you had a short neck you looked wretched. But it fetishized the neck and you know how we can be about that.” Antonia rolled her eyes.

Rowan finally asked the question she’d wanted to all night. “You’re not bothered by the fact that I’m the Hunter? Truly?”

Antonia shook her head. “Well, certainly if you attempted to execute Clive or me I’d be bothered. But I know what you are. We may not all like the types of jobs you do, but they need doing.”

“And it’s handy to be married to royalty,” Clive said with a very straight face.

“Maybe, but if you’re mean to me, the concept of being in trouble with your father-in-law is pretty dire in your case.” Rowan was only teasing. Mainly.

They went into the formal dining room to start dinner, which turned out to be an eight-course meal. It would have been ridiculous if they hadn’t been Vampires. Or maybe it was anyway, but the food was really good so Rowan didn’t really care too much.

It was nice, actually, that they’d gone to this sort of effort for their first official meeting.

They made small talk with her, asking after details of the shindig Theo was planning. Rowan tactfully avoided appearing like she didn’t have any idea, but maybe they knew anyway.

This was important to Clive and not just because of his position. This was his family. It was clear, watching Clive interact with his father, just how great an influence the elder had on the younger.

Before Charles had been the leader of his entire line, before there’d even been a Vampire Nation, he’d fought in the war the Treaty had ended. According to the files in the Nation archives Alice had sent her way—she hadn’t wanted to use the Hunter Corporation system—he had a long and storied record of bravery and tactical brilliance.

He’d started young, as they all did back in the fifteenth century when he’d been born. Led his father’s troops through the dark times of war and out the other side.

Clive was a lot like his father. Thoughtful. Analytical. Brutally quick with some pretty sexy upper body strength. Uptight—the better to hold his six-pack, she supposed. He’d taken over a shitty, chaotic territory—after Rowan had executed his predecessor—whipping it into shape with the type of vicious efficiency that made him rise to his position to start with.

“Your uncles are coming by for drinks after dinner,” Antonia told Clive, who flattened his mouth for a moment.