EMBRACE THE DARK (The Blood Rose Novella Series) (12 page)

He drew his phone from the pocket of his leathers and made the call.

“Vojalie The Wise’s residence, your handsome troll speaking. What might I do for you this fine realm day?”

Gerrod felt his mouth curve up, well at least part of it. “Hallo, Davido. This is Gerrod.”

“Well, by the Goddess’s beautiful pink nipples, how the hell are you?”

Ethan and Davido got along really well, but then they both had deep ties to Bergisson.

He heard Vojalie in the background. “Stop that nonsense. Give the phone to me. Gerrod’s been on my mind for days now.”

“Yes, my lovely one, anything you desire.” Then to Gerrod, he continued, “Heard you got laid last night.”

Gerrod really did need to have a long talk with Gus. Maybe he should seriously think about firing ‘his gossipy troll’s ass’, as Ethan would say.

“I was given a measure of blood by the human and it has bolstered my physical well-being. I wish to bring her to Vojalie to see what she can discern about Mistress Abigail. I,” he cleared his throat, “I nearly battled Ethan for her because she shook his hand.”

The next words were muffled as though Davido held his hand loosely over the phone, but Gerrod could make out the words. “My dearest most pleasing one, love has struck Gerrod at last. He almost killed Ethan over the human, the one called Abigail.”

“Give. Me. The. Phone. You are as bad as Augustus.” Gerrod heard a spitting noise.

A muffled ‘ouch’ followed.

Vojalie did not believe in gossip.

Davido came back on the phone, his voice a few tones higher. “My beloved wishes to speak with you.”

Since some loud smacking sounds followed and a little giggling, Gerrod released an impatient sigh. God save him from romantic couples who, after two-hundred-years of marriage, still behaved as though on their fae-moon.

When Vojalie agreed to meet with them shortly, he got off the phone and went outside. Ethan was across the street staring up at the sign above the bakery.

“Clever,” he said. He had his hands in his pockets rocking back and forth.

Gerrod drew a deep breath, scowled, and after waiting for a couple of cars to pass, crossed to make amends.

“Ever so sorry, Ethan. My apologies.”

Ethan turned and looked at him. First he grinned, then frowned. “So what the fuck’s going on here? I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m happy as hell for you. She’s…lovely. She’s also human and—” He paused, his eyes widening. “Holy shit, the Goddess and her seven Elf-lords…did you just take her blood again? How the hell is that possible? Did you…shit, Gerrod, is she dead? No human, no realm can give that much blood one day following the next.”

But since at that moment, Abigail opened the door, smiled and waved, her cheeks still bearing a lovely flush, Ethan’s jaw dropped.

“Do you understand now why I must speak with Vojalie?”

“Uh, hell yeah. Who can donate blood like that? I work from a dozen
doneuses
at present and I’m still fucking blood-starved.”

Abigail called out, “I just need to speak with Elena, then I’m all yours.”

Then she was all his.
Why did his chest tighten like that, as though she had spoken an entire volume of poetry?

He waved in return.

“She…she looks healthier than before. What. The. Fuck?”

“I know. Abigail makes no sense at all in our world.”

“Unless…”

Gerrod turned to Ethan. “Unless what?”

“I’ve heard of this thing, it’s some kind of rose, but… Aw, hell, never mind. Listen, you’ve got a lot on your plate right now. I’m heading back to Bergisson. I’ll stay in touch. And I’ll sure as hell let you know if the Invictus start showing up in bigger numbers or if our realm-folk start disappearing.”

“Good. You want a lift?” He gestured to his car.

Ethan smirked. “What the hell for?” He clapped Gerrod on the shoulder, told him to let his hair down with Abigail, then sped off, pathing his way to the Bergisson entry point in the northeast portion of the Merhaine Realm.

Gerrod wondered what ‘letting his hair down’ with Abigail had to do with anything. Besides, he had already done that last night, which had been extraordinary.

He waited for several cars to pass, as well as a young troll on a bicycle, before he crossed back to the bakery. He glanced up the street and waved his car forward.

By the time Abigail finished up with Elena, the car was ready and he ushered her inside.

The funny thing was, she didn’t move to the other side, but instead, sat in the middle and as soon as he shut the door, she grabbed his left arm and wrapped it over her shoulders. She settled against him and sighed.

She was such a strange creature. He looked down at her and after a moment, he allowed his arm to relax and surround her. He even pressed her arm with his hand. He hadn’t done this in so long that he had forgotten how to do it, how to be with a woman. He tried not to think how good it felt.

She looked up at him. With his free hand, he cupped her neck and thumbed her jaw. He leaned down and kissed her. He had meant it only to be something soft, without tongue, but before he could even think, he was pushing into her mouth and she writhed against him.

His frequency lit up almost at once, as though it knew Abigail better than his rational mind did.

Oh, God, Gerrod, that wave. It’s like magic and so seductive. You could take me again. Right here.

He could. He could do it now. He wanted to push her onto her back and take care of business.

He drew back panting. She stared at him, lips parted, breathing hard. “My God, what you can do to me. Are you sure it isn’t some kind of vampire thrall? I mean,
seriously.
”

He chuckled. “Not possible. Doesn’t exist. Vampires can’t enthrall.” But he kept shaking his head. He’d never been with a woman like this.

Only then did he realize the car wasn’t moving.

He glanced at the front seat and saw that his driver was staring forward, quite studiously. Good man. “To Vojalie’s.”

“Yes, mastyr.”

*** *** ***

Abigail had not been to many realm homes, just the castle, Elena’s modest cottage and a couple of others. But the outside of Vojalie and Davido’s home was a different experience entirely since it was constructed of a series of round structures with what must be long halls connecting the rooms inside.

The carved arched door was made of a beautiful solid dark wood. The carving depicted a woman in flowing robes, who Abigail supposed must be the Goddess, that spiritual being most realm-folk worshipped.

Gerrod lifted the wrought-iron rapper and tapped three times.

When the door opened, her brows rose. Before her was a stately troll who, on the scale of attractiveness, ranked in the lower numbers. She had heard Vojalie was perhaps the most beautiful woman in the realm. Davido had more wrinkles than she’d ever seen on a troll before.

He bowed to her then apologized saying it was a very old habit of his, something from ancient days. “Come in, come in. We are delighted to have you here.”

Davido was even shorter than Augustus, perhaps five-three, no more. But he was broad shouldered, and nicely built, his waist narrow. His legs were long and well-muscled for his relative size. He wore a long-sleeved ribbed t-shirt and tailored slacks. On his feet, expensive Italian loafers.

She heard the strangest sound beside her, the softest growl.

She glanced up at Gerrod, eyes wide.
What?

You were looking at him.

And yes, she was. He took her hand and held it firmly. She wasn’t sure what to say. She hadn’t meant to stare.
That was rude of me.

Do you desire him?

Oh, God, no, I’m just surprised sometimes by certain things.

Stop looking at certain things, then.

She glanced back at Davido, who was now grinning. She wondered if he had read their telepathic conversation. But when his gaze dropped to their joined fingers then back to meet her eyes, she understood. The top ridge of his forehead rose slightly as well, a sure sign that his trollish curiosity had been pinged.

Oh, lord, not another gossipy troll.

And yet, there was something about Davido, something almost compelling, as though if he desired he could command her attention for the next several hours. Then she understood. The troll had charisma.

She smiled and offered the smallest shrug of her shoulders. “I’m so glad to be here,” she said. “I’ve heard of the famous Vojalie from the time that I first came to Merhaine.”

“She is a delight and a wonder,” he said, leaning toward her as though telling secrets. “But you will see for yourself. Please, follow me.” He took off down a long hall, wide enough for her to walk beside Gerrod.

The hall was lined with what had to be portraits of her hosts’ numerous children, some bearing troll features, some with fae. The DNA lines fell to one side or the other. It made for a beautiful presentation for a home especially since several arched stained glass windows were lit from behind, lighting up portions of the hall in pale lavenders and greens.

The scent of verbena pervaded the space.

But what perhaps surprised her the most was that Gerrod hadn’t relinquished her hand, but continued to hold it almost possessively.

She glanced up at him. He was scowling, of course, but in his eye was something more. She realized he was worried.
What is it?

He glanced down at her. His lips parted, then curved a little, off to one side, but he shook his head.

The hall opened into a place of splendor. She hadn’t meant to ignore the fae woman standing on the opposite side of the very round room by the fireplace, but Abigail’s gaze was drawn up to the perfectly dome-shaped ceiling. A multi-hued iridescence shone over the entire width and breadth of the dome and moving forward even just a step caused all the colors to change because her position had changed.

“This is so beautiful,” she said.

Gerrod squeezed her hand and she glanced at him. He inclined his head in the direction of the fireplace.

Her cheeks warmed again. She turned to the woman, the fae, Vojalie. “I am so sorry, but your home is so beautiful, expressive, warm, magical, so full of love.”

“Oh, my dear,” Vojalie said, moving toward her slowly, her hands outstretched. “You could have offered me no finer greeting.”

Gerrod released her hand. Abigail moved forward to meet the woman and took her hands as though they had been old friends. She felt almost drawn toward Vojalie, perhaps pulled, by the famous magic that a pure faerie could hold.

The fae could enthrall and this one had power that seemed to cloak Vojalie like a garment, an iridescent garment, like the ceiling.

She felt soft waves pulsing from Vojalie’s fingertips and once her palms were within Vojalie’s warm, soft grasp, she felt she could melt like a big pool of butter right on the stone floor.

How she remained upright she wasn’t certain. “Gerrod and Davido, please leave us. I wish to speak with Mistress Abigail alone.”

Abigail sort of heard her. She felt as though she’d been wrapped quite thoroughly in a tender web. She didn’t think she could move and if Vojalie had been her enemy, she would soon be dead, she was that caught.

She met the woman’s soft brown eyes. But the eyes shifted color, warming, lightening until she stared into silver pools, beautiful, elegant, full of light and love. Abigail had the strangest sense she could stay there forever. Was this a spell? Surely a spell.

After a moment, she blinked and the cocoon-like sensation dissipated. “What was that?”

But Vojalie’s lips were parted and her eyes were still a silver color as though she was caught in a trance herself. She released Abigail’s hands, but the woman remained standing in front of her, still staring at her, but more like
through
her now, as though what Vojalie saw had nothing to do with the present.

One of Vojalie’s hands fell to the swell of her stomach. She was tall perhaps five-nine or ten, much taller than her husband. She was a great beauty, just as Abigail had heard. Her rich dark brown hair hung in lovely waves to her waist held back by a narrow headband. The size and luster of her dark eyes, still silver, offset high arched brows. Her nose was narrow and straight, her lips small, her chin tapering to a beautiful fae point, not as severe as the elven women.

“I must sit down.” Vojalie turned and made her way to one of the pair of white silk sofas that faced each other and were situated adjacent to the massive fireplace.

Abigail frowned. Something was wrong. She thought about calling Gerrod and Davido back, but Vojalie swept an arm to the couch opposite her. “Please, sit down. I know it must seem like I’m behaving oddly. I suppose I am, it’s just that I’m very surprised.” She shifted slightly, her right hip pushing out, her belly angling to the left. She planted her left elbow on the back of the sofa and twirled a long lock around her finger. She stared at the fireplace.

She was very pregnant.

Abigail sat with her feet squared up on the floor, acutely aware that she wore only flip-flops and jeans. The woman was dressed in what looked like a layering of three gowns, the bottom layer a vibrant purple silk, then a lavender gauze, overlaid with white gauze.

“I must apologize for my clothing,” Abigail said. “I was at the bakery—“

Vojalie whipped her head in direction. “That’s right you’re opening a bakery. I keep forgetting that you’ve become a fixture in Merhaine, or at least in Hollow County. I’ve seen your photo often, most of them candid and all of them unflattering for you are uncommonly lovely, even without make-up. I’m so confused right now.” Her gaze drifted up to the ceiling, following the arch the entire distance, the strange iridescence reflected in her eyes, giving her an angelic appearance.

When she met Abigail’s gaze once more, she said, “Would you please go to the far side of the room,” she waved her hand in the direction behind Abigail, “and fetch that horrible brown leather tome that is about the size of a small wheelbarrow, and bring it to me? I must check something in our history.”