Fire of Stars and Dragons (16 page)

I nod, not needing his assistance. This will go far smoother without his agitation of the situation, making the vampire uncomfortable and riling up my ward during an already tense conversation. “Just don’t be harassing any boaters in the harbor.”

A mischievous grin spreads across his face as he hands me the bagel popped up in the toaster. “Theo…” With a laugh, the response goes unfinished, and Claaron leaves the kitchen, heading directly out from the balcony.

“Will your Graywyne brother be staying long?”

Turning the heat down on the stove, I face him. “Cedric, we have known each other quite a long time without the slightest ill will between us; however, given the current circumstances, I will not discuss matters pertaining to Cait’s security with you.”

Bowing his head, the clan’s patriarch offers a respectful apology. “Of course. Please forgive me. Centuries of your loyalty lends reasonable credence to my difficulty adjusting, finding we now stand on opposing sides. You understand, do you not?”

“This is not about opposing sides. Surely, a vampire your age understands… surely, is familiar enough with who we are and the duties we fulfill.”

Cedric grimaces. “Yet you see fit to sleep with your ward, complicating matters when she must choose a suitable husband.” Muscles tensing, I lean back, gripping the counter, avoiding lunging at him. “Certainly you are aware our culture deems a young woman such as Miss Hayden fit to wed a demigod… or a king,” he adds carefully. “You said yourself she is akin to a noble lady, Theo. When has it ever been appropriate for dragons to marry the likes of a fair-born lady without just cause for her protection?”

I turn away, preferring to scramble eggs than face how correct he is. Claaron had far better reason than want and desire, or even love. Cait’s safety would not be at risk with Dante. “I cannot deny her free will, Cedric.” There is nothing more to say on the subject. What is done is done.

“But do you unduly influence her?”

Closing my eyes, I breathe in, deep and filling, leaving no room for anger, letting it out at a measured pace, and bringing some peace of mind. But the soft click of heels on the bamboo floor tears at my calm as Cait climbs into a seat beside Cedric.

“Good morning, Lord Master Corrigan. How are you today?” Her casual tone widens the small distance in the kitchen, as though everything that happened between us before is now forgotten, set aside, meaningless.

“Please, dear, call me Cedric, as I said upon our previous meeting. I see no need to uphold such formalities.” Kind voice lilting in that damnably pleasant Gaelic accent, the vampire sounds every ounce the genuine and friendly man he is.

“Oh, really? I understood it when you were concocting the whole plan to marry me off to your son, but don’t you think it’s a bit inappropriate now? You know, with me realizing Corrin’s exactly the twisted sycophant I took him for in the first place.”

Cedric remains quiet for a moment. “I’ve come to ask your forgiveness of my son’s shortcomings. Place the blame on me, Miss Hayden, and my own failings as a father, but please…”

I glance over my shoulder and see his hand over his face, regaining composure; he’s a rarity of his kind, showing the emotion he does, and appearing not to lack all aspects of humanity—the most valuable traits in Cedric and Evan that both Dante and I see.

Compassion. A declining emotion among the human race.

“Why are you here, Cedric?” She gives him no time to recover, to finish.

“I do not wish to see my son die.” His answer is simple, honest, and I place her breakfast on a plate, serving it as I watch her hold his gaze warily.

Cait is not foolish, yet her own selflessness may be her downfall. “I tried to help him. You know what he did to me?” She’s quiet in her question, a father’s pain overriding her inclination toward cutting sarcasm.

“Yes. I am aware he hurt you.” Eyes downcast, even Cedric cannot excuse Corrin’s behavior. “Despite the extent to which he has displeased you, Corrin still holds affection for you. This is quite remarkably unlike him, giving me great hope that he can be saved, but such a feat requires your forgiveness, your willingness to allow my son a second chance.” Hesitant, he reaches out, touching her arm gently, meeting her eyes again. “I beg this of you, Miss Hayden. No father could stand idle and watch his child die, most certainly not one who has borne the responsibility and harbored a love for such a troubled boy as we walked this earth together for nearly two and half millennia. Please take my plea to heart. Give it due consideration at the very least.”

Cait looks up at me for a moment, and I can see the ache in her heart, the same kindness that drove her to allow the king to feed from her yesterday. “I will think about it, Cedric, but I can’t say.… You may be asking too much of anyone.”

The droning hum of the elevator catches my attention, but I sense the arriving visitor before the car comes to a stop. Heading for the door, I don’t explain why, and Cait doesn’t ask.

I’m waiting outside the elevator doors the second they open. “Brother, what brings you here?”

Clifford holds up a bouquet of red roses too large to ignore and a gift box. I scowl.

“Apparently, I’m playing delivery boy for the king.” A dour expression worn on his face, he glances past me into the apartment, shaking his head. “Theo, I cannot speak with Oliver regarding this. I fear I no longer…” Halting, his jaw clenches, wary.

“I assure confidence when we speak, Clifford. Fear not betrayal among brothers.”

“My loyalty to the king feels tenuous at best. After last night, I… I find myself quite drawn to protect Miss Hayden, fearing for her safety more so than for Corrin’s. Can it be that her destiny rises above that of the king, pulling more than just you to her?” His brows knit in worry, always concerned with Oliver’s opinion of him.

“Indeed. Her destiny will call Dracopraesi from multiple houses, not only those of Pendragon.” Gesturing into the penthouse, I expect him to enter, yet he remains rooted in the hall. “If you are unsure, call Agtos for further guidance.” It is understandable that Clifford should fear Oliver would advise him to remain with the king, and that I would say the opposite.

“Of course. Will you permit me personal delivery of these to Miss Hayden?” he asks, peeking past me again then meeting my eyes. “I’ve not yet had the opportunity to properly meet her.”

Smiling at his uncontained eagerness, I step back, welcoming my brother in a wide, sweeping gesture. “I have no doubt Cait will be glad to meet you, brother; however, I do not believe the gifts you bear will be so well received. Do not take anything she says to heart.” With Cait hopping off her seat already in a huff, fair warning seems justified.

“Theo, what the hell is this?”

I grimace, seeing the vampire join her, standing at Cait’s side. “This would be a delivery to you.”

Far too anxious, considering he is a dragon, Clifford steps forward, bowing with due respect. “Lady Hayden, may I present this gift from the king… as a token of his affections.”

With great restraint, I maintain no noticeable reaction to the appalled expression on Cait’s face. “Lady Hayden? You must be kidding.”

My brother stumbles for a proper response, and Cedric steps forward, swiveling on his heel to face my ward, holding a hand out to her. She glowers before accepting.

Cedric Corrigan carries himself with grace, dignity, elegance, and the three thousand years of patience a being should garner in such an existence as his. Her hand in his grasp, he bows to her with the deep, formal bow of the old royal courts. “I believe you misunderstand the message relayed and the wishes of my son, which denote the standing you bear, and Corrin’s acknowledgement of your status within his kingdom. Please…” He pauses, gaze meaningful, pleading. “Accept this honor in the manner intended, milady.”

The myriad of Cait’s preferred responses read as printed words on her face, but she refrains, executing a well-practiced curtsy instead and nodding. “Thank you, Cedric. Please convey my appreciation of the honor to your son.” She’s biting her tongue, keeping it in check.

“Most certainly. Shall I put these in water for you?”

Cait gawks for a split second before recovering. “I have no idea where a vase might be.”

“Have no worries. I’m quite familiar with my father’s home. When he’s not off studying one thing or another, he often keeps fresh flowers here.”

Stunned, she simply nods, allowing him to walk away with the bouquet, and if it were anyone other than Cedric Corrigan, I would think he did not realize he let our world’s most guarded secret slip in his nonchalance. However, I am sure Dante spoke with him regarding his feelings for Cait, and Cedric has his own desire to see her with Corrin. One way or another, the demigod’s sole, known, surviving vampire progeny believes she would have reason to learn of their relationship while becoming part of the family.

Clifford clears his throat, holding the gift box in a formal presentation to Cait. “Lady Hayden, King Corrin sends this with his warmest regards.”

She eyes it, unmoving. Stiff, unwilling fingers grasp the box with all the caution of someone approaching a rattlesnake, untying the ribbon as if disarming an explosive device, lifting the lid to find a velvet case inside. “Oh, he cannot be serious. Theo, look at this.” She shrieks, patience exhausted, temper volatile, gesturing in a wild fury. “He is out of his mind. What kind of crazed bullshit half-baked idea is this? Who does this?”

From the kitchen, Cedric appears quite shocked at her reaction, while my brother stands motionless, unable to process such an outburst from a woman. I try not to laugh. I try very hard. And I succeed.

“Cait, he’s the king. Did you expect his gifts to be mundane trinkets?”

“Don’t go there, Theo. I don’t give a…” She takes a deep breath, managing to mind her language given our company. “I don’t care who he is or who he thinks he is. He may damn well think he’s a god himself and walks on water, but if he honestly cared about me, I’d think he would give me a gift that
meant
something, not just showed how much money he has to throw around.”

She’s beyond furious, but I find it necessary to diffuse the situation, despite my own amusement at how well the boy further distances himself from the object of his affection without any effort whatsoever. “What would you suggest he give you, Cait? In all fairness, he can afford to give you anything, and he gave you something quite exquisite.”

Unrelenting in her anger, we’re once again in a stare down. “How much money do you have, Theo?” Dropping the question in such a casual manner, she surprises me.

“What does that have to do with anything?” I counter her inquisition, wary of where this is leading and all too cognizant that we are not alone.

“Just answer the question.”

“Quite more than I could ever spend. Many of those I’ve protected have had significant wealth and were gracious in gifting me with things of precious value.”

She huffs a small, sardonic laugh, and I can imagine what Cait must think. We may spend our existences wandering the earth doing the duty of protecting our wards, but she is not so foolish as to believe beings survive eternally and do not amass significant wealth. I cannot explain that not all wards have power or money when we come to them. At times, their care requires things they are unable to provide to us to succeed in the task, more so as the world has changed.

“And you love me… truly love me? You would die for me if you had to, right?” Her expression is harsh and serious, making a point, not attempting to draw out some romantic declaration from me in front of Cedric, though he will miss nothing said.

Dropping my voice low, I answer in honesty the words meant for her, regardless of the others hearing them. “Yes, Cait, I do, and I would without the slightest hesitation.”

“Then tell me, Theo. Since you could also afford to give me anything, would you give me
this
,” she asks, tossing the box at me, “to show what I mean to you?”

Opening it, I see the ostentatious display of wealth: platinum and diamonds meant to encircle Cait’s neck. “No. I would not.” With a regretful sigh, I snap the box closed and walk over to Cedric. “I made it clear to Oliver that I do not accept disingenuous efforts made to win Cait’s heart. Take this back to your son, and inform him that if he wishes to prove he can love her—that he
does
love her—perhaps he should attempt to spend time familiarizing himself with her rather than feeding on her or trying to kill her.”

He takes the blue Tiffany’s box from me without a word, rightfully ashamed as a father, and Clifford breaks the silent tension in the room. “There is a note.”

Turning back, I see him remove it from the inner pocket of his suit jacket, reminding me of one additional reason I’m thankful I’m no longer in the service of the king, and he ensures to brush his fingertips along her hand discreetly as she takes it from him. A quiet, yet sharp inhale accompanies the contact, his eyes quick in rising to find mine. He steps back, swallowing hard, nervous, a fleeting expression of fear crossing his face.

Cait opens the handwritten note card and walks away toward the glass wall. Turmoil rolls off her in waves, but nothing in her body language invites me to join her, as desperately as I wish to.

“She brings conflict.”

“It is not my ward who brings conflict, brother.” Defensive of her, I clarify the matter. “Her path is a catalyst, her destiny a great change. With all change comes conflict, but she means for none of it and will likely not appreciate feeling she has caused any of it.”

“No. I can see that. Oliver has said nothing to me, or to Liam, either. He knows, doesn’t he?”

The unwilling bearer of such news, I nod. “He has not touched her, has not seen the vision for himself, yet he is not unaware. The choice before him is the most difficult to make.”

“But he should have told us. It is our decision to meet her, to see for ourselves, to see where our own paths lie.” My brother casts a brief glance toward Cait. “And I am not long for the service of the king it seems.” He pauses, staring at the floor. “Do you see specific houses joining?”