Chapter 3
Callie
After unlocking the front door to my home, I pocket my keys and lead Nolan and his grandmother inside. It’s Sunday morning, which means the house looks like something out of Fantasia—brooms, rags, feather dusters, and more cleaning up the general mess of living.
“Nan?” I shout while taking careful steps not to interrupt the broom’s work around the foyer. A mop hovers over a soapy bucket near one of the windows that bracket the front door, waiting for the broom to finish.
“I’m in the office,” Mildred calls from deeper inside the house, her British accent clipped—a sign that she’s stressed. Not good. “Please make our guests some tea. I’ll be out in a moment.”
“Okay,” I answer, then I guide Nolan and his grandmother to the L-shaped couch in the living room, as it seems to be the only spot that doesn’t have cleaning supplies floating by.
Dalia sets her medical kit down on the floor and perches on the nearby armchair instead of the couch, her expression pinched as she takes in the chaotic surroundings. I don’t think she’s used to people making her wait—or magic making a bunch of inanimate objects move about the room.
“Uh, I’ll be right back,” I announce, heading swiftly to the kitchen, so nervous that I forget to ask if they even want tea.
While I’m taking down the supplies and avoiding the rag that’s cleaning the kitchen counters, Nolan comes up behind me. I jump when his arms wrap around my waist.
“Are you okay?” he whispers, his lips close to my ear to keep from being overheard.
Carefully putting the teapot down, I turn and snuggle into his embrace, enjoying the scent of his spicy cologne that seems to be infused into all of his clothing whether he’s put the scent on that day or not.
“I’m…” I let the word hang as I try to gather my thoughts and find the root of why I’m so jumpy. All I know is that as we drove closer to my home in Nolan’s grandmother’s luxury rental, I felt a buzzing sensation start to build under my skin, and my mind bounced from one innocuous thought to the next as if it didn’t want to touch what really worries me.
Nolan waits for me to process, holding me tightly. He presses a kiss to the crown of my head before resting his head atop mine. It seems odd for him to be the calm one considering everything that happened this morning, and I feel slightly guilty for it. I should be the one comforting him, not the other way around.
“I would do anything for you. You know that, right?” I murmur, my words muffled from having my face pressed against his chest.
His chin digs into the top of my head as he nods. “I know.”
“Nolan, she needs a sample of my blood,” I mutter, my voice so quiet I’m not positive I actually said the words out loud. “What if she finds out what I am?”
Panic builds inside me as my true fear passes my lips. Dalia is close to the vampire queen. What if she tells her about me? What if it gets back to the council? They’ll take me away and do goddess knows what with me. I don’t want to die.
He slides his hands up my back and then cups my face, encouraging me to look up at him. “We won’t let that happen,” he assures me, pressing his forehead against mine. “You don’t have to give her your blood.”
“What if my blood will save you, and this test shows how?” I counter, gripping fistfuls of the back of his hoodie. My heart is so loud that I can barely hear myself talk over the pounding beat.
There’s a look I hate gleaming in his eyes—the one that says he’s not worth saving. Before I can argue, he kisses me like he’s building the memories he will savor before he dies. A tear spills down my cheek as I open myself to him, unable to deny him anything even though I know this kiss is as much to keep me silent as it is out of love. My heart feels full as he explores my mouth, still surprised that we can be this way after denying it for so long. Nolan Campbell doesn’t do anything by halves, including the way he loves me.
The kiss does its job, and all my worries vanish under the sensation of his tongue dancing with mine. His hands gently cup my face, guiding the angle of my head as he deepens the kiss. A soft hum of pleasure escapes me, and I feel him smile. I want to live in this moment forever, luxuriating in the pleasure of his love and the sweet taste of his devotion.
He has to live, my heart whispers, squeezing painfully in my chest. I can’t bear to lose him now that I finally have him.
“This explains why the tea isn’t ready,” Mildred observes mildly.
The interruption causes me to jump away and slam my lower back into the counter, the teapot rattling as I bump it with my elbow. Wincing, I look up at her with a sheepish smile. “Um, I was… We were, uh…”
“It’s my fault,” Nolan replies in my defense, reaching down to grip my fingers. “I distracted her.”
“So it seems,” she comments, both amusement and curiosity floating in her warm brown eyes. It might have something to do with the fact that she caught me in a similarly compromising position with Donovan not too long ago. Well, the cat is out of the bag now.
As if simply thinking of cats summons him, my nan’s monstrous black cat, Mr. Mischief, comes strolling into the kitchen, rubbing against Mildred’s legs until she leans down and picks him up. A deep rumble of a purr emanates from him as she scratches under his chin. For a one-hundred-and-ninety-three-year-old woman, she looks closer to someone in their early forties and elegant as always. Her blonde hair is pulled up into a French twist, she’s dressed in high-quality gray, wool slacks, and a soft white blouse, and her minimal cosmetics are expertly applied. Despite feeling embarrassed about being caught with Nolan, something inside me eases in her presence. Mildred is an extremely powerful witch. She’ll figure out how to save Nolan and protect my secret at the same time.
Standing next to my nan, Dalia frowns disapprovingly. “They are like dogs in heat.”
Mildred raises an eyebrow at the sour woman. “They are teenagers. It’s something to be expected. We should be glad all we saw was them kissing in the kitchen.”
“Maybe for humans…” She slowly sweeps her eyes down my nan. “And witches, but vampires have strict etiquette for our young. If it were up to me, my grandson would be in boarding school with his cousins, learning how to act properly.”
“Then it’s a good thing it’s not up to you,” Mildred retorts dismissively as she puts the mammoth cat back on the ground. He rubs against her legs again and then settles at her feet. With his gaze focused on Dalia, he stretches out his paws and slides his claws over the wooden floor. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was threatening her. Crossing her arms over her chest, Mildred continues, “I’ll have you know your daughter and son-in-law have raised a fine young man who is kind, loyal, and generous of spirit. You are lucky to have the opportunity to get to know him. I recommend taking advantage of it as opposed to wasting time focusing on how he doesn’t meet whatever previously held expectations you had.”
Dalia’s hands fist at her sides, and her eyes narrow into slits. “How dare you tell me how I should interact with my grandson!” Realizing she’s lost her cool, she quickly recovers, squaring her shoulders and looking down her nose. In a cold tone, she says, “As I understand it, witches are the source of all of his current suffering, so as it stands, if he was raised among his own kind, he would be safe and healthy right now—something I will report to the queen. Perhaps you should focus more on keeping your own house, or is it normal for teenage witches to sleep in the same bed as their paramours?”
The only sign of Mildred’s surprise is a slight widening of her eyes. The rest of her face is the picture of unimpressed indifference, but it’s enough for me to know we’ll be having a conversation about the topic soon. I didn’t lie, per se, I just didn’t correct any assumptions that I was staying in a separate room. As I try to shrink against the counter, Nolan tightens his grip on my hands. He opens his mouth to say something but is cut off by Nan.
“By the goddess, you’re insufferable,” she blurts, rubbing between her brows. “First of all, he was raised outside of Prima because his parents were exiled. Don’t pretend it was a choice made out of a genuine desire to leave vampire society.”
“Only because they refused to do what was necessary,” Dalia argues, mimicking Mildred’s stance with her arms crossed over her chest.
“Necessary? Necessary!” Mildred shouts, anger building in her eyes. “Demanding a parent kill their own child is barbaric.”
“And leaving her to prey on innocents was a better choice?” she counters, the cold veneer cracking in her voice.
“As if you care,” my nan scoffs, glaring at the other woman. “I’ve known hundreds of people like you in my long life. Upholding your image and tradition is more important than the suffering of your family.”
My heart aches for my nan. It’s been nearly fifteen years since my mother’s death, and the fact that her daughter was a spirit witch was kept secret from her—a secret that led to her eventual death—will haunt Mildred for the rest of her life. Knowing her as I do now, there is no doubt in my mind she would have given up anything and fought to her last breath to protect my mother.
“Despite what you may think, I’m not a monster,” Nolan’s grandmother states, looking surprisingly tired. “Letti was my flesh and blood. I loved her dearly, but the moment she took that demon’s bargain, she stopped being my granddaughter. How many people died because Lillian and Robert allowed sentiment to cloud their judgment?”
Nolan and I look at each other with matching pained expressions. Felix and his family died partially by Letti’s hand, and last Halloween, she nearly killed Nolan out of a jealous rage that his parents dared to have another child. The only reason she didn’t succeed is because Donovan decapitated her with his katana.
“It didn’t have to be them,” Mildred insists, raw emotion seeping into her voice. “How could anyone ask a parent to kill their own child?”
“Instead we should ask someone else to risk their lives and take on the burden of ending another’s?” Dalia asks simply with more compassion than I thought possible from the cold, direct woman. “You may not understand our ways, but family is extremely important to vampires. We believe that a parent remains responsible for their children for their entire lives, for good or ill. That means doing what must be done, even if it breaks our hearts. It’s why our early education is so important. It may seem strict or harsh to you, but these traditions have kept us and those we feed from safe.” She looks at Nolan with deep sadness and a knowing I don’t understand. “We would have kept you safe.”
Nolan appears unnerved by his grandmother’s declaration, clearing his throat and having difficulty meeting her gaze. There’s a twisted sensation in my gut because there’s truth in what she said. Had he been raised within vampire society, he wouldn’t have been cursed. He wouldn’t have had to do all those things to stay alive. He wouldn’t be dying. He also wouldn’t be mine, and my eyes sting as I think about a life lived without ever knowing him. I pull his arms around me and squeeze him into a tight hug, needing to feel him here with me. He squeezes me back.
Mildred is quiet for a moment, absorbing Dalia’s words, and then she lifts her chin and humbly replies, “I’m sorry for accusing you of being uncaring. It’s a situation with no easy answers.”
“Apology accepted,” she says stiffly, clearly not a woman who does well with emotional sentiment. “Now let’s get back to the task at hand before I lose another one of my grandchildren.”
∞∞∞
Sitting in one of the kitchen chairs we brought out into the garage—aka Mildred’s spell lab—Nolan pulls me sideways into his lap, my right side pressed against his chest. At first, I’m rigid in my posture, nervous that I’m going to earn another scathing look from Nolan’s grandmother, but she seems to be too busy going toe-to-toe with my nan to worry about what we’re doing at the moment. Whatever truce they made in the kitchen quickly vanished once it came to deciding how best to proceed.
“Relax, or I’ll make you relax,” Nolan whispers into my ear, his sultry voice causing my skin to tingle.
Pretending he doesn’t turn me into a hormonal puddle, I tilt my head to murmur, “How exactly would you make me?”
He laughs softly and then kisses the spot behind my ear while his hand slips underneath my shirt to trail his fingers up and down my lower spine, the other content to rest on my outer left thigh. It’s instant, the molten desire that builds within me, and I lean heavily into his shoulder. It’s a fight to keep my eyes from drooping closed and my mouth silent while I lose myself to the sensations of his touch. It’s ridiculous how easily he can undo me, my body beginning to quake under his quiet ministrations. I nuzzle his neck, pressing a soft kiss of my own against his skin, while my whole world narrows to him and me.
“That’s better,” he says in a husky whisper, the hand on my thigh tightening when my fingers start to trail up and down his chest. Clearing his throat, he announces, “I’m beginning to feel a bit lightheaded. I think it’s probably best if I lie down. Callie can keep an eye on me.”
My heart rate spikes as I remember our audience. I attempt to jerk back to an upright position, but I’m foiled by Nolan’s arms tightening around me. He rests his head against mine.
Not bothering to look up from her spell book, Mildred replies evenly, “I doubt my granddaughter’s supervision is going to help with your lightheadedness. In fact, I imagine it will likely compound the problem.”
I blush from the tips of my toes to the top of my head and try to wiggle out of his grasp so I can stand up, but Nolan has a viselike grip on me. I feel like I’m once more performing the job of human shield, only instead of holding off infatuated classmates, it’s his judgmental grandmother.
Dalia ignores us, rubbing between her brows as she continues with the heated discussion she’s having with Mildred. “If your magic could solve the problem, you would have done it already.”
“Magic is going to solve this problem because a spell caused it,” she argues, flipping the page on one of the thick family grimoires. “What I need is more information about vampire physiology, so I can understand how, exactly, the spell is affecting him.”
Crossing her arms and tapping her foot, Nolan’s grandmother releases a heavy sigh. “Before I can tell you exactly what the cause is, I need to run some blood tests on both Callie and my grandson.”
I tense at the request, fear digging its claws into my heart. Nolan squeezes me, and I feel the objection building on his tongue, when my nan asks coolly, “What do you need to test my granddaughter’s blood for?”
Feeling the tension in the room, Dalia narrows her eyes, once again suspicious of me—rightly suspecting that there is information being withheld from her. It’s equally clear that she isn’t used to being left in the dark. “Nolan can only safely consume her blood. I need to know why.”
Mildred’s lips press tightly together for a moment, her mind clearly trying to pick and choose words that will help Nolan without exposing me. “What tests do you plan to do? Witches’ blood is a powerful spell component that is shared only in the direst of need.”
“I believe my grandson’s life counts as dire need,” Dalia states with a hard edge, her arms crossing over her chest. “It would be a full panel of tests because I don’t know what I’m looking for.”
“Then test my blood first,” Nolan chimes in, his voice confident despite the subtle shaking of his body. “See if you can figure out what’s wrong first, and then test Callie for whatever that is.”
His grandmother sighs like she’s surrounded by difficult, idiotic children. She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Testing the samples together saves time, which is precious at the moment—something I shouldn’t have to remind you of.”
Angry words bubble up inside me, scathing remarks that she was the one who waited a month before coming to help, but I swallow them down. Be nice. She’s here now. Nolan needs her help. His life matters more than knocking Dalia down a few pegs.
There’s a subtle tightening around my nan’s eyes that seems to telegraph she’s having the same thoughts. Looking up from the grimoire, she stares down the other woman, and with sharp bluntness, states, “I’m not going to give you a sample of my granddaughter’s blood so you can go on a fishing expedition. You weren’t summoned to cure Nolan. Magic will do that. I need to know what exactly is wrong with him so I can fix it.” She puts one fist on her hip while the other lies flat on the wooden work table. “You are an expert in vampire physiology. You must have some opinion based on his symptoms.”
Worried that I’m about to see them come to blows supernatural style, I extract myself from Nolan’s grasp and stand up. Fisting my hands at my sides, I blurt, “It’s okay. I want to help. She can have my blood.”
Nolan reaches for me, his fingers gently encircling my wrist. In a hushed whisper, he says, “You don’t have to do this.”
“I want to—” Istart to insist, but I’m immediately cut off by Mildred with a harsh, “No.”
The intensity in which she denies me startles me, and it’s only then that I realize how often I’m used to her saying yes—mostly because I don’t tell her the things she’d likely refuse. My heart skips a beat, thinking of how I brought Felix back from the dead. I doubt I’ll be able to keep it from my nan forever, and I fear the day I’ll have to tell her about it. I know everything she does is with love. It’s an odd feeling to have someone who places my well-being in front of everyone else’s, and it’s hard to fault her for it.
Mildred returns her attention to Dalia and repeats, “Your opinion on Nolan’s condition?”
The shrewd woman’s eyes bounce between me and my nan, but her thoughts are hidden by a cool mask. At the very least, she no longer appears to want to strangle Mildred, too occupied with the giant mystery that is me. After a beat, she returns her attention to my nan, answering with a professional detachment that feels off, considering who the subject is and the fact he’s in the room. “Based on his symptoms, he’s showing signs of starvation. Since he’s feeding daily, whatever this spell is doing to him is blocking his ability to absorb the necessary nutrients he needs. His body is literally consuming itself to survive.”
“I could have told you that,” Nolan jokes flatly, running his free hand through his hair. There’s a weary droop to his shoulders that speaks of the exhaustion he’s constantly fighting.
Her gaze softens as she looks over at her grandson. “Yes, the question is what and why. Hence the blood tests.”
“It’s magic,” I announce as I recall my earlier conclusion that the reason he could feed from me but not Anastasia or Donovan is because my blood is more magically rich than theirs is. I swallow heavily under Mildred’s cautious gaze and Dalia’s steely intent one as sweat builds on the back of my neck. “Witches’ power… it, um… it comes from…”
Nolan’s grandmother’s patience seems to be wearing thin from my babbling, her fingers tapping restlessly on her biceps, and it makes me even more tongue-tied. I know what I need to say, but I don’t know how to do it without exposing myself. Just do it, Callie. It’s for Nolan.
“Witches’ power comes from their ability to call on magic from the elements,” Mildred says, stepping in for me, and I could cry with relief. Nolan pulls lightly on my wrist, and I happily sit back down on his lap, hoping they’ll return to ignoring us. My nan flips quickly through the pages of the grimoire until she reaches the page she showed me when I was first learning about magic. She points at the beautifully illustrated diagram that showcases the elements and the abilities they control.
“I’m aware,” Dalia states dryly with an expression demanding someone get to the part that’s relevant to her.
“Yes, well, what you may not be aware of, unlike other supernatural creatures, is that how much magic a witch can call on isn’t universally even,” Mildred explains carefully, clearly uncomfortable sharing anything that could be exploited as weaknesses. “It’s based on the purity of the bloodline, and how close it is to the seven original families. Callie is a Volkov and a Lyncas—a child produced from the daughter and son of two matriarchs.”
Shock washes over me as another piece of who I am falls into my lap. I knew I was a Lyncas, but I didn’t know that the bastard’s mother, my grandmother, was also a matriarch. Is this why I could claim the Lyncas name when the last names of female witches normally go by the maternal line? I’m the granddaughter of not one, but two matriarchs. The thought bounces around my head like a ping-pong ball.I don’t know how exactly this changes things for me, but it feels momentous. It should pale in comparison to being an avatar to the goddess, but my spirit witch-ness is a secret. Who my family is, however, isn’t. Only Nolan seems to notice my mini freak-out, squeezing me tightly as my whole body quakes.
Dalia nods and then lifts one hand to tap a finger against her lips. “If I understand you correctly, because of your granddaughter’s lineage, her blood is more magically enriched than other supernatural beings?”
“Precisely,” Mildred confirms, standing somewhat defensively with her arms crossed. It’s obvious that this information wasn’t something she wished to share. I forget that witches are commonly a secretive bunch. I’m the one who challenges the status quo, telling the guys everything I learn about my abilities.
“Well, it’s a place to start,” Nolan’s grandmother states. She reaches for her medical bag that sits at the end of the workbench and pulls out a smaller zipped bag. Inside is a tube filled with small, narrow, white strips of what looks like paper, a little, square device with a digital screen, and several tiny, blue tubes. As she appears to prepare some type of test, she points distractedly next to her. “I need both of you to stand here.”
We trade concerned expressions. Nolan mouths, “You don’t have to do this,” but I shake my head, take a bracing breath, and stand up. He follows wearily, real exhaustion starting to pull at his features. I grasp his hand, lacing our fingers together, and we stand as one in front of his grandmother.
“What exactly are you doing?” Mildred interjects, looking over the other woman’s shoulder.
The sour look returns to Dalia’s face, clearly not appreciating my nan breathing down her neck. “I’m testing the levels of magic in their blood. If our hypothesis is correct, it should show up here. It won’t tell us why, but it will give us somewhere to start.”
“Us?” Mildred echoes with a knowing smile.
The sour look intensifies as Dalia concentrates on retrieving gloves and alcohol wipes from a different pouch in her bag. “Since a witch’s magic is the cause of my grandson’s illness, it seems prudent to have the assistance of a witch to cure him.” She gives my nan a long, assessing look over her shoulder. “Your knowledge and presumed skills make you adequate for the position.”
“High praise,” my nan comments, her expression amused.
I’m surprised by how dismissive she is, considering she is the matriarch of one of the original bloodlines. As I understand it, that’s practically spitting on royalty, but she looks unfazed. It’s interesting to observe when she chooses to flex her importance and when she lets perceived slights pass. It speaks of a confidence I hope to emulate one day—not that I know how to do such a thing. Terrify people with my magic? Yeah, I’ve got that down mostly because I still have trouble controlling it when I’m upset, but I have no idea how to be important. Probably because I’ve spent most of my life trying to be invisible. The whole concept that my family ties have a different kind of power beyond my magic still baffles me.
While I was distracted by my inner thoughts, Dalia retrieved a notebook from her bag and made a few notes. After putting on the rubber gloves and sterilizing Nolan’s finger, she takes a sample of his blood with one of the small blue tubes that contains a needle. She’s fast and efficient, squeezing Nolan’s finger until a bead of blood appears, then she places the blood on one of the test strips before inserting it into the device. As we wait for the results, she places a bandage on Nolan’s finger and then disposes of the needle in a separate bag, her expression carefully blank. It seems odd that something as ordinary looking as this device can test for something as ethereal as magic.
When the device beeps, Nolan squeezes my hand. Tremors quake through his body, but I can’t tell if it’s from fear or the cold that he can never seem to escape. His skin feels like summer and winter are battling for dominance, the heat from the magic I wrapped around him earlier at odds with the iciness of his current natural state.
There’s a break in Dalia’s cool professional demeanor via a subtle pinching of her lips and furrow of her brow as she reads and records the results. “It’s as expected. Your levels are abnormally low.”
Nolan’s voice cracks as he asks, “How abnormal?”
Her eyes are the same piercing blue as her grandson’s, and they speak to the severity of the situation in a way her words do not. “Concerning levels.” She turns her attention to retrieving another alcohol wipe. “Once I check Callie’s levels, I can recommend treatment while we search for the cause.”
“You won’t be able to get an accurate reading,” Mildred supplies, leaning her hip against the worktable with her arms crossed over her chest. “The levels of magic in a witch’s blood fluctuates based upon how much she calls into herself.”
Frustration takes over Dalia’s features as she turns to face my nan. “Everyone’s levels fluctuate. A recently fed vampire will have higher levels than one who hasn’t. I just need a base level to start with.”
My nan shakes her head. “It’s not the same.” She holds out her hand. “Test me, and I can show you the difference.”
I frown. “Is this a sugar and tea thing?”
She laughs. “Yes, that’s exactly it.”
Dalia’s expression shifts to one of intellectual curiosity. Knowing how secretive witches are, she comprehends that this opportunity to learn the fundamentals of how a witch’s power works is unheard of. Mildred walks a very delicate line by sharing this information, giving an edge to those who aren’t quite an enemy but also not a friend, but it’s a cost she’s willing to pay to protect me—not only out of love, but necessity. I’m the most dangerous secret of all.
Nolan looks like if he doesn’t sit down, he’ll fall down, so while his grandmother does as Mildred requests, I lead him back to the kitchen chair. Without being prompted, I settle into his lap and hold his head against my chest. He sighs and wraps his arms around my waist.
“I’m tired of being tired,” he mumbles, his words slurred with exhaustion.
“I know.” I gently stroke the back of his neck with my fingers. “It’ll get better soon.”
His answer is to squeeze me tighter.
Worry lodges within my chest, a constant current of fear that despite his promise, he’s giving up. It eats me up, because I don’t know what to do. How do I make him fight to live? The worst part is, I understand. I know what it’s like to hurt so much that you beg for death.
The device beeps again, announcing Mildred’s current levels. I feel uneasy when Dalia records the results, because it’s the start of unraveling the mystery of witches.
“This might be a bit uncomfortable,” my nan warns, stepping away from the workbench and holding out her hands. Closing her eyes, she murmurs prayers to the goddess and something about the four corners of the wind. Suddenly, I feel the churning of air brush against my skin as it becomes increasingly more difficult to breathe. It’s only for a moment, but we’re all left panting and disheveled. All amusement has left Mildred’s face, and she coolly requests, “Test me again.”
Dalia is far less composed than earlier, and there’s a subtle shake in her hands as she performs the procedure again. When the device shows a higher number, she doesn’t record it, choosing to discard the page altogether instead.
I’m left in awe of my nan. In proving her point that to test the levels of a witch’s blood can be futile, she also laid out a clear warning—I can take the air from your lungs, and it will only make me stronger. There are limits to how much a witch can take, unless they are me and their sugar cube lives directly in the tea, but Nolan’s grandmother doesn’t know that. At least, not when it comes to the power of the matriarchs.
Wheezing, Nolan mutters, “Remind me never to piss off your grandmother.”
“Which one?” I murmur with a bemused smile. “Apparently, both of them are matriarchs.”
He groans in response.
After carefully cleaning up her supplies, Nolan’s grandmother crosses her arms over her chest and focuses her attention on Mildred. “Can I assume your granddaughter can enrich her blood to the same levels you just demonstrated?”
My nan looks at me, and the thoughts of what she should reveal swim within her warm brown eyes. She takes in the way Nolan and I are huddled close, locked together like two puzzle pieces, and sighs. “Her levels will be higher.” Her gaze shifts to Dalia, and there is a frightening fierceness to her features. “She is beyond your recording, and you will forget that as soon as Nolan is well.”
Dalia’s gaze flashes toward me, a slight widening of her eyes. With a reverence and respect that wasn’t there moments before, she quietly responds, “I only want to save my grandson.”
“I’m counting on it,” Mildred replies and then briskly returns to the grimoire on the table, flipping it back to the original page that explains a witch’s magic. “Now, tell me how we do it.”
As the vampire queen’s personal physician, it appears that Nolan’s grandmother is accustomed to shaking off demonstrations of power, because her expression returns to cold professionalism. “The first steps are to obviously attempt to raise Nolan’s levels.” She looks at Nolan. “How often are you feeding from Callie?”
“Once a day, usually in the evenings,” I answer for him, because I know how much it bothers him to talk about it. There have been too many years of shame tied to his survival. It makes me want to shield his body with mine and protect him from judgmental gazes, even though I see none in either of our grandmothers’ eyes.
Dalia nods, her gaze focused on the bruise on my neck. “I can assume protocol around feeding hasn’t been addressed by your parents.”
Nolan sits up tall, his posture stiff, and I let my hands drop to my lap. “They didn’t know I wasn’t feeding from bagged blood.”
His grandmother’s nose wrinkles over the sheer concept of feeding from a bag. “There’s no time like the present, I suppose.” She once again goes digging into her medical bag. “It’s against protocol for someone your age to be feeding directly from the vein. As I’m sure you’re aware, the side effects are extremely potent, and you are not trained to manage them.”
He opens his mouth, and I quickly cover it with my hand, not trusting that whatever will come out will allow me to look my nan in the eye ever again. A blush burns my cheeks just thinking about how skilled he is at “managing” the side effects of the bite. He laughs and licks my hand. I squeal and rub the offending saliva on his sweater.
“Children, it’s time to be serious,” his grandmother warns, pulling out what looks like medical paraphernalia for taking larger blood samples and a plastic wrapped cup with a lid. “My first recommendation is to double your feeding schedule, and I’m sure your paramour might appreciate having control of her senses.”
“Doesn’t the magic in blood lose its potency once it’s extracted from the donor?” Mildred questions, frowning at the equipment. “Isn’t that one of the reasons Nolan can’t drink bagged blood?”
“It could be days or weeks since bagged blood was extracted, and it’s from humans,” she explains, removing her first set of gloves. “I’m merely transferring her blood from the vein to this cup. The loss of potency will be minimal before Nolan consumes it.”
“So that’s how you do it!” I exclaim, happy to obliterate the thoughts of Martin and Maria in some type of orgy with any of Nolan’s extended family.
Dalia’s thin lips turn up at the corners. “Yes. Feeding from the vein is reserved for certain festivals and special occasions when a vampire reaches age of majority.”
“And when is that?” I ask, always curious to learn more about the rest of the supernatural world.
“Forty-five,” she answers, and then she examines the room as if she’s searching for something.
Nolan chokes. “I’m not considered an adult in vampire society until I’m forty-five?”
“That’s when you’ve fully matured, yes. Didn’t your parents teach you anything about your heritage?” Dalia asks with exasperation, and she then turns to Mildred. “I think this might be best performed back inside. Perhaps at the kitchen table where they both can sit comfortably?”
“Perhaps you should first ask Callie if she wants to offer her blood at this time,” my nan counters, leveling her with a hard look. “My granddaughter isn’t a thrall under your control.”
“As everyone keeps reminding me,” Dalia mutters.
“My parents thought it was better that I learn about the society I lived in, not the one I was banished from,” Nolan states, his chin jutting up in defiance. I can only imagine how hard this is for him. He’s been desperate his entire life for information about his heritage, and now that the answers stand before him, they are barbed with contempt for those who love him unconditionally.
“I’m not getting into this again,” his grandmother warns, placing the items back into her medical bag. She turns her unnerving gaze on me. “My grandson needs more blood if he is to survive. Your blood is all that he can seem to consume. Are you willing to provide that blood?”
“Yes,” I answer, standing up from Nolan’s lap. “I want to help.”
“Wonderful.” She snaps the bag closed. “Now, can we move this to the kitchen table?”
∞∞∞
Mildred closes the front door and leans against it, releasing an exaggerated sigh. “Finally, she’s gone. I swear I’m more motivated than ever to heal Nolan if it means sending that woman back to Prima as soon as possible.”
“At least she came to help,” I reply, closing my eyes to focus on healing my wounds. “I’ll take a little abrasiveness if it means saving his life.”
“Little,” she scoffs and walks into the kitchen. I hear the sounds of cupboards opening and closing, followed by running water. “What tea would you like?”
“That orange black tea we just got sounds good,” I answer, grabbing my red hoodie from the back of my chair and pulling it on.
I’m not really cold, but this morning has left me feeling raw and exposed. Rubbing the frayed edges of the cuffs between my fingers, I try to center myself. Dalia was allowed to take a peek at my power, watching the instant transformation of Nolan’s whole body as he sucked down my blood. Color instantly returned to his skin, the exhaustion fled his eyes, and he was more alert. Short of being too skinny, he appeared to be the picture of health. Unfortunately, it was also short lived. Whatever the curse was doing to him, it was stronger than ever. My heart broke as I witnessed the resigned look in his eyes.
Stubbornness took over his grandmother as she took in the whole process, like his illness was an affront to her abilities as a physician and she wouldn’t stand for it. I could appreciate the feeling. With all the power of the goddess at my fingertips, I was still helpless. I simply didn’t know enough to fix him, and I was afraid if I gave my magic free rein to save him, it could make it worse instead of better. My magic saved me from dying by freezing my body in time, not allowing me to age or mature since I was in my first car accident at fourteen. It was only after the binding spell on my magic broke that I was able to grow into the body I have now, and it hurt like hell too. Doing the same thing to Nolan, crystalizing him in this time while his body was ravaged, would be far crueler.
My nan places a plate of small sandwiches along with our tea on the table and then sits down next to me. “You should eat something.”
Too hungry to argue, I immediately start munching on one of the egg salad sandwiches. It has a little too much mayonnaise for my preference, but food is food, and I didn’t eat breakfast.
With a raised brow and a subtle smile, Mildred takes a sip of her tea, and then casually, like she’s commenting on the weather, says, “Donovan and Nolan, hmm?”
Suddenly, the bite of sandwich in my mouth is hard to swallow, and I have to fight not to cough it up all over the table. After a painful gulp, I choke out, “It’s, uh, complicated.”
Her eyes narrow in concerned judgment. “Do they not know how… involved you are with both of them?”
“Oh, no, it’s not that,” I insist, putting the sandwich down so I can take a huge drink of tea. It burns my throat but clears some of my suddenly dry mouth. A buzz of anxiety builds in my ears at the thought of explaining my complicated love life to my nan—mostly that it doesn’t end with just Nolan and Donovan. “They know about each other.”
They are also involved with each other, and we had a kind of three-way with our clothes still on. Yeah, I’m keeping that to myself.
“Are they pressuring you to choose between them?” she asks, sad compassion taking over her features. “Having multiple partners isn’t for everyone.”
A hysterical laugh nearly escapes me over just how far off she is—again three-way—and then my brain short-circuits when the rest of what she said catches up. I reply slowly, like I’m about to step on a verbal landmine. “You don’t mind that I’m dating both of them?”
She takes another sip of her tea and shakes her head. “They seem like good boys—a little rough around the edges, but good where it counts—and they clearly care about you deeply. You’ll be eighteen in a few months and making adult decisions. If they make you happy, then I’m happy for you.”
“That’s… unexpected,” I blurt, pulling my hair over my shoulder and fiddling with the wavy blonde strands.
“I’ve lived a long life and have experienced many things,” Mildred explains mysteriously—a mystery I don’t think I want to solve. “It’s given me a broader appreciation of what it means to love.”
My brain does exactly what I told it not to and makes some obvious connections that leave me squirming in my chair. I know she had to have, uh, done the deed for me to even exist, but she’s also my grandmother, and thinking of her in that way is something I never wanted to do. I shove it into the never think about this again box. It’s the part of my brain where all the embarrassing things live. It’s about as good as any of my other mental boxes, opening up at the most inconvenient of times, but as long as that time isn’t now, I’ll take it.
Clearly amused by my awkwardness, she asks, “How is it complicated? Maybe I can help.”
“I’m also dating Connor,” I answer, leaving out the part where I’m his mate. I have a strong desire for his head to remain attached to his body, along with all of his other appendages.
She only looks mildly surprised. “I anticipated him having feelings for you, but it’s impressive that he’s willing to accommodate other part—”
“And Fe—James,” I interrupt, the confessions shooting out my mouth like verbal projectiles.
The desire to tell her all of my romantic troubles bubbles within me, hoping that if I lay it all down in front of her, she can help me navigate this confusing labyrinth of emotions. Mei makes the whole thing sound so simple, but it doesn’t feel simple. As wonderful as it feels to love them and be loved back, it also feels painfully fragile, like I’m one wrong word or action away from shattering more than just our romantic entanglements. It already put Kaleb on the outs with everyone, and I can’t help but blame myself. If I kept it all in, nothing would have changed.
Unaware of my mental spiral, she puts her teacup down and reaches for my hands. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t, but becoming involved with a human is difficult. Secrets are hard to keep, and unlike the rules we bend for the other boys, these, we cannot.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to confess that James is different, because he’s not James at all, but I’m too scared of how she’ll react. I broke one of the fundamental rules of the supernatural community. What if she decides that the council is right after all, and I’m too dangerous to exist?
Instead, I nod my head and mumble, “I know. I’ll be careful.”
“Good.” She gives my hands a light squeeze and then reaches for her tea again. “I noticed you didn’t mention Kaleb.”
I rock back into my chair and groan. “He’s… I don’t know… thinking about it. Working on himself. He says he can’t right now because he’s too jealous, but he also hasn’t given me a firm no either. I love him, and I know he loves me, but… ugh, it’s so frustrating.”
“Unfortunately, you can’t choose for him.” Mildred sighs and looks off into the distance like she’s recalling a different time. “You also can’t stand still to wait for him.” Her gaze shifts back to me with a bittersweet smile. “Live your life, my darling. Love freely and unabashedly. He will either seize the opportunity to be loved by you, or eventually, you’ll both move on.”
“I don’t want to lose him,” I whisper, a sharp pain scraping down my chest over the thought of Kaleb walking away from me forever.
“That’s also not always our choice,” she replies gently, “but don’t give up on him just yet. Freely admitting to his jealousy and wanting to do something about it is a good sign.”
“Really?” I exclaim, holding onto the fragile pieces of hope.
My nan eyes me over the lip of her teacup, and there’s a knowing sparkle in her gaze. “Sometimes all it takes is seeing what we’re missing out on to nudge us in the right direction.”