Chapter 31 Force of Nature #2
The crocheted lace at her neck was pretty, but obviously as homemade as the blouse itself, which was threadbare in places.
And as for that sweater, Sebastian wouldn’t have allowed his cat to use it as a bed.
I’d worried at first that my sons hadn’t noticed, but it seemed they weren’t as horrible at being husbands as I’d feared they’d be.
“Koko?” Sebastian choked on the word.
“Yes. Koa.” She nodded with wide, serious eyes. “Zane calls him Koala Bear sometimes, but only as a joke. I think Koko sounds sweet. Almost as sweet as he is.”
I did not dare look at Sebastian. Koa, whose fury worried even me, and sweet did not belong together in the same sentence.
“And does he agree?” I asked before I could stop myself.
“He said it was nice and he liked it, that nicknames were a sign of affection. Do you think he was lying?” Her brow wrinkled up, and I chastised myself for introducing doubt into her lovely mind.
“No.” Sebastian leapt to my rescue. “Koa does not lie. Ever. If he said that, he meant it.”
That brought the light back to her eyes, thank the dark. I’d been warned to within an inch of my immortal life not to upset her.
“Do you have pet names for Casimir and Zane, too?” Sebastian’s lips quirked up at the corners.
“Yes, but I haven’t told Zane his yet.” Her soft eyes shone with love and something more. “I’m saving it for a surprise.”
“But Casimir has one?” I hardly breathed as I waited to hear what it was.
“Simmy, of course!” Her smile transformed her face from beautiful to something almost otherworldly and told me more than words how unaware she was of the bomb she’d just dropped.
Sebastian and I sat in stunned silence, both of us lost in the mental image of Casimir—Casimir—answering to “Simmy.” Sebastian had called him Casi since his toddler days, and Koa and Zane used Cas more often than not, but for my most serious son to have such a silly appellation?
Inconceivable.
“You asked why Arabesque chose your father.” I cleared my throat after a moment, manfully pushing past it. “Six years ago, she tried conquering the South American Court. Used Boraro mercenaries as shock troops. Gathered them from her early stomping grounds in Brazil.”
“The alliance between jaguar shifters and S?o Paulo’s night cartels proved unexpectedly robust.” Sebastian’s dossier crinkled as he extracted a photo of a stone villa swallowed by Argentinian jungle.
He tapped the cratered remains of a blood-soaked driveway.
“The Matriarch of the South gutted Arabesque’s forces.
She limped away, desperate for somewhere to regroup. ”
“No one saw hide nor hair of her until five years ago,” I added. “When our spies caught whispers of a woman matching her description at a witches’ conference in Grand Rapids.”
“That’s where Papa met her,” she whispered.
“I believe the Bell homestead provided the perfect sanctuary for Arabesque to hide and recover from her failure.” I gentled my tone, wishing to soften the blow of my next words. “Its remote location and your father’s trusting nature made it an ideal choice.”
“Why stay so long, though? Five years on a backwater farm for someone like her? ”
“What does a spider do,” I murmured, “when winter comes?”
“Spins a thicker web.” Her gray eyes suddenly glinted with inner fire. “She hid in plain sight. Used us like bandages as she healed and regrouped.”
Ice slid down my spine. How many times had Zane worn that same quiet outrage before learning to bury it under smirks and jibes?
“Five years seems extreme, but it wasn’t wasted, was it?
” Sebastian tilted his head as he stared at her.
“I know the whisperbind won’t allow you to confirm it, but she siphoned from you and your father, stole lunar and earth magic, and I’d wager my future crown that it was more than once. Makes me wonder what she’s building.”
“Nothing good,” I admitted. “If she stored it, that is. Perhaps she sold it to fund something. Or used it to bolster some work we don’t yet know about.”
“If only our little dove here could—”
“Don’t call me that!” Her shoulders curled inward. The motion made her collar gape, revealing collarbones sharp enough to flay skin. “Someone… else once called me… that. I have nightmares… He’s… Please…”
“I beg your forgiveness.” Sebastian nearly fell out of his seat in his hurry to move to her side and cradle her small hand between both of his. “Sanguine mortis, I didn’t mean to hurt you—”
“I know.” She straightened her spine and flashed a smile meant to comfort him, when she was the wounded one.
In a way, she reminded me of a winter-stripped sapling. Slender to the point of transparency, yet with roots clenched stubbornly around bedrock.
A rare treasure was Serafina Cimmerian.
A servant appeared at the doorway, interrupting the awkward moment to announce dinner. Standing, I offered Seri my arm, half-expecting her to hesitate. Instead, she rested her fingertips on my sleeve with the unthinking trust of a child gripping a parent’s hand.
“I’ve been remiss in expressing my gratitude,” I said as I matched my stride to her smaller steps. “For loving my sons when I…” My throat tightened around the confession. When I could not.
“They make it easy.” Her cheeks flushed poppy-red.
“Do they?” The words escaped sharper than intended. Koa’s glacial silences, Zane’s barbed sneers, and Casimir’s clinical detachment were hardly the traits of approachable men.
“Koko reads me poetry, Zane plays the piano and sings for me, and Simmy cleans my shoes every morning.”
A laugh startled out of me. How like Casimir to turn fastidiousness into devotion.
“You’ve tamed monsters, my dear.”
“Not tamed. Seen. Isn’t that all anyone wants?” She smiled with devastating innocence, and her quiet courage pricked my skin. “You’ll keep trying with them, won’t you? Seeing them as your sons, not your weapons?”
It wasn’t a plea, but a command, the steel in her voice unmistakable, and Sebastian choked on a guffaw behind us.
“You do realize I could have you executed for that tone,” I ventured, simply curious to see her response.
“You won’t.” Her shrug was the definition of artless. “They’d never forgive you.”
The truth slid between my ribs like a stiletto. Delicate. Precise. The move of a queen.
“Cruor, Dad!” Sebastian said. “When Ko hears you threatened his beloved, he’ll carve your tongue out through your throat.”
“Call or text or even write letters,” she leaned closer to whisper. “Send birthday presents they’ll pretend to hate. Keep showing up, and they eventually believe you mean it. And I’ll help, too, because I’d like you to be my papa-in-law.”
The world tilted. How many years had passed since Koa last called me Dad instead of nothing? Or Zane’s ‘Pops’ without his sharp sarcasm? Even Casimir’s frosty ‘Father’ was voiced with duress. And yet ‘papa-in-law’ rolled off this little witch’s lips as easily as a sigh.
“Noted,” I managed, voice suspiciously thick.
“So, what delights has Mrs. Wentzel prepared for us today?” Sebastian picked up his pace to walk alongside her.
“Mrs. Who?” Her head cocked slightly to the left.
“Your chef, silly goose.” He tapped her nose with his forefinger. “Haven’t you met your own staff yet?”
“I haven’t really had the opportunity. Well, I did meet the estate manager, but Simmy fired him the same day,” she admitted.
Storms, Gregory. 32. Unmarried. Already installed at Evermere when I purchased it. Wore Arabesque’s belladonna perfume within a week of the sale. Rather than eliminate the problem, Sebastian had counseled patience, suggesting Mr. Storms might unwittingly provide useful information.
“I knew he wouldn’t last long,” Sebastian chuckled, “although I believe terminated is a more appropriate term in this case.”
As her forehead wrinkled in confusion, I glanced at Sebastian.
Terminated, indeed. That very night by Zane, whose unorthodox use of a spoon had made me proud.
Such a pity the late Mr. Storms hadn’t been able to share anything we didn’t already know. I would have dearly loved to discover the name of the mole in my court. Still, it was only a matter of time before Sebastian or I discovered our leak.
“I do recognize the boy who brings the dishes from the kitchen.” Apparently, Seri was either oblivious to the murderous undercurrent or ignoring it. “I meant to introduce myself, but my husbands hog all my attention at meal times. Well, at all times, really.”
As Sebastian tipped his head back and laughed at that, my mind brought up a snapshot of another employee dossier: Wentzel, Addison Guzman. 14. Newly orphaned. His custody was Mrs. Wentzel’s price to come out of retirement and command the kitchen here, and it was one I’d been more than happy to pay.
A top-of-her-class graduate of both culinary school and a prestigious bodyguard academy wasn’t easy to find, after all.
“Do you leave the meal planning up to my brothers, or do you simply eat whatever Mrs. Wentzel makes?” Sebastian asked, his eyes still glittering with humor.
“I don’t know who makes the menu, but today we’re having pierogi!” she chirped happily as if she’d announced Almas caviar.
“Pierogi?” Unable to hide my surprise, I exchanged raised eyebrows with Sebastian.
“I had never had them before I came here, but we did for lunch the other day. They were so delicious that I asked if I could have them again with my special guests today, and Simmy said yes!” Her grin faded as her face fell. “Wait. Do you not like them?”
“My dear sister! We’re connoisseurs of pierogi, right, Dad?”
Although my face remained blank, I laughed quietly to myself. To my knowledge, Sebastian had never eaten anything so humble as pierogi in his life. Yet here he was, ready to dive in with gusto, all for the sake of making Seri feel at ease. It was a side of him I hadn’t seen in a long time.
Sure enough, the dining room smelled of browned butter and rebellion against haute cuisine.
The half-moon dumplings glistened on their platters, a peasant dish on Spode china.
One bite, however, and they proved themselves more than worthy of Seri’s praise: Crisp golden parcels bursting with rich goat cheese and fresh thyme.
With unholy amusement, I watched as Sebastian tentatively speared one. He bit into it, paused, then demolished the plate with the fervor of a werewolf at a steakhouse.
“Does your beloved make the menu at your palace?” Seri asked, smiling again to see his enthusiastic gorging. “Zane explained that Queen Kaori is a nephilim, not a vampire.”
Grinning, Sebastian launched into a tale of Kaori smuggling takoyaki into a state banquet. As he described octopus tentacles rolling under a diplomat’s chair, Seri’s laughter chimed silver-bright until a thunder of paws shook the chandelier.
A dire wolf pup skidded into view, fur matted with leaves, a decimated leather boot hanging from his knife-long teeth. My fangs pierced my gums before conscious thought.
“Stand back!” Sebastian barked, shoving Seri behind us.
“Bad boy, Brummy!” She slipped through our guard like mist. “You’ll choke on the laces!”
“That’s the salmon thief Zane mentioned?” Sebastian gaped at the beast, all gangly limbs and patchy fur, as it collapsed into wriggling submission beneath her gentle hands. My fangs retracted as she nuzzled the monstrosity whose head already reached her waist.
Up close, the creature’s scars mapped a history of cruelty, and the absolute trust in his blue eyes as Seri scratched his mangled ear undid every doubt I’d had about a dire so close to my new daughter.
Koa’s dry voice echoed in my memory: “He’s ours now. Her heart’s forever entwined with his.”
It was so easy to see, too, how the fierce tenderness that tamed my sons had tamed a crippled dire as well. This slip of a girl with her fraying cardigan and steel-spine hope would raze empires for those she loved.
“Jump, mutt!” With a grin, my man-child son dangled a pierogi over the wolf’s head.
The ensuing chaos involved airborne dumplings, a shattered glass, and Seri standing hands-on-hips like a wrathful nymph.
“Prince Sebastian Ro?u! Apologize to Brummy this instant!”
“Me? Apologize to a dire?” Sebastian choked with wide eyes.
“Yes! You called my baby a mutt!”
As Brumous licked stolen filling off Sebastian’s tattooed fingers and guards swarmed the room, I sipped my wine and observed the witchling who folded trauma into humor, who wielded vulnerability like a blade, who commanded princes and predators alike.
Before me stood not a timid mouse, but a general strategizing love’s chessboard. And she was Arabesque’s greatest error. Clutching at costume jewelry, the Dark witch had discarded a diamond, mistaking its facets for fragility.
How stupid of her, I mused, to forget that diamonds cut deepest of all.