Chapter 3
Chapter three
Jack
It only took about an hour before my boots were crunching up the gravel driveway of the Durand home.
I slammed the front door shut behind me as I stepped into the house. It was more of a mini-mansion than a house, with half a dozen bedrooms and baths. The sharp scent of lemon cleaner just barely covered the coppery tinge of blood in the air.
It smelled like home.
I didn’t bother being quiet as I toed off my boots. My eyes flickered to the gouge in the wood floor next to my shoes, where I’d been eight and new to daggers. My dad, Darren, had scolded me for an hour over keeping my weapons in the training room, all while my other dads laughed.
“Jaquelynn?” an accented voice called out to me. “Is that you?”
Huffing, I stalked through the foyer, passing under the side sweeping staircases and through to the dining room. Lounging on one of the chairs of the long dining table was one of my dads, Wynn, a lazy grin on his lips and a glass of red liquid in his hand.
“Oh, it is you.” His head rolled, his dark hair brushing the edges of his shoulders as his dark blue eyes settled onto me. His face was still as handsome as it had been when he was changed, back in some part of Italy some few centuries ago. Something he decidedly didn’t like to talk about.
“I don’t know why you even ask. You can smell me the moment I walk in the door.” I reached out, plucked the glass out of his hands, and walked toward the kitchen. “You know dad hates when you get blood on the carpet.”
Some might call my dad, Darren, the butler, but he hadn’t been only that for years, not since before I was born. Now, he was more of the housekeeper. Keeping everything in line, the groceries stocked, and the house clean.
That was something that used to be my mom’s job, but nowadays, mom preferred to be deep in hunter and supernatural affairs as opposed to cleaning.
I didn’t fault her. From what my dads told me, she tended to break more things than clean them.
“I was still drinking that,” Wynn called out, chasing after me into the kitchen.
I set the glass on the island and reached for an apple out of the fruit bowl. “Then you can drink it here and not in the dining room.”
“I’ll have you know I haven’t spilled blood… accidentally… in over fifty years.” He huffed and slid on the barstool before his glass. “Besides, who’s the parent here? Shouldn’t I be telling you not to make a mess?”
“Sometimes I wonder,” I muttered to myself as I opened the fridge.
One would think that having seven dads would mean that I had every need taken care of and was treated like a virtual princess in my own home.
That might have been the case when I was little. However, at twenty-five, I felt more like the babysitter and sometimes referee more than anything else.
“You’re hurt,” Wynn said after a moment of silence.
Grabbing one of our cook Tabby’s pre-made meals out of the fridge, I closed it and turned to him. “Friendly fire.”
“You know she’s not going to care.” Wynn lifted a perfectly arched brow.
I popped the lid off the container, breathing in the aroma of the chicken parmesan before thrusting it into the microwave. Leaning against the counter, I crossed my arms and frowned. “And how many times have you healed her over the years?”
Wynn didn’t answer.
“Exactly,” I pointed out. “And it’s nothing. Hardly noticeable.”
“You’re bleeding.”
Wynn chuckled.
I blew out a long breath, eyes locking onto the redhead that had just stepped into the kitchen. Not bothering to answer the unasked question, I brought the image of what happened to the forefront of my mind while I searched for a clean fork.
“I always said Ives was a shit shot.” My dad, Rayne, slid onto the stool next to Wynn, making it squeak. “Your mom is going to freak.”
“That’s what I told her,” Wynn lazily added. “This will only solidify what she has planned…”
I stiffened. “What?”
Rayne tapped a finger on the table. “You know how she feels about you hunting, Jack.”
Pulling my food from the microwave, I stabbed my fork into it. “And you know I think it’s hypocritical bullshit. She was my age when she started hunting vampires. Why is what I’m doing any different?”
“I thought I heard my favorite daughter in here,” a cheerful voice called out.
“I’m your only daughter.” My eyes flicked up from my food to meet two sets of blue-green eyes. Drake and Allister, twins and two of my vampire dads, though they’d always felt more like big brothers than dads.
Except when it came to ganging up on me. Then they were all for what everyone wanted as a collective to keep me safe.
Drake rounded the islands, his bulky body more fit for a gym bro than the aristocrat’s son that he and his brother were when they were human. “That doesn’t mean I can’t still be happy to see you and in one piece too!”
“She’s hurt.” Allister pointed out, sliding into the remaining seat at the island next to Rayne.
Drake cupped my chin and turned my face. “Oh, man. Now, I owe Al fifty bucks.”
I jerked my face from his grasp with a glare. “You bet on when I got hurt?”
“Well, yeah.” Drake shrugged, then ruffled my hair. I lifted my arm to push him off as he laughed. “When you’ve been alive as long as we have, you find ways to pass the time. Your little hunter schtick is just our latest entertainment.”
I opened my mouth to snap that hunting wasn’t my schtick, it was my life, but a large dark figure filled the doorway of the kitchen. My mouth clipped shut at the sight of my other dad, Marcus.
His dark eyes skimmed over the room before landing on me. His gaze zeroed in on the cut on my face, but he didn’t comment. That was one of the few reasons Marcus was my favorite; he didn’t waste time stating the obvious.
“Your mother wants to see you.” His voice had a low, gravelly tone, leaving no room for argument.
Sighing, I stabbed my fork into my food and pushed away from the island. I got about four feet toward the door before Allister, Drake, and Rayne began humming the funeral march.
I didn’t bother turning as I flipped them off, their collective laughter following after me.
Marcus strode up the stairs ahead of me toward Antoine’s office. As the head vampire of the household, all decisions went through him, as well as most of their business interests.
The House of Durand had only existed for about as long as I’d been living. My dads all used to live in Europe with their master, Boris, until they up and decided one day that they’d had enough of his manipulative and torturous ways.
Now, they were one of the most powerful vampire houses in the world. Even more so now that my dad, Antoine, was the head of our region’s vampire council. Which, unfortunately, brought its own set of problems with it.
A cold shudder went down my spine as a memory came out of nowhere. The Halloween lights and decorations became more sinister as Marcus held my hand. The laughing faces of the vampires taunted me. Then their heads were rolling on the ground as I pushed down my terror.
“Jack?”
My eyes jerked toward where Marcus waited for me in front of Antoine’s office. I blinked and shook my head, offering him a small smile. “I’m good.”
Understanding filled his eyes.
It had been fifteen years since the first time I’d been kidnapped. At ten years old, I didn’t really get what was going on, but it stuck with me long afterward, even more so than any of the other times disgruntled vampires tried to hurt my parents through me.
I knew Marcus still felt guilty about that first time, and I tried my best to hide how it affected me, to be quiet even in my nightmares, to be strong so they wouldn’t worry. Building myself into a weapon so that no vampire or any other supernatural would ever use me against them. Never again.
Breathing in a shuddering breath, I pushed the office door open and stepped inside.
Antoine’s pale blue eyes lifted from his computer at my entry, his silvery white hair hung long over his dark blue three-piece suit. To his right stood my mom, Piper. Everyone told me she was a shorter version of me, but I didn’t see it.
We both had almond-colored eyes, but that was where our similarities changed.
Her hair was golden blonde, while I took after my dad, Darren, who stood to the left of Antoine.
Though, if he had curls to his pitch-black hair, I had never seen them with the way he kept his hair slicked back to his head, as if he was afraid to have even a single hair out of place.
Where she had a pale peachy skin color, I had more of an olive complexion. Where I took things seriously, everything was a joke to her. How she’d lived this long without pissing some vampires off astounded me.
“You’re hurt,” Antoine parroted the same words the others had.
“So I’ve been told.” I flopped down on one of the plush chairs before his desk. “Is that all you called me up here for? Because my food is getting cold, and you know how much I love Gretchen’s chicken parmesan recipe.”
“There’s chicken parmesan?” My mom’s eyes widened, and she shifted to move from behind the desk.
Antoine’s hand latched onto her wrist, a silent reminder that caused her to fall back in place.
“Oh, right. Uh…” Her gaze slipped over to Antoine and then back to me, leaning forward slightly.
“Was there more, or did you get the last—?”
“Piper,” Antoine’s clipped tone cut her off.
My mom huffed, crossing her arms over her navy-blue dress. “What? You know we rarely get food from Gretchen anymore. Not since she retired. It kind of takes precedence.”
“Technically, I think Tabby made it, but it’s definitely Gretchen’s recipe.” I curled my fingers over the arms of the chair, happy for the mundane conversation over whatever brought me here right after a hunt.
“Still, her cooking is the best I’ve ever had.” My mom shot a look at Darren. “Sorry, honey, but it’s true.”
Darren simply shook his head, his lips twitching at the end.