Chapter 5 - Ameera
5
AMEERA
Several nights pass and my frustration with Anson, as well as myself, grows and grows. He refuses to learn anything I try to teach about being a vampire. Every time I insist he needs to learn control over his rampant emotions and his bloodlust, he either becomes enraged or seduces me into bed, using sex as a weapon to distract me from my purpose. I accomplish nothing but a pointless confrontation before being forced to glamour him out of yet another psychotic breakdown or I’m left heartbroken after multiple orgasms that leave me feeling used and ashamed.
The man can’t even bring himself to look at me when he’s inside me now, and despite that, I can’t seem to resist letting him distract me with sex again and again. My love for him makes me weak. It makes me hope that maybe one of these times he’ll look at me with the same softness and warmth he did when he was human, when he still loved me. Now I just catch fleeting hints of it that are quickly banished by anger and resentment, and I fear I’ll see no sort of tenderness in my zem?r’s eyes again.
Tonight, I was on the receiving end of both of his avoidance tactics. I walk out of my bedroom with a change of clothes tucked under one arm and close the door behind me, my sex still wet and throbbing from the thorough and deep pounding he gave me before his post orgasmic haze erupted into yet another angry outburst. All because I asked him if he was willing to let me teach him control again. He ended up huddled in the fetal position on the floor just like every other time, sobbing and screaming, until I glamoured him into unconsciousness yet again a few moments ago.
I’m at a loss and don’t know what to do. How am I supposed to teach him anything when he won’t listen to me? How can I show him that life as a vampire can be just as good and fulfilling as his human life was if he won’t let me? And most of all, how can I ever earn his forgiveness if he won’t even give me a chance?
I sigh, then head upstairs to the second floor, entering the guest bedroom where Anson stayed, glancing at the wall where we had sex for the first time and his duffel bag left abandoned on the dresser on my way to the bathroom. I pull my sex-tousled hair up into a loose bun before taking a brief shower and drying off, then slip on the jeans I brought with me. I pick up the blue silk camisole I brought with me, then stare at it for a moment before abandoning it on the bathroom counter. Then I walk out into the bedroom and over to Anson’s duffel bag, take one of his T-shirts out, and pull it on. It’s huge and fits me terribly, and the soft cotton feels scratchy to my sensitive skin, but I don’t care. I shut my eyes and revel in his scent and try not to dwell on the thought that the last time he wore it was before truly hating me like he does now.
“Ameera!”
Samuel’s sudden frantic shout from downstairs draws me out of my maudlin reverie. I dart out of the room and downstairs to the front door, where my progeny is waiting with a panicked expression.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“There’s some bloke claiming to be Anson’s father at the gate demanding to see his son,” Samuel says.
I huff out a breath as a pit of dread opens up in my stomach. “I was afraid this might happen.”
“I thought Anson had him magically locked up because of his dementia,” he says with a frown. “But he seems bloody with it to me right now and he’s pissed off.”
“Roman Durant’s dementia spell must have finally worn off after his death,” I say, then tap an absent finger against my lips as I consider my options.
Something tells me Anson’s father won’t take it well if I turn him away, and I’m not about to risk my guards to an angry mage with an ax to grind. I need to tell him the truth and hope he takes it better than his son did.
“Let him in and bring him to the back patio,” I tell my progeny. “I’ll meet you there.” I can’t meet him inside the house because Anson’s ward is still functional and only allows Samuel, Harrison, Dre, and myself to pass through it.
Samuel nods. “And I’ll insist he abide by the rules of hospitality, too.”
“Good idea,” I say, irritated at not thinking of that myself as he walks away.
Neither of us will be beholden to the rules of hospitality since I have no innate magic, but I’m hoping the man is just as forthright as his son and will honor the agreement. I can’t imagine he wouldn’t be, given the kind of man he raised.
I glance down at myself and consider changing clothes to keep up appearances as Master of the City, but realize I don’t care. Not if I have to take off Anson’s T-shirt to do it. It makes me feel close to him, and I’ve had very little of that since turning him.
I head to the kitchen and out through the back door onto the patio, then take a seat at the round wrought-iron table. A gentle rain is pattering down on the awning above me and the soothing noise does nothing to settle the nerves fluttering in my chest as I wait for Anson’s father. It’s an odd sensation I haven’t felt in more decades than I care to count, and I don’t like it. I shouldn’t want the man’s approval and I surely won’t be getting it after I tell him what happened to his son, but my heart wants what it wants.
Eventually, Samuel appears, leading a tall older man with a head of wild silver curls and a matching unkempt beard up the sidewalk to the porch. I stare at him as he approaches, stunned by how much he resembles Anson. They both have the same intense pale blue eyes, high cheekbones, chiseled jawline, and that all too familiar scowl that’s been directed at me far too much of late. Apparently, I’m destined to end up on the wrong side of every Hale I meet. I rise as they approach, putting on a cool and collected front despite the dread threatening to overwhelm me.
“I’m Ameera Fatali. Welcome to my home,” I say, then wave a hand toward the table just behind me. “Please have a seat.”
He ignores my offer and stops a few feet away, wise enough to glare at my nose to avoid my glamour. “I’m Allen Hale, and I want to know where my son is,” he demands, his deep steely voice eerily similar to Anson’s too. “And don’t bother lying,” he adds as magic glimmers in his eyes. “My daughter told me he was in a relationship” -that last word is laced with so much sarcasm- “with you, so I know he’s here, and whatever hold you have on him with your glamour ends now.” More magic glitters along his fingertips as his scowl deepens. “Or I’ll end you.”
Samuel tenses up next to him, ready to jump to my defense. Bollocks. This isn’t going well at all.
“That’s unnecessary,” I say, keeping my tone even in a more than likely useless attempt to placate him. “He’s inside, and I’d gladly take you to him, but the ward on the house prevents that.”
“What unscrupulous shit mage did you con into putting a ward on a vampire’s house?” he asks with a sneer.
“Your son,” I answer, my voice anything but calm now. This man’s attitude is really pissing me off. “Without my permission, by the way. He can be hardheaded and brash when he wants something. Apparently, it runs in the family.”
Allen Hale clenches his jaw at my comment, then turns his attention toward the house. He lifts a hand palm out toward the building and his eyes brighten and glitter with magic for a few moments before they whip back toward me and blaze even brighter.
“That ward has gone to shit,” he says, his voice a rough and vicious snarl. “My son would never allow that to happen if he could help it. And the only thing in that house I can sense right now is a goddamn vampire, so I’m going to ask you one more time and you better not fucking lie to me again.” He glowers at me as he lifts his hand and a ball of crackling white fire ignites in his palm, the unmistakable heat of UV light licking painfully at my skin. “Where is my son?”
Samuel moves a step forward, but I wave him off before he makes things worse. Being threatened like this on my own property should anger me, but all I feel is pity for Allen Hale and more guilt for what I’ve done. The fallout from turning Anson just keeps coming at me over and over again. It makes me wonder if I did indeed make a mistake. Not that it matters now. What’s done is done, and I’ll deal with the ramifications as they come.
I take in a breath and address Anson’s father with a sympathetic expression. “Your son is in my house.”
He growls low in his throat as he leans in closer. “I said, no more lies.”
I expect him to fling his ball of UV fire at me now, but he extinguishes it and turns his attention toward my house instead. He spreads his arms wide, his eyes flashing a brilliant white as he calls out, “Diruo!”
Whatever spell he’s casting is substantial because even I can feel the wave of magic he flings at the building. He moves forward after that, making a beeline for the back door into my kitchen. He yanks it open and steps inside, and I realize the spell he just used took down the ward Anson placed. It must have weakened significantly if Allen Hale could dismantle it with such ease. I’m so stunned that I don’t react to what he’s doing until he staggers and collapses onto the floor a few feet inside the house.
“Bloody hell,” I say as I rise and rush over to the man, then kneel next to him so I can check him over.
“Is he alright?” Samuel says as he comes up behind me.
The man’s breathing is erratic and his color is pale, but his heart is beating in a steady cadence. “I think so.” I grip the man’s shoulder and give it a small shake, but get no response and frown. Bollocks. This isn’t good. I suspect Allen Hale has overextended his magical energy, but given his recent recovery from Roman Durant’s dementia spell, I can’t be sure it isn’t something else.
“What now?” Samuel asks.
I sigh, rising to my feet again as an idea to solve both my current problems occurs to me. “Take him down to the sitting room and put him on one of the sofas there.”
He frowns. “And then what?”
I’m not proud of what I’m about to suggest, but if dangling his father as bait beneath his fangs is what it takes to get through to Anson, then so be it. I’m just that desperate. “Then we show Anson exactly why he needs to learn control.”