Epilogue
A mos signed off of a video conference with an Australian client and pushed away from his desk. He climbed the stairs to the third floor, pausing to admire the green room—filled with lush, beautiful, and strange plants that all had finicky, absurdly particular needs that Tessa had somehow memorized and catered to. He admired her dedication, and he was grateful for it, too. Having a jungle room in the house was unexpectedly soothing.
As he leaned in close to examine a bright blue orchid, a vicious stream of cursing drifted in from the other room. Biting back a smile, he abandoned the plants. Leaning against the doorway of her craft room, he watched as Tessa wrestled with a giant snarled ball of thread and fabric stuck beneath the presser foot of her sewing machine.
“How’s the sewing going?” he asked wryly.
“Amazing!” Tessa fumed. “Can’t you tell by the couture gown I’ve created?” She gestured sourly at the tangled mess.
“It’s beautiful. You can wear it to dinner tonight. ”
A barely audible sigh came from the other side of the room. Phillipe sat in the window seat, intently focused on the embroidery hoop in his hands. Taut white linen was embellished with a half-finished scene of a wooden ship on a stormy sea.
“Everything alright, Phillipe?” Amos asked.
His progeny looked up, watchful and still. He was wearing modern clothes—black jeans and a red sweater over a collared grey shirt—but there was something about him that still screamed Old World. While he was technically younger than Amos, having only been a full-fledged vampire for six months now, he’d lived for a little more than a century longer than Amos. By piecing together his few faint mortal memories, they’d been able to determine that he’d been living in Paris during The Terror, when Alex Markov had enthralled him. Then he’d spent the next several centuries enslaved to that cruel, despotic, mercurial sire.
As a result, he had a bone-deep distrust of vampires. But he’d made huge strides in building trust with Amos. He no longer flinched when Amos spoke, no longer tried to hide when he heard Amos moving around the house. He never sought him out intentionally, but he finally seemed able to comfortably tolerate Amos’s company. Somewhat surprisingly, he’d taken immediately to Etta when they’d been introduced.
But, by far, his favorite person was very obviously Tessa. An outside observer would be forgiven for thinking that Tessa was his dam. Phillipe was playful and relaxed in her company, laughing and bantering with her as if they were the oldest of friends.
“Is that comfortable enough?” Amos asked him, indicating the sweater and jeans. In acclimating Phillipe to the modern conventions he’d never had the chance to learn as one of Markov’s mistreated and neglected thralls, it turned out that clothing was one of the most disorienting changes for him. The close, stiff fit of denim jeans and the body-contoured tailoring of modern men’s shirts made him feel claustrophobic in his own skin. Most of the time, he opted to wear sweatpants and loose t-shirts.
But tonight, they were taking another big step in Phillipe’s recovery—they were going out . And that required a certain degree of polish.
“Doesn’t he clean up so well?” Tessa asked happily, surveying the young vampire with obvious pride.
Phillipe preened under Tessa’s approval, smoothing his hair almost shyly. He was a stunningly beautiful man, with raven hair, cobalt blue eyes, and a facial structure that had to have been carved by the hands of an angel. He’d probably been in his mid-twenties when he was turned. He had a full beard and chest hair, and decent muscle mass, but there was still a youthful prettiness to his features that suggested a man who’d only just stepped into full adulthood.
Amos wasn’t even remotely threatened by Tessa’s affection for Phillipe. That was largely because he trusted her without question. But he was also spared having to worry that Phillipe might misinterpret her affection because, despite fixating on Tessa while he was still a thrall, his fondness for her was entirely platonic.
As time passed, Amos could feel his bond to Phillipe growing, solidifying. For a man who had never had a single paternal inclination in his entire life, he was quickly becoming extremely protective of his unplanned progeny. And while the bond wasn’t as strong on Phillipe’s end—Etta had warned him that would be the case—Amos could sense Phillipe’s growing comfort and ease with him. Despite Phillipe’s affection for Tessa, Amos was the only one who could soothe him through the overstimulation that came with adjusting to the enhanced sensory acuity of a vampire.
In the early days of Amos’s own turning, Etta had often held him in a vice-like embrace while she talked him through the overstimulated panic attacks brought on by the noise of traffic, the glare of city lights, crowds of people, and so many other panicky moments. For Phillipe, it was much the same, except now the cars were faster and louder, the city lights were brighter and more numerous, and the people were even more densely packed.
“Are you ready to see Etta and Fran?” Amos asked both of them.
Tessa straightened. “Is it time to leave already? Hang on, I need a minute to change and touch up my face.” She darted out of the room, hurrying down the stairs to the bedroom.
Alone with Amos, Phillipe fell silent again, staring at his embroidery project. Embroidery was one of the many crafts Tessa had attempted and then tired of in her efforts to find an artistic hobby. But after watching her butchered attempts, Phillipe had taken her abandoned supplies and proven to be adept at it. The precision, the focus, the methodical movements all seemed to help calm and steady him.
“Are you ready?” Amos asked gently. “It’s alright if you’re not. We can do this another time.” Their plans tonight would be Phillipe’s first time in a crowded social environment with both humans and vampires for a prolonged amount of time.
“I’m ready,” Phillipe answered quietly, keeping his gaze fixed on the embroidery hoop.
The restaurant they’d chosen was a vampire-owned venue that, while social, was fairly subdued. The lighting was low, the noise tolerable. The restaurant also served mortal patrons—oblivious to the existence of vampires—which necessitated the vampires behave discreetly. There was a special menu of blood cocktails that wasn’t shown to ordinary humans, which were served in dark glassware that kept the contents hidden.
It was an ideal place to take Phillipe. As they stepped into the vestibule, the noise of the street dropped away. They approached the hostess’s station where a human woman with a silvery claim mark on her lower lip waited. Her gaze landed on the mark on Tessa’s neck with knowing recognition, and she greeted them warmly.
Beyond the entry, the hum of dozens of disconnected conversations filled the space. Candlelight danced in colored crystal votives on each table. The sounds of clattering ceramic and intermittent pounding came from the kitchen, visible through a large pass-through window behind the long, mirror-paneled bar.
Phillipe stiffened, inhaling sharply, hands curling into white-knuckled fists. Obviously overstimulated. Amos put a hand on the back of Phillipe’s neck, squeezing firmly, redirecting the younger vampire’s focus. He relaxed under Amos’s control.
“Could we have an out-of-the-way table?” Tessa asked the hostess. “Somewhere quiet?”
The hostess gave Phillipe a sympathetic smile. “Of course. This way.”
She set them up at a corner table, away from the bar and slightly screened by a large potted plant. Amos ordered a blood cocktail for Phillipe, who was busy staring fixedly at the other tables in the restaurant.
A few minutes later, Etta and Fran arrived. Etta greeted Phillipe with a noisy kiss on the cheek. “My beautiful grandson!” she cooed.
Amos rolled his eyes. Fran and Tessa grinned. Phillipe ducked his head bashfully.
Drinks arrived, and the conversation turned to community gossip. After presenting Tessa to the Council for approval, Amos hadn’t attended another Council event, except for a private meeting with a few Councilors to let them know about Phillipe while sparing him the overwhelming experience of a fully-attended Council hearing. But Etta worked for the Council, and always knew the latest goings-on.
Phillipe was quiet, just watching and listening. He didn’t look overwhelmed, but he didn’t look relaxed either.
Tessa leaned over, laying a hand on Phillipe’s arm. “Alright?” she asked.
He nodded, but he turned his hand over, taking hold of Tessa’s. She held on, offering him comfort in the intimidating new environment. Amos put his arm around Tessa’s shoulders, thanking her without words for her kindness, offering his own warmth and strength to her.
“…and Everett said they have confirmation that the wolves that attacked you at Montrose Beach are from the pack in northern Wisconsin,” Etta was saying. “I’m still sussing out the details, but I get the sense that the Council thinks the attack was a retaliation.”
Amos frowned. “Retaliation for what?”
Etta shrugged, her expression grave. “I don’t know, but I don’t like it. Instead of figuring out how to prevent future attacks, the Council only seems concerned about keeping the news hushed up.”
Amos shook his head, brow furrowed. “They made me testify publicly about the attack at the state park. Why is the second attack a secret?”
“No, Councilor Juneja made you testify. Quite a few Councilors were pissed that she sprang that without a proper vote.”
Amos was troubled by the news, but he wasn’t here for conspiracy theories and politics. They were there for Phillipe.
With a dam’s unnerving omniscience, Etta picked up on his reaction and turned her attention to the other vampire. “What do you think, grandbaby? How’s the cocktail?”
Phillipe looked down at his barely-touched drink, wrinkling his nose. Amos shared the sentiment, though for different reasons. Nothing tasted as good as Tessa, especially not doctored blood bank mixes. For Phillipe, drinking blood in and of itself was a tricky subject. As Markov’s thrall, he’d only ever fed on human blood on his sire’s orders. After Markov’s death, he’d nearly wasted away for his refusal to feed on humans. Now a fully-turned vampire, the compulsion to feed was impossible to resist, and yet the aversion persisted. Amos had half-hoped that the elaborate mixology of a blood cocktail served in high-end glassware would put psychological distance between the cruelties he’d committed against his will and the harmless method he now lived on. It was a vain hope, apparently.
“It’s alright,” Amos told him. “You don’t have to drink it.”
“If you don’t want it, pass it to your grandmama.” Etta held out a hand, and Phillipe passed the glass over without hesitation.
They stayed for a bit longer, talking about lighter topics in which Etta and Fran both tried to draw Phillipe into participating. It was clear, though, that simply being there was occupying a lot of his mental space. Before Phillipe became too overwhelmed, Amos settled the bill, and they went home.
Back at the house, Amos reassured Phillipe that he’d done well. Phillipe offered a faint smile, which was promising, but he was obviously worn out by the outing. He got blood from the fridge and drank it in his usual ascetic, almost masochistic way—fridge-cold and straight out of the bag. Hunger assuaged, he went upstairs, his demeanor making it obvious that he wanted to be by himself.
Tessa and Amos settled in the living room, curled together on the couch as they talked quietly.
“Did we push him too far?” Tessa asked.
Amos didn’t answer her right away, feeling along his bond for a sense of Phillipe’s emotional state. There was weariness, and relief at being home, but no anxiety, no overstimulation.
“No,” he finally answered Tessa. “He’s just tired. He’ll bounce back after a solid daysleep.”
She let out a soft sigh. “Good.”
Amos pulled her closer, pressing his nose against her throat. “Enough about the stray you adopted. I have needs to be seen to, fragile mortal.”
“Amos!” Tessa objected on a laugh. “Don’t call him that! And see to your own needs, you barbarian.”
Amos chuckled darkly as she twisted against him, trying to escape. He flipped her onto her stomach, pinning her to the couch. She continued to struggle, but the scent of her arousal was already perfuming the air .
“Let me go,” she tried to hiss, but it was ruined by a laugh.
“So mouthy,” Amos growled against her ear. “I can fix that.” He covered her mouth with one hand. His other hand went to the hem of her dress, flipping it up to expose her generous ass. She bucked against him, making muffled sounds of objection. His gaze flew quickly to her hands, making certain they were free to snap if she needed to, then back to the lush curves of her backside.
He leaned down again, putting his lips next to her ear. “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way,” he growled. “If you hold still and mind your manners, I’ll only take your blood. But if you keep fighting me, I’ll bury my cock in that sweet little cunt while my fangs are buried in your neck.”
Tessa began to fight him with renewed vigor. A wicked smile curling his lips, Amos set out to make good on his promise. When he’d made her come over and over and over, feeling the delicious grip of her pussy around his cock, he finally let himself go, flooding her with his own shattering release.
Sweaty, gasping, they lay as they’d fallen, Amos’s bulk still half-sprawled over Tessa.
“Amos?” she said muzzily, slowly emerging from the haze of his venom.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“I love you. Forever.”
He smiled, pressed his lips to her forehead. “I love you forever.”