Kazimir #3
She aimed the question at Nikolay, who fielded it with a warmth that always caught me off guard. “Trial and error,” he said, and steepled his fingers. “Mostly error. But we are old and resilient. Our father’s rules have kept us alive.”
“Oh!” She almost shouted. “Sorry. I just thought of something. I’ve gotten used to the nighttime schedule, but I’ve seen you all operate in the daytime. You don’t seem to be drained of energy or have sensitivity to sunlight. Is it a myth that vampires will burn in the sun?”
“This is a valid question,” I told her. “And I will explain. It is true that vampires must take rest during daylight hours. They will feel a bit of an energy drain during the time between sunrise and sunset; although it is a myth that they are weakened to the point of incapacitation. Sunlight, however, is deadly. But for born vampires, neither is a weakness. Born vampires is just as the term implies. My children were conceived by their mothers and myself and carried to term, then born as infants. They were not turned as adults. Only the sovereign line of vampires are born.”
“Also,” Bohdan chimed in, “we are close knit and it is fortunate that we like as well as love each other.”
Maksym’s mouth twitched—his version of a laugh. “The first rule was always: protect the family. At all costs.”
“Even above the House?” Devon asked, eyes intent.
Maksym nodded. “Always. We have survived centuries because we put blood before power.”
Devon took this in, nodding with the slow, measured grace I’d come to expect from her. Then she turned to Lucia, who had curled up on the settee with her legs tucked underneath, Ryder’s arm draped casually around her shoulders.
“And you are a hybrid and a member of the Iron Valor Wolf Pack,” Devon said. “You’re the first vampire to be accepted into a shifter pack, right? That’s… epic. What’s it like?”
Lucia’s smile was sharp and sudden. “Wild, literally. They don’t do pretense. When they love you, you know it. When they want you dead, you also know it. There’s freedom in that.”
Devon’s gaze flicked to Ryder, who simply grunted in agreement. “It’s true. You don’t want to get on their Luna, Juliet’s bad side. Or Lucia’s, for that matter.”
Devon grinned. “Good to know. I look forward to meeting them, truly.”
Ryder gave her a sideways glance. “They are not necessarily refined. We’ve been known to rip the throats out of our enemies. But I’m a doctor. I can always patch them back up if they cry sufficiently enough.”
The inappropriate laughter in the room relaxed everyone even more. Even Bohdan seemed less a predator and more a mischievous sibling, lounging with one ankle crossed over his knee and sipping from a glass of blood-laced wine. He appraised Devon over the rim of his glass.
“So, tell us,” Bohdan said. “What’s it like being an angel in a den of monsters?”
Devon considered. “Honestly? Less stressful than working at Margie’s Diner. And less dangerous.”
Bohdan huffed a laugh. “Now that’s saying something about Margies.”
Taras leaned forward. “What were you before the fall? Warrior, messenger, or…?”
Devon explained her role and duties as a guardian angel.
“Dad’s always had a thing for overachievers,” Lucia drawled.
Nikolay’s turn: “Will you return to your work at Obsidian, Devon? Or will you focus solely on fighting angels?”
Devon blushed. “I know I barely started at the club, but I liked it. Once the angel fight is over, I want to be useful to Kazimir in his business. I’m good at what I do, and I think being with people—supernaturals, I mean; will be something I’ll enjoy.”
Maksym smiled, a slow, rare thing. “You’re the only angel in the world who finds comfort in a sex club.”
“Obsidian is about more than sex,” Devon said, suddenly serious. “It’s about balance. Order. It felt…safe. Like home.”
That stunned them all, if only for a heartbeat. Home, in the mouth of a creature who’d never had one.
Nikolay raised his glass. “Then to Obsidian. May it shelter us from heaven’s wrath.”
“Hear, hear,” the twins echoed.
Even Lucia joined in, nudging Ryder until he did the same.
From my vantage, I watched it unfold: the slow dissolution of boundaries, the subtle shift from war plans to family gathering. It was proof that monsters could adapt.
At some point, Devon excused herself to the kitchen, drawn by the promise of coffee. I followed, catching her at the threshold, where she was staring at the grounds left in the French press.
“Did I pass the test?” She asked, voice barely above a whisper.
“You smashed it,” I said. “They already consider you one of us.”
She smiled, small and real. “Good. Because I want to be. Even if it means fighting against my own kind.”
I brushed her hair behind her ear. “You will not fight alone. Never again.”
She leaned into my hand. “I know.”
As we returned to the family room, I felt something unfamiliar swelling in my chest—a warmth I hadn’t felt since my children were young and their world was still unbroken. It was dangerous, this hope. But I was old enough to know what mattered.