Page 37 of Succubus Sins
I narrowed my eyes. “About who?”
He drew in a deep breath, held it as if whatever he was about to say was difficult to admit, and then expelled it with the words, “Your daughter.”
I balked. A hundred thoughts flew through my mind, but none of them helped that statement make any sense. I’d never given birth, and if I did, I’d certainly remember it. “What the hell are you talking about?”
The flight attendant caught my wild gaze in the rearview mirror. Towering buildings cast us into a shadow, blocking out what little light the overcast skies offered. “There’s a reason I look so old,” he said. His eyes went hard and a flash of anger crossed his face. Then it transformed into resignation and he looked back to the street. “The price for your Blood Stone wasn’t just a night with the King. You affected others, too.”
I blinked, my chest constricting and my breath coming in short gasps. My eyes followed the wrinkled lines on his face. “What do you mean?”
Nate waved a hand dismissively. “You’ll learn about it soon enough. For now, know that when you slept with my father and mother,” he said with a surprisingly straight face, “you helped them create something they’ve been after for a very long time.”
Something. Not someone, but something.
I knew that I had helped Silvia and Derek conceive, but that had been barely a few days ago. And last I’d checked, it took nine months to have a baby, and the girl we saw in the elevator had to have been at least sixteen.
“But—” I began, but Nate cut me off.
“It’s not anaturalbirth, by any means. You are her mother, just as much as Silvia is.”
Whoa. That was far too much to take in. I shook my head and groaned, leaning into the cigarette-scented seat.
The car eased to a stop and waited at one of the many traffic lights. There seemed to be a new light every two feet. I gazed out the window, hoping to be calmed by the sight of a tree or friendly face, but all I saw was a blinding sea of yellow paint. We were surrounded by an incessant number of taxis and I numbly wondered why they couldn’t use a more attractive color.
“We’ll make it on time,” the flight attendant announced.
I shifted in the seat and peered over his shoulder, trying to match his gaze in the rearview mirror. “On time for what?”
He grinned as the arrow turned green and he rounded the corner, revealing a mansion in the middle of Manhattan. It towered over the street and I’d completely forgotten the bronzed statues decorating each pillar, each boasting stone women dancing around the edges of the roof, holding only bits of cloth and leaves to cover their bodies. Their grey eyes peered down at the street and glittered with joy as if they could see me. I scanned the clouds for rain, but couldn’t see a drop.
Nate nudged me with his elbow. “Welcome home.”
A Distraction
Sonya
The second I walked inside the d’Ange mansion, I was hit by the scent of lilac potpourri. It was so much like my grandmother’s perfume. I couldn’t help but draw in a deep breath and let my memory spiral back to when she would greet me in the doorway and I’d run into her arms, wrap my legs around her waist and my tiny arms around her neck.
When I opened my eyes, my memory had become flesh. My grandmother stood in all her glory, even though she was well into her three-hundreds, she boasted the body of a twenty-year-old and a skimpy silk dress with a floral pattern complete with a slit running up her thigh. She smiled and spread her arms wide. “My Sonya,” she purred with her familiar British accent.
Tears filled my eyes as I realized I somehow wasn’t hallucinating, and my grandmother hadn’t tragically died in the fire that killed her and my mother six years ago. My breath hitched. If my grandmother was alive, did that mean my mother had made it out too?
I staggered towards her and resisted the urge to fling myself into her arms as if I were a child again. Yet, when I saw her same healthy blush and her nonchalant smile, anger bloomed and found its way to my fists, curling them into balls as my shocked cry turned into a snarl. “Where have you been?” I hissed. “All these years, I thought you were dead!” My voice went shrill and my vision blurred with salty tears.
My grandmother’s face softened and an array of regret and pain swept across her features. “I’m sorry,” was all she said.
Nate rested a warm hand on my shoulder. I snatched away from his touch. “Where’s mother?” I demanded. The impossible hope choked the breath from my throat and I staggered, waiting for an answer.
My grandmother crossed her arms over her chest as if to protect herself from the anger rolling off my skin. Because of the Blood Stone, my rage was a tangible thing sending waves of heat billowing through the room.
“Her death wasn’t a lie,” she whispered. “Please, Sonya.” Her lips tugged into a forced smile. “Come inside. We’ve made a welcome party for you.” Her smile widened, gaining confidence. “We should celebrate our reunion, my Sonya.” When I didn’t respond, she added, “It’s what your mother would have wanted.”
Jazz music lingered in the background and glasses clinked together like rain droplets hitting a tin roof. But I couldn’t celebrate, not when the hope of my mother’s survival dangled in the air, only to be snatched away again. “No,” I said.
My grandmother pinched her eyebrows together and opened her mouth to speak. But I didn’t want to hear her excuses. She’d lied to me and let me believe I was alone for six years. She didn’t deserve a chance to explain herself. “Enough,” I snapped. “I’m not joining your stupid party. In fact, I’m not going to be staying very long.” Without a moment’s hesitation, I rushed past her and resisted the magnetic pull of her lilac perfume. It sent comfort and warmth tingling through my chest.
Thankfully, the scent faded as I rounded a corner and stomped down the hall. Nate’s soft footsteps followed and I didn’t protest. I didn’t really want to be alone, I just didn’t want to face my grandmother. Not now, not like this.
When I didn’t snap at him to leave, Nate quickened his pace so that he was only one step behind. I led us to the only place I knew to go: the library.
