Oh, lord, not another gossipy troll.
And yet, there was something about Davido, something almost compelling, as though if he desired he could command her attention for the next several hours. Then she understood. The troll had charisma.
She smiled and offered the smallest shrug of her shoulders. “I’m so glad to be here,” she said. “I’ve heard of the famous Vojalie from the time that I first came to Merhaine.”
“She is a delight and a wonder,” he said, leaning toward her as though telling secrets. “But you will see for yourself. Please, follow me.” He took off down a long hall, wide enough for her to walk beside Gerrod.
The hall was lined with what had to be portraits of her hosts’ numerous children, some bearing troll features, some with fae. The DNA lines fell to one side or the other. It made for a beautiful presentation for a home especially since several arched stained glass windows were lit from behind, lighting up portions of the hall in pale lavenders and greens.
The scent of verbena pervaded the space.
But what perhaps surprised her the most was that Gerrod hadn’t relinquished her hand, but continued to hold it almost possessively.
She glanced up at him. He was scowling, of course, but in his eye was something more. She realized he was worried. What is it?
He glanced down at her. His lips parted, then curved a little, off to one side, but he shook his head.
The hall opened into a place of splendor. She hadn’t meant to ignore the fae woman standing on the opposite side of the very round room by the fireplace, but Abigail’s gaze was drawn up to the perfectly dome-shaped ceiling. A multi-hued iridescence shone over the entire width and breadth of the dome and moving forward even just a step caused all the colors to change because her position had changed.
“This is so beautiful,” she said.
Gerrod squeezed her hand and she glanced at him. He inclined his head in the direction of the fireplace.
Her cheeks warmed again. She turned to the woman, the fae, Vojalie. “I am so sorry, but your home is so beautiful, expressive, warm, magical, so full of love.”
“Oh, my dear,” Vojalie said, moving toward her slowly, her hands outstretched. “You could have offered me no finer greeting.”
Gerrod released her hand. Abigail moved forward to meet the woman and took her hands as though they had been old friends. She felt almost drawn toward Vojalie, perhaps pulled, by the famous magic that a pure faerie could hold.
The fae could enthrall and this one had power that seemed to cloak Vojalie like a garment, an iridescent garment, like the ceiling.
She felt soft waves pulsing from Vojalie’s fingertips and once her palms were within Vojalie’s warm, soft grasp, she felt she could melt like a big pool of butter right on the stone floor.
How she remained upright she wasn’t certain. “Gerrod and Davido, please leave us. I wish to speak with Mistress Abigail alone.”
Abigail sort of heard her. She felt as though she’d been wrapped quite thoroughly in a tender web. She didn’t think she could move and if Vojalie had been her enemy, she would soon be dead, she was that caught.
She met the woman’s soft brown eyes. But the eyes shifted color, warming, lightening until she stared into silver pools, beautiful, elegant, full of light and love. Abigail had the strangest sense she could stay there forever. Was this a spell? Surely a spell.
After a moment, she blinked and the cocoon-like sensation dissipated. “What was that?”
But Vojalie’s lips were parted and her eyes were still a silver color as though she was caught in a trance herself. She released Abigail’s hands, but the woman remained standing in front of her, still staring at her, but more like through her now, as though what Vojalie saw had nothing to do with the present.
One of Vojalie’s hands fell to the swell of her stomach. She was tall perhaps five-nine or ten, much taller than her husband. She was a great beauty, just as Abigail had heard. Her rich dark brown hair hung in lovely waves to her waist held back by a narrow headband. The size and luster of her dark eyes, still silver, offset high arched brows. Her nose was narrow and straight, her lips small, her chin tapering to a beautiful fae point, not as severe as the elven women.
“I must sit down.” Vojalie turned and made her way to one of the pair of white silk sofas that faced each other and were situated adjacent to the massive fireplace.
Abigail frowned. Something was wrong. She thought about calling Gerrod and Davido back, but Vojalie swept an arm to the couch opposite her. “Please, sit down. I know it must seem like I’m behaving oddly. I suppose I am, it’s just that I’m very surprised.” She shifted slightly, her right hip pushing out, her belly angling to the left. She planted her left elbow on the back of the sofa and twirled a long lock around her finger. She stared at the fireplace.
She was very pregnant.
Abigail sat with her feet squared up on the floor, acutely aware that she wore only flip-flops and jeans. The woman was dressed in what looked like a layering of three gowns, the bottom layer a vibrant purple silk, then a lavender gauze, overlaid with white gauze.
“I must apologize for my clothing,” Abigail said. “I was at the bakery—“
Vojalie whipped her head in direction. “That’s right you’re opening a bakery. I keep forgetting that you’ve become a fixture in Merhaine, or at least in Hollow County. I’ve seen your photo often, most of them candid and all of them unflattering for you are uncommonly lovely, even without make-up. I’m so confused right now.” Her gaze drifted up to the ceiling, following the arch the entire distance, the strange iridescence reflected in her eyes, giving her an angelic appearance.
When she met Abigail’s gaze once more, she said, “Would you please go to the far side of the room,” she waved her hand in the direction behind Abigail, “and fetch that horrible brown leather tome that is about the size of a small wheelbarrow, and bring it to me? I must check something in our history.”
Abigail rose and crossed the room quickly. She found the book easily enough and it was enormous. She gripped it in both arms and carried it back to Vojalie. She hesitated putting it on her lap. She looked around. “Why don’t I bring the tea cart over.”
“Good idea.”
She set the book on the sofa cushion beside Vojalie, then fetched the table.
A few minutes later, Vojalie was scowling almost as heavily as Gerrod did normally. She turned to one page, then the next, sometimes using her entire arm to hold her place. She kept going farther and farther back in the book and ended up studying the index and doing more searches. The entire time, she chewed on her lower lip.
Finally, she looked up from the book and met Abigail’s gaze. “How is your blood these days? Experiencing anything unusual?”
“You could say that.”
Abigail told her everything, that from the time she had started visiting Merhaine, in particular the castle, her blood had grown thick and sluggish because she produced too much and that her doctor occasionally drained away the excess.
Like Gerrod had done the previous day, Vojalie gasped. “What a tragic waste.”
“I assure you, it was given to the blood bank.”
“Oh, well, that’s a relief. Still, not quite the same thing.”
“Does this mean something, all this excess blood? My heart feels sluggish until I give it away again.” She felt her cheeks warm once more. Her general embarrassment was driving her crazy and yet all of this was so intimate.
“Actually, I believe it does and yet it’s a phenomenon that I’ve only read about. First, however, I’d like to ask you about the Invictus attack, if you are willing.”
“Yes, of course.”
She smiled, even ruefully. “By now you must be fully aware that my husband, who I adore, is as bad a gossip as Augustus. So much so that I’m persuaded the two of them were separated at birth. So, I know that you were involved with Gerrod on many levels, but if you would, please tell me your version of events.”
Ab
igail related all that she had experienced, even her ability to communicate telepathically with Gerrod.
Vojalie, thankfully, listened carefully without offering comment or criticism. Her countenance was so calm that before long, Abigail had launched into a further explanation of what had happened afterward, at the castle, with Gus, with her own ministrations to Gerrod, the drawing of the bath, washing of his hair. Vojalie nodded, but never smiled, never frowned, just an occasional soft, encouraging nod and the slight twirling of her chestnut hair around her left index finger.
The words poured from Abigail, as though culled magically, and so they must have been.
Without offering too many details of the lovemaking, she even spoke of how Gerrod had taken her blood and that she had experienced Gerrod’s frequency.
Vojalie looked so somber afterward, that instead of feeling embarrassed, now Abigail was just plain worried. “I’ve said too much.”
“Be at ease,” Vojalie said. “You can be angry with me if you like, but I did use my fae magic. I needed to know everything.”
Somehow, Abigail didn’t mind, at least not very much. Instead, she experienced a certain measure of relief.
She leaned forward and sighed. “What am I doing here? I don’t understand what’s happened to me, or why I can do these things. I’m human. I never had such powers or desires before coming to Merhaine.” She frowned slightly. “Or before meeting Mastyr Gerrod.”
“You seem to have certain markers that once you entered Merhaine came alive, so to speak. It’s estimated that at least one percent of the human population could probably experience, at least to a small degree, what you’ve been going though.
“However, after hearing all you’ve told me, I believe I now have a summation of events but I’d like to speak with both you and Gerrod at the same time. Will you fetch the men? They are probably by now, deep within Davido’s vegetable garden. He’s infinitely proud of his creation. No doubt he turned the floodlights on.”
Abigail rose to her feet and left by the same set of doors that the men had used earlier. She crossed behind Vojalie and heard the fae sigh very deeply. How bad was this?
Abigail walked the length of the hall, passing by doorways, catching sight of the occasional staff-member performing some household function whether arranging flowers, doing light dusting, or polishing silver since there was a lot of silver in Vojalie’s home. Even the kitchens came into view. The chef, an elf about Abigail’s height, whisked something pink in a clear glass bowl.
She passed onto a large well-lit covered patio with vines and small purple flowers everywhere. She drew in a soft breath at the sight of the beautiful garden, a rolling lawn, hillocks of trees and flowers here and there, which she could see easily because it was just as Vojalie had said, the floodlights created a near-daylight environment. She saw the path to the back part of the property and could see Gerrod towering above Davido, but bent over examining a plant.
She could have simply pathed him a message, his word for communicating telepathically. Instead, she walked the distance because she was finding it hard to breathe. Maybe it was Vojalie’s somber demeanor or the reality that Abigail had some serious realm-like attributes or maybe that last sigh. Whatever the case, it all seemed to pile up on her right now.
When she reached the wall of ivy that separated the garden proper from the vegetable garden, Gerrod turned in her direction. He tilted his head and pathed, What’s wrong.
She felt strangely close to tears, though she couldn’t say why, almost as though she was having a fae moment.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, aloud this time.
Davido turned toward her, startled. “Querida, what’s the matter? How has my lovely wife upset you? I shall have words with her.” He moved to her swiftly and took both her hands, just as Vojalie had done earlier.
This time, however, Gerrod didn’t react. Perhaps older trolls with very beautiful wives were acceptable to jealous mastyr vampires.
“She said she needs to speak with Gerrod and myself together.”
Davido took her arm and turned her back up the path toward the house. “She can be very intense at times.”
“I…I don’t think that’s what’s bothering me.”
“Then what is it, my child? You may tell me. I shan’t breathe a word to anyone.”
But at that she laughed. “I have it on good authority that except for a thousand years or so, you and Augustus shared the same womb.”
“Ah, my beloved has been speaking badly of me, but if it has made you laugh, then I will not repine. I was showing Gerrod my beans. I have a new variety I’m trying this season. Very green.” He talked in that manner so that by the time she returned to her house, she wasn’t quite so upset.
However, all that feeling returned when Gerrod sat down beside her opposite Vojalie and he took her hand. She trembled. She couldn’t help it. Something life-altering was on the way, she could feel it, the weight of it, even though the words hadn’t yet been spoken.
“Sweetheart,” Vojalie said, looking up at her husband. “Will you please move the book and table away?”
“Of course, my treasured one.” He took care of business, not just setting the tea cart aside but taking both to their proper place. Everything seemed to have a place in Vojalie’s home.
He returned to her, but didn’t just sit down. He leaned down and took her face in his hands and thumbed her cheeks. He whispered things Abigail couldn’t hear, but which made Vojalie sigh then giggle.
Only then did the troll take his place beside Vojalie. He was turned toward her, one of her hands clasped between both of his.
Abigail wondered if this was how those unfortunate people felt who stretched their necks for the guillotine.
Chapter Six
Gerrod wouldn’t have been nearly so concerned, except that Abigail was trembling. He could feel her distress, almost palpably, as though she had a personal frequency and was shedding her misery in waves.
Only what on earth had Vojalie said to her that would have caused such anxiety?
So, he waited.
Vojalie leveled her gaze at Gerrod. He stared back.
“I must know one thing,” she said.
“Anything,” Gerrod responded.
Vojalie smiled, softly but there was a sadness in her eye that now added to his mounting sense of despair. Something was amiss. “I want to know what you are willing to sacrifice for this woman?”
Of all the things she might have said, Gerrod wasn’t expecting those words. “What am I willing to sacrifice? In what way? What do you mean?”
“Gerrod, Abigail is a blood rose, even though she’s of human stock. I felt it the moment she walked in, but I couldn’t believe it.”
“I hate to plead ignorance, but in my three hundred years I can’t recall hearing about a blood rose.” Although, he remembered Ethan saying something about a rose. Maybe this was what he meant.
“I understand. Even I had to examine the ancient documents. There are only a few references of any merit and little help at all. But a blood rose is an individual who can supply a mastyr vampire with an unlimited amount of blood.” Gerrod shifted slightly and looked down at Abigail. She looked up, her light green eyes wide. “Sweet Goddess,” he murmured.
“Well, that would explain my recurring condition,” she said. “And why, after you take what you need, I feel so wonderful.” Her lips quirked slightly. “Well, it explains part of the reason I feel so wonderful.”
She looked young and adorable and her words teased him mercilessly. You would say that here, in front of Vojalie and her husband?
Well, if you heard the questions I was asked earlier, you wouldn’t be too surprised. At this point, I think everyone in Merhaine knows that you bonked me last night. As for how soon it becomes known that you shagged me in the bakery closet, well, that will be for Elena and Ethan to reveal.
At that he laughed, bending his neck back, shouting his laughter into the ceiling and it felt good.
“I wonder what she just pathed to him,” Davido murmured.
“She’s good for him.”
After a moment, Gerrod’s amusement stopped dead as the harder truths began hitting him. He once more centered his gaze on Vojalie.
“What is the nature of the relationship of the blood rose to the mastyr vampire? Does it involve a ritual bonding ceremony or anything of that nature?”
“Not something specific that I could discover. The bonding occurs naturally over time so proximity would be all that is necessary. Although another brief anecdote indicated that the bond can be hastened by the placing of blood in a receptacle from both mastyr vampire and blood rose, then blending. Once combined, each drinks from the receptacle. Apparently, this can lead to a sudden burst of power, even unusual healing, which I think could be used throughout one’s life.
“As for the nature of a blood rose, because she is meant to bond with a mastyr vampire, all mastyr vampires will be drawn to her.”
He lifted a hand and said, “Ethan touched her earlier and she immediately tapped his personal frequency.”
“The mating frequency?”
“Yes.”
“Then you have proved the documents correct. However, there is a remedy. It’s important to exchange frequencies during a mating, which then sets a sort of seal on the bond, one that another mastyr vampire cannot cross.”
He felt relieved. If Abigail was to be this person, this blood rose in his life, then he had thought it would be very difficult to keep other mastyrs away from her. But a seal, that would be a good thing. His mind reeled from everything he was hearing but he needed to understand all that being a blood rose would mean.
“There must be more.”
She nodded. “There is one aspect of the blood rose that might have some application given the recent Invictus activity. For some reason, a blood rose is impervious to the effects of wraith blood, and her blood can even act as an antidote. I believe this means that Abigail would be protected from a wraith pairing should she ever be captured.”