Embrace the Power: A Paranormal Romance (The Blood Rose Series Book 9) (23 page)

She still held his hand.
Want to get a drink?

Stone shook his head.
I’d rather we went to the lake. It’s time to regroup, to talk, maybe figure some things out.

He looked around to gain his bearings then felt her give his hand a squeeze. He glanced back at her, surprised.

Stone, I’d love a chance to talk, really talk.

He nodded, but he felt grim. He didn’t want Rosamunde thinking he’d forgive her easily for holding back her true identity.

We’ll talk. We’re not far, but you’d never find your way in on your own.

How about you form a picture in your mind and I’ll see if I can take us there?

Well, we can give it a shot.
He supposed part of the process for them moving forward would be to explore not just the nature of the elf-lord power that she could channel, but also in what ways their rose blood connection amplified each of their natural abilities.

He took a moment to settle his mind and focus exclusively on his retreat. The warrior vampire in him was always thinking two or three steps ahead, like his need to contact Harris and see how things were going. For now, he centered his thoughts on the lake house, then squeezed her hand as a signal.

Oh.
The surprised sound of her voice, made him open his eyes and look at her.

What is it?

I … I can see everything. The lake, your beautiful home, the trees on a rim of hills surrounding a beautiful expanse of water. The north side has reeds and the south a narrow beach. It’s exquisite.

He stared at her for a long moment.
You’ve described it exactly.
Her violet eyes glowed as she looked inward at the image in his head. He didn’t get it. The woman beside him was so different from the woman he’d known as the queen. Was Davido right? Had he misjudged her? And had he done so on purpose? But this made no sense. What would he possibly gain from thinking bad of her?

Let’s go,
he pathed.

The quiet slip through space happened again and much to his amazement, she had no trouble teleporting through his security system. Which meant if Margetta ever learned of the location, she’d find it easy to break through as well.

But he wouldn’t worry about the Ancient Fae right now.

He now levitated above the wood dock. Releasing her hand, he descended to plant his boots on the seasoned, gray planks.

The gibbous moon cast a glow across the water.

Rosamunde landed beside him and made a complete circle. “This lake has to be three hundred yards across and you say you own it?”

“I do. I purchased it from a fae woman who’d lost her husband to an Invictus attack in the area. She moved to the U.S. shortly after with her five children. I didn’t blame her for leaving. Her husband was one of several extended family members who‘d been recently murdered.”

She turned toward him slightly. “You’re one helluva man. I just want you to know that I know who you are and I admire you fiercely.” She smiled, if ruefully. “The truth is, I wanted to become more like you and I hope I have.”

He stared at her. Was this truly Rosamunde, the cold, authoritative royal living in a remote, stone castle?

Everything he’d believed about Rosamunde seemed to be falling away before his eyes. She wasn’t the indifferent, cowardly person he’d believed her to be. Yet, how could he suddenly shift his opinions, when he’d held to them like a drowning man?

Maybe he should, as Davido suggested, take a hard look at
why
he’d been so quick to judge Rosamunde in the first place. Why had he refused to believe her about her lack of power to battle her aunt?

When he saw that she was looking toward the house with curiosity, he encouraged her to look around. He would welcome the time apart.

She glanced at him over her shoulder. “You don’t mind?”

“No, of course not. Unless you’re in league with Joseph. Should I start nailing everything down?” He didn’t know why he was teasing her.

At that, she smiled and raised an arched, playful brow. “I’ve thought about going into business with him more than once. That gremlin has more money than the Goddess herself.”

He stared at her as she turned and headed up the dock toward the small, single-story house. His heart ached in a strange way, something he didn’t get. Except that, he actually
liked
Rosamunde and he’d never expected to, not in a million years. But it did help to see her out of her intricate braids and flowing gowns.

He recalled what Davido had told him, that Rosamunde was never intended to be queen, that she’d only been filling in for the past thousand years waiting for Quinlan’s daughter to come into the world.

Her life had been no picnic. She’d been orphaned by Margetta at a young age. He couldn’t imagine what that had been like for her. She’d also suffered every day of her life as she channeled the elf-lord power and experienced severe pain in order to support the veil of mist. She’d lived a life of sacrifice, something he valued.

As he watched Rosamunde open the sliding door that led into the living room, his gaze spanned the row of full-length plate glass windows that ran the length of the house. The kitchen was at one end and his master bedroom at the other with the living room in between.

In the space of a few hours, Rosamunde of Ferrenden Peace had become a complete mystery to him. He’d had her all figured out, to the last cell of her seemingly selfish body. Yet what he felt from her, and the level of her vulnerability, pummeled his heart. How had he ever believed her soulless?

As he moved in her direction, crossing the dock to join her in the living room, he realized the elf-lord power had remained with him, probably because of Rosamunde’s proximity. Again, he sensed her vulnerability. “You’re being very open with me right now, aren’t you?”

“I don’t think I can be anything else.” She waved her hand between them, her wrist flowing elegantly. “Whatever this is, it’s torn down the wall. You can ask me anything and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know.”

He saw the fear in her eyes almost a kind of dread and it surprised him. He drew close. The violet of her eyes seemed to have a strange glitter to them and for a moment they turned brown, like Aralynn’s. Was it his imagination, or did her features seem to shift as well, her brows more arched, her lips fuller, her expression more challenging.

Sweet Goddess, there was so much more to Rosamunde than he’d ever suspected.

“Are you hungry?” he asked. “Would you like some homemade bread, maybe some soup? And I have beer or sweet German wine, if that’s what you, as Rosamunde, prefers.”

“Thank you. That’s kind.”

She looked at him with such surprise, that he had to laugh. “I never meant to be a monster, Rosamunde.”

“I never thought you were. But I did know you were angry with me, all the time.”

“I didn’t understand you,” he said. “And truthfully I’m still not sure I do.”

“Maybe time will take care of that.”

When his stomach rumbled, he put a hand to his abdomen. Thinking about food had reminded him he hadn’t eaten since he’d risen for the night.

She smiled. “Hungry, huh?”

“I sure am. But I want to thank you for donating again. I’ve never felt better in my entire life and I owe you that.”

“You’re welcome and Stone, I wouldn’t have gone to the Wild Boar at all except that with the surplus I’d created I knew I wouldn’t have survived the night.”

He drew close. “I was being, as Davido put it, pigheaded again. But this has all moved so fast, I haven’t had time to absorb the implications. But when I saw Rez ready to use his fangs—” A powerful shudder went through him. “Yeah, we’d best stick close for the next few nights.”

Rosamunde got a funny look on her face, an expression he couldn’t read and her cheeks colored up.

He frowned. “Would that bother you, to be so close to me? Maybe you’d rather be back at your castle?”

“What? Holed up again like a criminal?”

He cocked his head, confused. “Is that what it’s been like for you?” He was pretty sure he’d had the wrong take on everything all this time.

“It often felt that way, like I was imprisoned. But I hate complaining. It sounds so ungrateful and I’ve felt blessed to do my part.” She turned toward the kitchen. “So what kind of soup have you got?”

His lake house was a simple home, made up of a lot of wood inside and out. He had slate on the floor, like his Sandismare home, and the windows were trimmed with black steel. The kitchen bar had been constructed of concrete.

He didn’t have a dining table, just a couple of stools not far from the stove. His retreat wasn’t a big place meant for entertaining, just a place where he could get some time away from the demands of Tannisford. He never brought women here. Like his home in the city, Rosamunde was the first.

She sat down on one of the tall stools and swiveled to look at the lake. He pulled out a container of vegetable beef soup from the fridge as well as a round loaf of French bread.

He put the latter in the oven to warm and dumped the soup in a pot. He lit up the gas flame and let the appliance do its job.

He had to keep reminding himself that Rosamunde was two different women, yet very much the same. He knew Seth’s woman, Lorelei, was able to take on different physical forms. “So Lorelei is your cousin.”

“Yes, well, a half-cousin. I tutored her for several months when she first arrived in Ferrenden Peace.” She smiled at the memory. “Then I had a vision and sent her to serve as Mastyr Seth’s bodyguard.”

“I remember. Lorelei has made Seth very happy.”

“And the other way around as well.”

He glanced at her. If what Rosamunde had said was true, that her primary job all these centuries had been to keep her aunt away from the elf-lord power, then Margetta must have tried dozens of ways to invade Ferrenden Peace.

He also knew that both Lorelei and Margetta had wraith blood. “So, are you part wraith like Lorelei?”

“No. My mother had a different father than Margetta.”

Stone breathed a sigh of relief. It was tough enough to deal with ‘Aralynn’, but if there was a third persona in there somewhere, he’d probably toss up his hands and back the hell out of there for good.

Rosamunde chuckled. “You look like you just escaped the hangman’s noose.”

“I’m not as flexible as Seth. I’ll tell you that straight out. And Seth might be comfortable being bonded to a wraith, but if I knew you had wraith blood I’d call a halt right now.”

“Well, I don’t and honestly, I wouldn’t blame you, not even a little.”

He set out spoons and big bowls, plates for the bread. He slid a tray of fresh butter down the concrete counter. “Look sharp.”

She turned in time to catch the ceramic dish then laughed. She squinched up her face. “Oh, that soup smells so good already. Where’d you get it?”

“There’s a village nearby. And a troll has cooked for me for years.”

“I take it you pick up the food then bring it here.”

“I do. Once a week.”

She looked around. “Do you do the cleaning and maintenance?”

At that, he smiled. “Nah. I use a service and have a fae wipe the memories afterward. I pay extra for everyone’s trouble.”

“So, there’s at least one fae that knows about this place.”

He shook his head and his lips curved. “Not exactly. She carries a potion with her to erase her own memories as well. And I watch her down the vial at the Com Center every time. I trust her, too. She’s a friend of Delia’s.” He opened the fridge again. “Beer or wine?”

“A cold bottle of beer sounds like heaven.”

He chuckled softly once more. Again, she’d surprised him. Aralynn had no problem guzzling from a bottle, but the much more formal queen?

As he pulled two amber ales from the door of his fridge, he wondered about her all over again. “Do you want a glass? I don’t have any chilled.” So how formal was she? Now that he had a better picture of her past, he knew that being queen had been thrust on her as a child, a duty she’d accepted. He’d always supposed she’d loved lording it over the realm-folk in her kingdom. He’d never thought for a moment she didn’t adore her castle life, not until tonight.

“The bottle’s fine, Stone.”

“Slide it to you?”

“Sure, why not?”

He couldn’t make her out. Though she was in her Rosamunde form, she seemed more like Aralynn right now. Her violet eyes were bright and almost enthusiastic as she held out her hand, curved her fingers in an arc, and waited for the brew.

He slid it as he had the butter.

She caught it easily and drew the bottle straight to her lips. She even tilted back her head as she drank. And no simple ladylike swallow. She guzzled half the contents, then pressed her hand to her mouth as she belched into her palm. “I’m so sorry. I think I’m a bit punchy from all that’s happened. And I definitely didn’t expect to see you again. At least, not so soon.”

“Your blood rose qualities have complicated everything.”

“They sure have.” She frowned and shook her head. “This is as much your difficulty now as mine and I’m sorry for that, I really am. You didn’t ask to have me as your blood rose.”

“Well, you’re right about that. And though the other mastyrs warned me it’s a tough journey, I never imagined I’d be ready to kill to keep other men away from you.” He frowned and sighed. “We both need time to adjust.”

“Yes, we do.”

He turned back to the stove and stirred the soup then swigged his beer. What was it about a cold one that so often hit the spot?

He opened the oven door and gave the bread a poke. “Almost warmed through.”

“Good, because now my wolf stomach is grumbling.”

He turned the heat up under the soup and kept stirring to keep the vegetables and chunks of beef from burning. Another minute and he was ladling the soup into bowls and slapping the bread onto a large board. He pulled it apart in a few big chunks.

After grabbing a pair of cloth napkins, he joined her at the counter, then tapped bottles with her. “Dig in, Rosamunde.”

She flashed him a smile that grabbed something deep inside his chest all over again.

~ ~ ~

Rosamunde savored the soup, the warm bread with melted butter, and the beer. She’d had a chef at the castle for years, but she swore a meal had never tasted as good as this one.