he’d growled, “I love muffins,” before claiming that nipple to suckle it. Ildaria had promised herself she’d make him muffins as he began to nip and lash at the hard bud, sending bolts of excitement through her body.
“Muffins sound good,” he said, his voice deeper even than usual.
Ildaria noted the heat in his eyes and swallowed, her body suddenly vibrating just a bit. Turning away abruptly, she returned to what she was doing, measuring ingredients and putting them in the bowl as she said, “I was thinking blueberry muffins. Do you like blueberries?”
The silence was long, but finally he said, “Yes,” in his normal voice and she relaxed with relief. Like her, he’d pushed down whatever that memory had made rise between them. Now was not the time for it.
A quick glance in his direction showed her that he’d settled at the island with his water, and now held H.D. in his arms. He was petting the dog soothingly as he watched her. She turned back to what she was doing.
A moment passed and then G.G. asked, “What happened when Señorita Ana realized it was her father who had attacked and turned you?”
Ildaria shrugged. “I don’t know if she ever found out.”
“Explain,” he requested gently.
She nodded, but grabbed eggs from the fridge before admitting, “I didn’t go down to the salon. At first I didn’t even move. I just stood there at the top of the stairs awash in horror.” She shrugged. “I don’t know how long I stood there, but finally the maid who had told me Señorita Ana wished me to join her approached. She asked if I was all right, and was I not going down? Señorita Ana was waiting. When I nodded and started down, she moved away. I heard her walk back up the hall, and I just—” She grimaced, cracked an egg’s shell on the side of the bowl, and let the egg drop out on top of the dry ingredients as she finished. “I just walked calmly down those stairs and straight out the front door. I even managed to stay at a walk until I’d reached the end of the drive. Only then did I break into a run.” She met his gaze again. “I have been running ever since.”
G.G. frowned. “Your abuela?”
Ildaria turned away to set down the now empty shell and pick up another egg before admitting, “I never saw her again.”
“What?” There was such horror in his voice that she winced. It was the same horror she felt when she thought of it. Her abuela had been everything to her. She had given her a home and unconditional love. Her abuela had supported and fought for her. She’d deserved better.
Sighing, Ildaria cracked and added three more eggs to the batter, then gathered all four of the broken shells and tossed them in the garbage under the sink. She then washed her hands quickly, before grabbing a large spoon to stir the batter and said, “I wanted to go directly to her, tell her what I had remembered, and ask what to do. But I needed to feed.”
She glanced over to see G.G. nod, but knew he didn’t really understand. She needed to explain. Picking the bowl up off the counter, she cradled it in one arm and turned to lean against the counter so that she could watch him as she stirred the batter and spoke. “The start of the turn, what you saw when your mother was turned,” she added, pinning him with her gaze and noting the way his expression tightened before she continued, “I’m sure it’s painful, but all I remember of it is terrible nightmares. I gather that’s what most turns recall afterward, horrifying nightmares.”
He looked so startled by this news that a small smile tugged at her mouth.
“It’s true,” she assured him.
“Not my mother,” he said with certainty. “She was in agony.”
“Si. I’m sure I was too,” she told him. “But the mind . . .” She shrugged. “It doesn’t hold onto the memory of it. Perhaps it is the nanos, or perhaps the brain just cannot process such sustained and powerful sensation and short-circuits. I do not know, but I do not really remember the pain. Just the nightmares, and I have been told it is the same for all turns.”
G.G. shook his head stubbornly, refusing to believe.
“Have you ever asked her?” Ildaria queried.
G.G. frowned now, but reluctantly shook his head.
“Perhaps you should,” she suggested gently. “Because from what I can tell, that