With a hand on the hilt of her sword, Fallon reached the door with Duncan, and with Mick.
A woman stood in the snow-covered garden. Flaming red hair curled and spilled nearly to her waist. She wore a long white coat edged with fur at the collar and the cuffs, and looked like something out of a fairy tale with the icy sparkle of diamonds on her fingers, her ears.
She carried no visible weapon, but the two men flanking her—both in unrelieved black—had swords in sheaths crusted in jewels.
Fallon felt the pump of power that matched the confidence in the bold red lips, the emerald eyes.
She spoke with a charming lilt of France. “I bring you no harm, Fallon Swift. I am Vivienne of Quebec. I have come to offer you an alliance.”
Fallon watched her gaze shift to Duncan, to Mick, saw those jewel-toned eyes sparkle with flirtatious approval.
“May we speak? Perhaps we will leave our very handsome men, and have, you and I, a little tête-à-tête?”
“All right.”
“Fallon, hold on.”
Fallon patted Mick’s hand away from her arm. “It’s fine. Would you tell my mother I have a guest and ask if she wouldn’t mind bringing coffee to the living room?”
“How kind.” Vivienne walked—all but glided—over the snow. Fallon caught her scent—rich—assessed her beauty. Flawless.
Fascinated, Fallon led her around to the front of the house. “You’ve come a long way.”
“Yes. My escort Regis is a witch, so we do the snap.”
Flashed, Fallon thought. “You’re not a witch. A shifter.”
“You see quickly. I see also that you have two very handsome men in love with you. I have men in love with me. It’s pleasant, yes? I thought The One would be hard and—what is it—battle-worn? But you are very lovely.”
Fallon opened the door. “Please come in.”
“Ah.” As she walked inside, Vivienne looked around the entranceway, toward the living room and the crackling fire. “How … cozy.”
“Should I take your coat?”
“Please, yes.” She wandered as she unfastened it. “I thought you would have more—fancy is the word? Yes, The One would live more grandly.”
“There are people still living in caves or whatever shelter they can manage. This is grand.”
“Bien sûr.” Beneath the coat she handed to Fallon she wore more white, a dress that skimmed down a curvy body to the ankles of white boots. “But The One is not people, no?”
“You’re wrong about that. Please, sit. Préférez-vous que je parle français?”
Vivienne’s eyebrows lifted as she let out a light, musical laugh. “Vous parlez très bien français.”
“Merci.”
“But I would like to speak in English. I wish to become more, ah, proficient.”
“All right.” Fallon turned, took the tray from Lana as she came in. “Mom, this is Vivienne of Quebec. My mother, Lana.”
“I am so pleased to meet with you, the mother of The One. I’ve heard many stories of you.”
“I’ve heard a few of you,” Lana returned.
“I am flattered. And you’ve troubled for me. Merci.”
She sat as Fallon set down the coffee tray.
“I’ll leave you two alone to talk.”
“No, stay.” Fallon took Lana’s hand. “Just us girls, right, Vivienne?”
“Delightful.”
“Milk, sugar?”
“Both, and the little cakes! I have no willpower against the sweet. I like the sweets and the pretty and the handsome men. Do you take both your handsome men for lovers?”
Fallon poured out the coffee. Sat. “No. Just one’s enough.”
“Me, I’m very greedy.” Vivienne took two of the frosted cakes as if to prove it. “I was a child when the Doom came, and there was hunger for some time after. My papa died in it, and Maman and I had to hide as I became. She feared for me, you see. And feared of me as well. I was only ten. She was killed before my thirteenth birthday.”
“I’m very sorry.”
Vivienne acknowledged Fallon’s sympathy with a nod. “The ones you call Raiders. I was not quick enough to save her, but I killed them all. And it was then I vowed, an oath on my mother’s blood, I would no longer hide, no longer live hungry or cold or afraid.”
She sampled a cake. “I would make a place, I took this vow, where no one killed a girl’s mother. I used what I have to make what I needed. Now I have Quebec. Or enough of it for now. A fine house and soldiers. Lovers.”
She bit into a cake with a smile.
“Slaves?”
“No. One has no right to own another. Servants, yes, I have servants. But they are free, they are not forced to give service. They have food, shelter,