amber eyes were hollowed out in her sallow-skinned face. Again I put my shoulders back and walked out of the suite. And into Bruiser’s waiting arms. He had been standing in the hallway, giving me privacy to dress. He did that all the time now—gave me privacy. As if he knew what it took to psych myself up to face the world in human form. I leaned into him. He cradled me gently enough that my middle didn’t ache where we touched. I breathed against his down-filled vest, smelling the feathers, the clean outdoors, the slightly citrusy, slightly spicy Onorio scent.
“I love you,” he said, his tone fierce. His arms tightened on me, restrained yet claiming.
Turning my head, I rested my forehead against his cheek and jaw. The beard was long enough to be soft on my skin. “I love you too. Can’t wait to see the beard grown in full.”
“I have a robust and manly beard,” he agreed. “It is a wonderful thing to behold.”
“I have no doubt.” I was smiling when I pulled away. He picked up a milkshake from the hall table and circled my hands around the insulated tumbler. The shake was the purplish blue of blueberries, bilberries, and tart cherries. I hated the cold, but the ice cream was the easiest thing my human form could digest, and the berries were full of antioxidants and minerals and stuff Eli thought was important. I took a slow pull through the oversized metal straw, needing the calories to pay for the energy I’d used in the shift. Because I wasn’t on chemo, I didn’t have as much nausea as other cancer patients, but the first food on my stomach was still not easy. Bruiser took my free hand and laced our fingers together. Slowly we ambled down the hall.
“How is your vineyard?” I asked, seeking a moment of normalcy before the battle to come. The youngest grapevines had been planted just prior to the nasty divorce that culminated in my buying the property for such a great price. Most of them had survived the winter well enough, but we’d had two weeks of springlike weather and some of them had begun to leaf out. The late freeze had stressed the young vines.
“Remarkably well. And now that an earth witch is on the way, I can hope for a boost in growing power for the vines.” I was drinking down the shake and didn’t reply. He asked, “Are you okay, love, if they stay in the big house with us? If the last Son of Darkness is out and about, I’d like to keep us all close.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Let’s see. Two adult witches, one who has imperfect control over death magics, one precocious, dangerous, out-of-control double-X-gene witch girl-child, one male witch child, also already exhibiting early magical ability, one infant still at the breast, said death-magic witch lactating and hormonal, her husband trying to hold it all together while still hiding in the male-witch-sorcerer closet, all running around screaming and making a mess, both physical and magical. And they might accidently kill us all. That?”
I chuckled. What he described sounded like heaven. And by his tone, Bruiser wasn’t against the idea of company. My sweetcheeks had been quiet for several weeks, maybe even a little depressed, not that he had said so, but it was there in his tone, in his body language, in his scent. I figured he was dejected because Leo was gone and I was dying, but maybe also because he didn’t have a job, a purpose, anymore. He was a type A personality and had been gainfully employed for a century, handling social and political situations with powerful paras and managing a powerful vamp’s clan, businesses, servants, and money. He had made life-and-death decisions daily and nightly for VIVs (very important vampires) and their blood-dinners, dealing with human and vamp politics and high-stakes business. Now? He was my nursemaid. Maybe he needed this crisis. “I’m happy they’re coming,” I said.
“Good. I’ve given them the Thomas Wolfe Suite and the Charles Frazier Suite. They have a connecting door so Molly and Evan can keep eyes on the little ones. I’ve ordered in supplies and food, to be delivered at eight in the morning. And extra ammo. I’ve already put linens on the beds and in the baths.”
I swung my eyes his way. My honeybunch had mad skills for social niceties, courtesy of an English boyhood and a hundred years or so as the primo