Too late.
“We are here to help you,” Drake says. “Please just listen before you dismiss what we have to say.”
What’s all this “we” business? This is his damn idea.
“Oh?” she says with narrowed eyes at me.
Drake tells her of his plan, and she goes even paler and shakes her head vehemently.
“Not a chance,” she says with her arms crossed. “How can you ask me to do such a thing?”
“Because it will help you,” Drake says.
“Might help you,” I interject, to his ire. “What?” I ask with a shrug. “She has to know it has never been tried.”
“What?” Maurelle squeaks and shrinks even further back into the sofa.
Shit. Drake looks like he wants to rip my head off.
“It has never been tried by you,” Drake says with a placating hand on Maurelle’s. “You are special, better.”
Aww, that kind of makes me blush. I suppose he has a point. Someone somewhere must have tried this. I, myself, offered my blood to Cade before he was turned to see if it would prolong his life, but we never got around to testing it.
“Just try it,” Drake wheedles. “I can’t bear to see you like this. So weak and frail.”
Well, if anything is going to make her do it, that is. She, like any strong woman, cannot stand being seen as weak and frail by a man, and her husband, no less. She sits upright with a grim determination and Drake catches my eye and waggles his eyebrows at me.
Ah, he knows his wife well.
I hold back the chuckle at his manipulation as my palms start to sweat. My nerves return, but Maurelle holds out her hand to me. I sit next to her, perched on the edge of the sofa and release my fangs and claws. Christ, it feels so good to do that again.
I slash my wrist and hold it up to her mouth. With a moue of distaste, that I find only mildly insulting, she grabs my wrist and holds it up to her mouth. She squeezes her eyes shut and takes a few quick sips and then pushes me away, wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her nightgown.
“Ergh,” she comments loudly. “We speak of this to no one.”
Drake and I nod dutifully, and he beams first at her and then at me. Even in the few seconds since she drank, her color has come back a little bit and her back is ramrod straight, as is her normal posture.
“Thank you,” Drake mouths at me, knowing full well Maurelle would probably rather die than be grateful to me for anything, even this.
“No problem,” I mouth back and head towards the door.
Maurelle stops me dead in my tracks as she mutters, “Thank you, Aeval,” and I turn with a quick nod and a smile.
Well, I did say “probably."
The Dark Fae Kingdom, September 2014 - Constantine
Constantine sits in the garden at the back of the palace watching his wife’s daughter run around after a ball that she found under a bush. He wonders what Sebastian’s mother wants with Aefre, but he is sure he knows. His charge has no doubt enlisted his mother to help try and smooth things over with her. But that will never happen. He has ensured that Sebastian was so cruel to her that she will never forgive him. A chill goes over him and he looks over his shoulder.
No. He shakes his head. Constantine is so sure that Sebastian would not resort to his gift to coerce her. Not after what happened last time. He was so adamant that he would never do it again, but now Constantine wonders. He has backed him into a corner and Sebastian always was one to fight his way out of a trap.
He dismisses it. His wife is strong now that she has her Vampire back. It pains him to admit (to himself and himself alone) that she is even stronger now that Remiel has turned her. He hates it. Loathes it to his very core, but he will smile and pretend that he is okay with it until the day he can tear her new sire to shreds with his bare hands. It settles his uneasiness and then he chuckles as Delinda races up to him and slams the ball so hard with her foot it sails over his head and into the top of the tree behind him.
“That is some kick you’ve got there,” he comments as he peers up at the ball. “You should play for AC Milan.”
“What’s AC Milan?” she asks, gazing up at him and pointing to the ball, clearly demanding with her actions that he retrieve it for her.
“A football team on Earth. In Italy,” he says and holds his hand up to the ball. It zings out of the branches and straight into his waiting hand. Even he feels pleased with this. He has always been one to fight hand-to-hand and he reveled in the feel of tearing flesh and the sticky blood on his hands. But he could get used to this. He sees now why Aefre relies so heavily on her magick to accomplish the most mundane task. He hands the ball back to the impressed little girl and she races off again and he resumes watching her.