Amelia scooped up three more. "My dragon's going to love these just like they are. Thanks. Any time you want a ride, let me know, and if you need me, Em, I'll come stay with you." Her gaze dropped to Emeline's bruised arm, not that she could see the discoloration, but she knew it was there.
"Thanks, honey," Emeline said, fighting the burn of tears. "Go have fun with your dragon."
Amelia hesitated, standing awkwardly in front of her, then she leaned down and brushed a kiss across her forehead. "You're important, too, Em. To all of us. You know that, don't you?"
Emeline tightened her arms around her middle, holding it together by a mere thread. She was going to have to risk leaving the compound to ensure Amelia's--and the other children's--safety. She knew when she made the decision to leave that she probably wouldn't survive. "Thank you, Amelia. Sometimes, I guess, we all need a reminder."
She wasn't as important as the children. They deserved a life, and they'd never had it. They were street children, living from one garbage can to another, the older ones stealing to provide for the younger ones. Huddling together to keep warm in the worst of winter. Here, in Tariq Asenguard's compound with the wealthy Carpathian as their guardian, she knew they finally had a home. She couldn't endanger them by drawing the worst evil imaginable to them.
Amelia jumped off the porch and walked nonchalantly back to her dragon. Emeline caught the impression that she wanted to run to the creature, but was trying to act dignified. That made Emeline want to smile when few things could anymore. Amelia went back and forth between being a young teen and a very old soul.
"Emeline." Genevieve's voice floated to her and she realized she was drifting. She did that sometimes, trying to find a place in her head to go where nothing, not even the terrible pain eating away at her insides, could get to her. "Are you certain you don't mind me joining you?"
Emeline raised her head, and it was an effort. She had thought she was holding her own outside, but suddenly she was desperately tired. Everything seemed to be an effort these days, but watching the children play, seeing little three-year-old Bella laughing as her brother pushed her on the swing, was a balm to her. "Of course I want your company, Genevieve." She smiled up at the other woman.
"It's nice to talk to an adult. Charlotte and Blaze sleep all day, and although I love the children, I sometimes think I might pull out all my hair if I don't hear an adult's voice." Genevieve sank gracefully into the chair Amelia had just vacated. "By the time the two of them get up, I'm ready to call it a night." She yawned and poured herself a cup of tea. "It seems I'm turning into an old lady. I want to go to bed earlier and earlier."
Her laughter was soft, inviting Emeline to join in at the absurdity of a woman her age going to bed just after sunset. Emeline shifted back in her chair so the shadows could soften her appearance. An observant person would notice she continued to lose weight, and Genevieve was observant.
"I don't sleep very well," Emeline admitted. "I play music, but that doesn't always help."
"You need to talk to someone," Genevieve suggested gently.
Emeline nodded, agreeing because it was the truth. She wouldn't. Couldn't. But she agreed because she knew Genevieve was right. "Blaze and Charlotte tell me that as well. I don't want to relive one moment of it, not ever again, not even to talk about it."
The incident. That's how she thought of it, trying to minimize those hours in her mind. Make the entire thing just another moment in her history. She pushed at her tangled hair with trembling fingers. For a moment, she couldn't breathe. The pain in her body increased until she writhed on the chair, a low moan escaping. At once Genevieve leapt to her feet and came around the small table toward her.
Emeline held up her hand, palm out, desperate to stop the other woman. "Please. I can do this. I have to do it my way."
"Charlotte told me a healer was coming, would be here any day. He's powerful. Also, Dragomir Kozel is reputed to be a tremendous healer--" Genevieve broke off. "Okay, I can't recommend him. Everyone seems nervous around him, including Tariq, and he's the most confident man I've ever known." She subsided, with some reluctance, back into her chair.
At hearing the name of the ancient Carpathian, Emeline pressed her lips together tightly, her heart pounding wildly. She had seen the man striding around the property, his salt-and-pepper hair down to his waist, looking like a warrior out of a movie. His body was roped with obvious muscle, much different from Tariq's sleek look in his suit. She couldn't imagine Dragomir in a suit. Of course she'd secretly watched him, what woman wouldn't? He was rugged, all male, his features grim and scarred, tough, very intriguing.
She'd actually dreamt about him, and that scared her. She didn't dare dream of anyone. She had an enemy that could look inside of her mind when she wasn't being vigilant. Just the thought of that made her want to laugh hysterically. If she went to a counselor and tried to tell them he could read her thoughts, she'd be locked up in a padded cell. No one would believe her. She didn't even have the basic luxury of fantasizing about a man like Dragomir sweeping her off her feet. She knew she would never be able to live with the reality of him, but she wanted to have the fantasy.
Worse, her dreams sometimes came true, the ones that repeated themselves night after night, adding new details with each new dream. She'd continued to have those, even before she'd laid eyes on Dragomir. Always, he died at the end. He saved her, saved the children and died. Because of her. She hid in her house when he was on the grounds because she wasn't ever going to meet him. Not ever. If she could avoid that introduction, maybe her nightmares wouldn't become reality.
"You're blushing."
"I am?" She touched her throat and ran her fingers down her chest, shocked that she could feel warmth creeping under her skin. Along with nightmares, she had fantasies about the man--fantasies she tried hard to reject, but they slipped into her mind anyway.
"Everyone gets out of his way," Genevieve reiterated. "Dragomir is dangerous."
"I can see that," Emeline admitted. "Anyone can see it. Believe me, when he's outside, I go into the house." That much was true. She wouldn't take a chance with his life. And now . . . she didn't take a chance with any of the Carpathian males being around her. Charlotte and Blaze were both Carpathian now. She wouldn't be able to be around them, either. But Dragomir . . . any of the ancients really, but Dragomir caught her attention. She couldn't get near him, not without endangering him, her or everyone.
The wind shifted just a little, kicking up leaves and swirling them in small eddies across the grounds. Shadows lengthened, throwing replicas of the sprawling mansion across the ground. In her imagination, those turrets on the ground grew in darkness, reaching out toward her much smaller Victorian. She shivered and shrank back into the shadows, hiding from those reaching hands.
"Em! Em!" Bella's voice drew her attention. Danny had pushed her high on the swing, and she was waving with one hand while clutching the chain with the other.
She waved back at the child, her heart in her throat. "Hold on with both hands, Bella!" she called.
"They really respond to you and to each other," Genevieve observed. "I'm just beginning to break into their circle."
"I was homeless, too," Emeline admitted. She rarely talked about her childhood, but Genevieve was becoming a friend. She had precious few of them. It didn't hurt to explain, especially since Genevieve was so good to the children and sounded just a little hurt. "When the weather was bad, I'd climb up onto the roof of the building where Blaze and her father owned a bar. Their apartment was above it. Blaze would leave her window unlocked, and I'd climb in and sleep there. For a long time, her father pretended he didn't know." She smiled at the memory. "He was a good man."
"So if I didn't have money . . . "
"Or an accent," Emeline cut in.
Genevieve laughed softly and then sobered. "I grew up in a very wealthy family. That comes with its own set of prejudices."
Emeline studied her face. Genevieve was truly a beautiful woman.
She was always sweet and caring, but at that moment, it was easy to read the sadness in her. She blinked, and Genevieve was smiling again. Hiding. Maybe everyone hid. Emeline didn't know anymore. The thought made her sad.
"Lourdes is a beautiful little girl," she said.
"She's very sweet," Genevieve said. "I suppose I should get back over there. Danny looks like he's had enough of pushing the girls on the swing, and they can keep asking for hours."
"He's a good boy." He was. She was very impressed with Danny.
"Thanks for the tea. I've only got a little while before Charlotte is up and she takes over. I'll have my time off."
Emeline nodded and watched her go back to the play yard. She briefly spoke with Danny, who squinted up at the sun for a couple of seconds and then shook his head. Something about the way he looked up caught Emeline's attention. She frowned, trying to think what was eluding her. The tilt of his head reminded her of something she'd seen several times. It was important . . .
"Em!" Liv materialized right in front of her, a mischievous smile on her face. She flung her arms around Emeline. "I missed you."
Emeline's breath exploded from her lungs at the sudden sight of the little girl. Liv had endured terrible things in the underground city and that had bonded the two of them. At ten, she was years older than she should have been, her childhood ripped away from her. Emeline closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the feeling of love she had for the little girl. To save her life, the Carpathians had converted her, bringing her wholly into their world, so technically, she shouldn't spend time with Liv--it was too dangerous.
"I missed you, too," she murmured. It was true. The child had been healing, put in the ground to allow the rich soil to do its work. Liv looked good, her skin no longer sallow, her eyes no longer haunted. "I thought you were supposed to stay in the ground a few more weeks. And it isn't sunset yet."