Dearest Ivie (Black Dagger Brotherhood 15.50)
As her father stopped in front of Silas, the other male immediately extended his palm. In the Old Language, he said, “Sire, I am Montasilas, son of Mordachy the Younger. I am honored to be welcomed into your home.”
Hirah’s hard eyes went up and down. “I’d shake that. But I have a knife in my hand.”
Yeah, forget that your other one is free, Ivie thought. Hey, how about we bring a little more attention to that ten-inch blade in your fist? There are at least two people in greater Caldwell who haven’t noticed it.
“And as for the welcome part, we’ll see about that.” Hirah pointed toward the kitchen with the tip of the blade. “You two come talk at me while I cut things up.”
Oh, great. Ivie glanced at her mahmen for help—but nope. The female had taken a seat on the couch like she had done her best to derail this collision, but was resigned to failure.
As Ivie and Silas headed for the flap shutters that partially hid the kitchen, there were a whole lot of murmurs from the DNA peanut gallery.
“At least there will be witnesses,” she muttered to herself.
On the far side of those saloon flappers, pots simmered on the stove and hot dishes were on the counters and a dueling banjo of Crock-Pots were on the table where the buffet was set up.
“So,” Hirah said as he put a stack of raw carrots on the cutting board by the sink. “You’re dating my daughter.”
Crack! went the blade through the defenseless root vegetables. And yes, that arm bulged like it was going to blow up from the force he put into the slice.
Silas cleared his throat. “Yes, sire. I am.”
“Uh-huh.” Crack! “And you’ve been to her apartment, have you?”
“Yes, sire, I have.”
“Oh, you have, have you—”
Ivie threw up her hands. “Dad! Come on, this is—”
“And I don’t really care for it.”
Excuse me? Ivie thought.
Before she could say anything, Hirah’s head cranked around like something out of a Chucky movie. “You don’t really care for her apartment?” He motioned with that knife. “She pays for that place herself, you know. Not out of some trust fund. She works hard doing good honest work to earn her money—”
“Okaaaay,” Ivie said, getting between them, “let’s just take this down a few hundred degrees—”
“I worry about her during the day.” Silas shook his head. “I mean, all those humans around her doing dumb things. What if there’s a fire? What if someone tries to break in? She’s defenseless. There’s nowhere to go. No escape hatch. No one around to help her. I’m not saying she can’t take care of herself. If I’ve learned anything about your daughter in the short time I’ve known her, it’s that she is self-sufficient, smart, and capable. I just think independence is fine, but she would be better off out here.” He turned to her. “Just as you were saying in the car. On the next hill. With a place of your own, but close enough so that your family can be there, preferably through an underground tunnel.”
Hirah blinked. And then also pivoted toward her. “How many times have I told you this? I can tunnel it myself, you know.”
“He has a very valid position, Ivie.” Silas nodded. “No one wants to take your independence away, I’m sure.”
“Hell no,” her father interjected. “Plus you can dematerialize to the clinic from here.”
“Which was my point,” Silas agreed. “And I know you’re going to insist on paying for it yourself—”
“Always with the I’ve got it, I can take care of myself,” her dad muttered.
“But, Ivie,” Silas implored, “if your father can do the labor, it will be less expensive. This is a really good idea—and you did say here is where your heart is.”
“She said that?” Hirah demanded. “Ivie, I thought you were all about the city.”
“And family is critical, Ivie. No one will ever care for you as much as your parents and your blood do.”
Hirah glanced at Silas. Looked back at Ivie. “Yeah. What he said.”
Bringing a hand up to her suddenly pounding head, she groaned. “Can we go back to when you wanted to kill him, Dad? I was actually enjoying that horror so much more than this testosterone collusion the two of you are rocking.”
Chapter Eight
“When are you bringing him back?”
Toward the end of the evening, Ivie laughed as she sat down with her mahmen on the old sofa in the corner. “I may not be able to get him to leave.”
Across the living room, Silas was sitting on a plastic folding chair next to her father and her uncle, and her older aunt—who was the card shark in the family. The four of them were playing gin rummy, all of them hunched forward over a rickety table, the cards flying fast, the verbal, one-upsmanship abuse just as quick. They had been like that for the past hour…and quite frankly, if anyone had tried to tell Ivie that this would be the conclusion to the evening?
She would have assumed it was the setup for a bad joke.
An aristocrat walks into a prefab with a biker’s daughter, and the bartender looks at him and says, “How’d you like to get castrated with a carving knife?”
Or something to that effect.
Except Silas hadn’t just fit in; he’d become one of them. In spite of his lofty accent and expensive clothes, he’d laughed and smiled and winked, charming the females, and meeting the males eye to eye.
Rubes came over and squeezed in beside Ivie. “He’s Prince Charming. That’s what he is. And he couldn’t have happened to a better female.”
All Ivie could do was shake her head sadly. “There isn’t going to be a happily ever after, though.”
“Whyever not?” her mahmen said. “He adores you.”
Rubes nodded. “He can’t keep his eyes off of you.”
“He’s going back to his people in the Old Country.”
As all kinds of No! That can’t be’s bubbled up around her, Ivie shrugged. “It’s what he’s doing.”
Guess he was putting his money where his mouth was when it came to that whole family-loves-you-best thing.
Her mahmen took Ivie’s hand. “Well, I’m sorry he’s leaving. But the selfish part of me is relieved that you aren’t going with him.”
Ivie shook her head. “We don’t know each other well enough for that kind of thing. And we’re also both smart enough to realize that long distance of those proportions just isn’t practical. It’s hard, though. And crazy. Like, how could someone you’ve only known for a short time mean so much?”
“Love is like that,” Rubes said. “You’ve thought I was nuts for years about this and now look—ha! I was right all along.”
“I still think you’re nuts.” Ivie gave the female a quick hug. “But that’s what I adore about you.”
Rubes squeezed back. “I knew there was a soft caramel center in you, I just knew it.”
“Oh, Ivie, the time.” Her mother tapped the Seiko she wore on her wrist. “You better go back now. It’s almost five.”
“Crap. It is late.”
Ivie stood up, and the second she did, Silas’s eyes went to her and he smiled. As she nodded over her shoulder at the door, he inclined his head and folded his cards.
The goodbyes were long and vociferous and Silas took his time with these strangers who seemed to have become friends. And then Hirah was walking them out the door and into the snowy night.
“Call me when you get home,” the big male said gruffly as he pulled Ivie in for a hard hug.
As she returned the embrace, she was instantly connected to all the times her dad had been there for her. All the bumps and the bruises when she’d been a kid, the worries about her transition, the insecurities as a young adult, the breakaway for independence that she was still doing. He wasn’t an easy guy, for sure. Hirah was tough and he was brash, and in the back of her mind, she had sometimes been concerned he might actually kill someone who messed with her as opposed to just spout that hyperbole like other dads did. r father stopped in front of Silas, the other male immediately extended his palm. In the Old Language, he said, “Sire, I am Montasilas, son of Mordachy the Younger. I am honored to be welcomed into your home.”
Hirah’s hard eyes went up and down. “I’d shake that. But I have a knife in my hand.”
Yeah, forget that your other one is free, Ivie thought. Hey, how about we bring a little more attention to that ten-inch blade in your fist? There are at least two people in greater Caldwell who haven’t noticed it.
“And as for the welcome part, we’ll see about that.” Hirah pointed toward the kitchen with the tip of the blade. “You two come talk at me while I cut things up.”
Oh, great. Ivie glanced at her mahmen for help—but nope. The female had taken a seat on the couch like she had done her best to derail this collision, but was resigned to failure.
As Ivie and Silas headed for the flap shutters that partially hid the kitchen, there were a whole lot of murmurs from the DNA peanut gallery.
“At least there will be witnesses,” she muttered to herself.
On the far side of those saloon flappers, pots simmered on the stove and hot dishes were on the counters and a dueling banjo of Crock-Pots were on the table where the buffet was set up.
“So,” Hirah said as he put a stack of raw carrots on the cutting board by the sink. “You’re dating my daughter.”
Crack! went the blade through the defenseless root vegetables. And yes, that arm bulged like it was going to blow up from the force he put into the slice.
Silas cleared his throat. “Yes, sire. I am.”
“Uh-huh.” Crack! “And you’ve been to her apartment, have you?”
“Yes, sire, I have.”
“Oh, you have, have you—”
Ivie threw up her hands. “Dad! Come on, this is—”
“And I don’t really care for it.”
Excuse me? Ivie thought.
Before she could say anything, Hirah’s head cranked around like something out of a Chucky movie. “You don’t really care for her apartment?” He motioned with that knife. “She pays for that place herself, you know. Not out of some trust fund. She works hard doing good honest work to earn her money—”
“Okaaaay,” Ivie said, getting between them, “let’s just take this down a few hundred degrees—”
“I worry about her during the day.” Silas shook his head. “I mean, all those humans around her doing dumb things. What if there’s a fire? What if someone tries to break in? She’s defenseless. There’s nowhere to go. No escape hatch. No one around to help her. I’m not saying she can’t take care of herself. If I’ve learned anything about your daughter in the short time I’ve known her, it’s that she is self-sufficient, smart, and capable. I just think independence is fine, but she would be better off out here.” He turned to her. “Just as you were saying in the car. On the next hill. With a place of your own, but close enough so that your family can be there, preferably through an underground tunnel.”
Hirah blinked. And then also pivoted toward her. “How many times have I told you this? I can tunnel it myself, you know.”
“He has a very valid position, Ivie.” Silas nodded. “No one wants to take your independence away, I’m sure.”
“Hell no,” her father interjected. “Plus you can dematerialize to the clinic from here.”
“Which was my point,” Silas agreed. “And I know you’re going to insist on paying for it yourself—”
“Always with the I’ve got it, I can take care of myself,” her dad muttered.
“But, Ivie,” Silas implored, “if your father can do the labor, it will be less expensive. This is a really good idea—and you did say here is where your heart is.”
“She said that?” Hirah demanded. “Ivie, I thought you were all about the city.”
“And family is critical, Ivie. No one will ever care for you as much as your parents and your blood do.”
Hirah glanced at Silas. Looked back at Ivie. “Yeah. What he said.”
Bringing a hand up to her suddenly pounding head, she groaned. “Can we go back to when you wanted to kill him, Dad? I was actually enjoying that horror so much more than this testosterone collusion the two of you are rocking.”
Chapter Eight
“When are you bringing him back?”
Toward the end of the evening, Ivie laughed as she sat down with her mahmen on the old sofa in the corner. “I may not be able to get him to leave.”
Across the living room, Silas was sitting on a plastic folding chair next to her father and her uncle, and her older aunt—who was the card shark in the family. The four of them were playing gin rummy, all of them hunched forward over a rickety table, the cards flying fast, the verbal, one-upsmanship abuse just as quick. They had been like that for the past hour…and quite frankly, if anyone had tried to tell Ivie that this would be the conclusion to the evening?
She would have assumed it was the setup for a bad joke.
An aristocrat walks into a prefab with a biker’s daughter, and the bartender looks at him and says, “How’d you like to get castrated with a carving knife?”
Or something to that effect.
Except Silas hadn’t just fit in; he’d become one of them. In spite of his lofty accent and expensive clothes, he’d laughed and smiled and winked, charming the females, and meeting the males eye to eye.
Rubes came over and squeezed in beside Ivie. “He’s Prince Charming. That’s what he is. And he couldn’t have happened to a better female.”
All Ivie could do was shake her head sadly. “There isn’t going to be a happily ever after, though.”
“Whyever not?” her mahmen said. “He adores you.”
Rubes nodded. “He can’t keep his eyes off of you.”
“He’s going back to his people in the Old Country.”
As all kinds of No! That can’t be’s bubbled up around her, Ivie shrugged. “It’s what he’s doing.”
Guess he was putting his money where his mouth was when it came to that whole family-loves-you-best thing.
Her mahmen took Ivie’s hand. “Well, I’m sorry he’s leaving. But the selfish part of me is relieved that you aren’t going with him.”
Ivie shook her head. “We don’t know each other well enough for that kind of thing. And we’re also both smart enough to realize that long distance of those proportions just isn’t practical. It’s hard, though. And crazy. Like, how could someone you’ve only known for a short time mean so much?”
“Love is like that,” Rubes said. “You’ve thought I was nuts for years about this and now look—ha! I was right all along.”
“I still think you’re nuts.” Ivie gave the female a quick hug. “But that’s what I adore about you.”
Rubes squeezed back. “I knew there was a soft caramel center in you, I just knew it.”
“Oh, Ivie, the time.” Her mother tapped the Seiko she wore on her wrist. “You better go back now. It’s almost five.”
“Crap. It is late.”
Ivie stood up, and the second she did, Silas’s eyes went to her and he smiled. As she nodded over her shoulder at the door, he inclined his head and folded his cards.
The goodbyes were long and vociferous and Silas took his time with these strangers who seemed to have become friends. And then Hirah was walking them out the door and into the snowy night.
“Call me when you get home,” the big male said gruffly as he pulled Ivie in for a hard hug.
As she returned the embrace, she was instantly connected to all the times her dad had been there for her. All the bumps and the bruises when she’d been a kid, the worries about her transition, the insecurities as a young adult, the breakaway for independence that she was still doing. He wasn’t an easy guy, for sure. Hirah was tough and he was brash, and in the back of her mind, she had sometimes been concerned he might actually kill someone who messed with her as opposed to just spout that hyperbole like other dads did.