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  “She’ll come to accept her new self, given time,” Ronan reassured her. “But first, we have to focus on saving her.”

  He moved to Chantal’s side, and then looked up at Kia, his smooth brow furrowed. “You might prefer to wait outside.”

  “No.” She swallowed hard. “I’ll stay.”

  He gave a nod and rolled up a sleeve. Without further preliminaries, he raised his wrist and opened his mouth. Baring long, razor-sharp fangs, he bit deep into his vein.

  The metallic scent of blood immediately filled the room, and Kia instinctively growled deep in her throat as bloodlust surged. She as quickly shoved her hunger back, moving to hold up her mother’s head so she wouldn’t choke on his warm offering of hemoglobin.

  If felt like hours, but it was just minutes before Ronan removed his wrist. When he raised his arm to his mouth she said, “Wait.”

  He paused, his glittering eyes a little feverish, his skin washed out. Kia eased her mum’s head back onto the pillows, brushing her sweat-dampened gray hair off her hot brow before she moved around the bed toward Ronan.

  “Allow me,” she said softly.

  Taking hold of his hand, she elevated his wrist to her opened lips. And with one long sweep of her tongue, she sealed his bloodied cut closed with the special enzymes found in a vampire’s saliva.

  She hissed her pleasure, closing her eyes. Oh, but the taste of his blood was excruciatingly delectable, like teasing a starving dog with a meaty bone.

  Only, this wasn’t about her self-control or his recovery, even with his blood loss, which was the essence of a nightwalker’s power and vitality, he would heal quickly. Being the Ancient One, she imagined that process would be twice as efficient.

  No. This act was a demonstration of her respect. Her commitment. Her faith.

  He exhaled slowly, and she opened her eyes and stepped away, shaking inside. She couldn’t speak, could barely think about her feelings as she returned to her mother and numbly adjusted her blankets.

  Heaven help her, she never expected to feel. To have any reaction at all except the one driving need to keep her mum from dying.

  You’re grateful he’s here for you…for your mum. Nothing more.

  Forcing calm, she leaned down and planted a kiss on Chantal’s brow. Was it wishful thinking, or was her mother already breathing a little easier; her skin a little cooler to the touch?

  “Have you ever saved other mortals from this disease?” she asked, her voice amazingly steady.

  “Yes. Twice before.”

  She swung toward him. “My mother’s condition is that rare?”

  “It is.” He took a few steps toward the window, his back to her as he looked out at the velvet and starry night sky. One curled hand tapped against his chin as he murmured, “Your mother was pregnant when she was attacked and raped, that in itself is a very rare offense from one of our kind.”

  Translated: a crime punishable by death. Vampires strove to keep their identity a secret. And attacking and drinking from mortals before leaving them to die did not qualify as a clandestine or intelligent act.

  “Especially if that mortal is carrying a child,” Ronan mused aloud, reading her thoughts as easily as had she spoken them aloud. “The altered hormones of a pregnant woman make her blood much more temptingly sweet—and predisposed to contracting a vampire-induced disease—as your mother did.”

  Her jaw clenched. Her sire really had been a monster of the worst kind. And it had nothing to do with his vampire status.

  “The fact that your mother was able to recall the attack makes me wonder if her body has the ability to produce the special antigens needed to negate a vampire’s bite.”

  She frowned, thoughtful. For obvious reasons her mother hadn’t talked much about the assault, but she’d said enough for Kia to comprehend her terror. Later, when Kia learned a mortal couldn’t recall a vampire’s bite, she’d assumed the sheer violence of her mother’s attack had caused that memory to stick in her mind.

  Ronan turned to her. “I suspect this same process worked in reverse, and Shad’s vampire bacteria lay dormant in her body for years afterward until something weakened her immune system, triggering this strain of disease.”

  Oh, hell. What did he mean? That for each pregnant woman attacked, the outcome was unique—a different result almost every time? A different disease?

  He nodded. “Yes.” Moving close, he drew her into his arms, his breath warm against the top of her head, his voice muffled. “In your mother’s case, she contracted an aging disease. Immortal reversal.”

  Kia had already guessed as much, the proof had been right before her eyes. But for someone to put it into words was like being told for the first time the earth was indeed round. “What made it become active?” she asked, pulling back a little to look up at his somber expression. “She was never sick.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  It hit her then. “Oh!” She shook her head. “She came down with her first-ever bout of chicken pox.”

  “Ah,” he said.

  And that one word revealed all she needed to know. Never in a hundred years would she have guessed such a simple virus could spark something so complex and deadly.

  “Kia.”

  At her mother’s voice, Kia spun to face her, only half aware that Ronan had released her and taken a step back.

  Relief clambered within as her mum focused on her. And though Chantal appeared disorientated, physically she looked much better, her skin less pasty and pink tingeing her cheeks.

  “Mum!” Kia dropped to her knees beside her. About to pull her into a hug, she stopped midway. Later was for hugging, when her mother wasn’t so fragile…when she’d be as strong as an ox and likely despising the reason why.

  Chantal managed a weak, wobbly smile. “I’m so glad you’re back, sweetheart.” She grimaced, coughing fitfully for a moment before adding, “And you wouldn’t believe it, but I—I feel a little better.”

  Kia chewed her bottom lip. Oh, she believed it all right. She just wasn’t sure how she was going to reveal the source of this sudden bout of good health.

  Chantal drew in a wheezy breath, and Kia could see weariness hollowing out her face as she struggled to speak.

  “I feel…different though, too,” her mum rasped. Then, as if sensing another presence, her dull eyes sharpened fleetingly before latching onto Ronan.

  He averted his head, and Kia saw him retract his still-visible, blood-tipped fangs.

  Too late.

  Chantal’s face flushed outrage. And with a look of dawning horror she jerked her gaze back to her daughter. “Kia. What…what did you do?”

  A burning flood of guilt poured through Kia’s veins, leaching scalding tears from the corners of her eyes. “I couldn’t let you die.”

  “No. No!” Chantal almost gnashed her teeth with despair. “Better I die than…than—”

  “What, Mum? Turn out like me?”

  It wasn’t without good reason Chantal loathed vampires. But Kia suddenly perceived how her mother’s hatred had clouded her own perspective, infusing anti-vampirism right into the marrow of her bones, shadowing one half of her heritage and an otherwise bright childhood.

  Chantal had wanted her daughter to grow up in as “normal” and “human” an environment as possible. Though vampire blood tainted Kia’s veins, she’d done everything in her power not to taint her upbringing too.

  “That’s not what I meant,” Chantal fretted, white faced and clearly fighting to stay conscious.

  Kia stroked her mother’s cheek, her brow, tears now running freely down her cheeks. “I know, Mum. I know.” But deep in her heart she knew otherwise.

  Maybe her mother would eventually come to accept her newfound vampirism…then maybe she’d come to fully accept her daughter’s birthright too. She sniffled, swiping her eyes dry and feeling one hundred percent human right then. “Everything is going to be all right, Mum. You’ll see.”

  Chantal managed a jerky nod, and wi
th a fitful sigh she succumbed to sleep, her rigid body slackening ever so slowly.

  Kia drowned between utter joy and wretched misery. “You’ll be alive and healthy for a very long time,” she whispered.

  Forever.

  Ronan’s hand settled onto her shoulder. “Kia, leave her to sleep now and regenerate.”

  She released her mother’s feeble hand, sucking in a shaky breath. “Of course.”

  She followed Ronan’s broad back through the bedroom door, the laundry area and onto the back veranda. Cicadas chirruped a faint roar into the still night air. Pine needles, eucalyptus and the faint whiff of herbs created a pungent scent, and she filled her lungs with everything familiar.

  “You miss being here with your mum?” Ronan asked beside her.

  She turned to him, and couldn’t resist. “You need to ask?”

  “Thoughts aren’t always clear,” he said simply.

  “Were my mother’s?”

  He frowned, but nodded, “Yes. Brainwave patterns aren’t so complicated in sleep.”

  Her fingers clenched, nails scoring her palms as she dragged in another breath. “I’ve never asked this of my mum—never wanted to open such painful wounds—but now…now I need to…to know—”

  “Why your dad left,” he finished on a sigh, his eyes glittering silver.

  “Yes,” she said, though he knew that already.

  “Your mother thinks about him a lot.”

  “She does?” Her nails dug in a little harder. “Tell me—” she chewed her bottom lip “—please.”

  He took her hands in his, his thumb brushing over the already healing indents in her palm. “All right.”

  She closed her eyes. And as the stroke of his thumb moved up over her wrist, jerking a pulse to erratic life in her veins, she soaked in her heightened awareness of him: his masculine, spiced scent, his touch that fizzed a current up her arm, tingling her skin. And the incredible sense of rightness, whenever he was near.

  “Your mother was thinking about an argument she had with your dad, just minutes before he walked away.”

  Never to return.

  Her lids flicked open, her attention all encompassing. “What happened?”

  “He admitted to blaming himself for not being with her on the night of her birthday, for being tied to his career instead of celebrating with her…protecting her.”

  “But he couldn’t have known a vampire—Shad—” she tested the name aloud, a rising tide of bitterness at the fact she was a by-product of Chantal’s assault, overtaking her initial excitement at learning the truth “—was on a bloodlust rampage.”

  “That’s just it. Your dad knew nothing about vampires. Chantal never told him—was smart enough not to tell anyone. And people assumed a number of knife puncture wounds had severed an artery and almost bled her dry.”

  “So that’s it, then? Dad walked away from his family because he lost his self-worth?”

  Ronan’s expression remained neutral. “Not exactly.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t hide secrets from me now. However painful, I have to know. I have to accept the truth before I can put it all behind me.”

  He raked a hand through his hair before nodding agreement. “There are notable differences between a mortal and an immortal child—even before going through the change.”

  She nodded, recalling the day she’d knocked three boys to the ground after they’d teased her for not having a dad. When her mum had learned about it, she’d had to take her aside and gently tell her to suppress her physical and intellectual superiority.

  His smile looked almost pleased as he said, “Even though as a four-year-old you were smaller than most children, you were much stronger, incredibly fast and clever way beyond your years.”

  “You…you kept tabs on me all those years ago?” she asked faintly.

  “Of course. At present you are the only dhampire in Australia. Your existence is a special one, and one that I assigned myself to monitor as the most ancient vampire elder.”

  “I’m the only half vampire in the country?”

  “Yes.” His lips pulled tight. “A death sentence is almost always enough to keep a vampire from acting on his bloodlust with an unwilling, pregnant woman.” He shrugged. “Hybrids are almost nonexistent.”

  She brushed her hands up and down her arms, feeling decidedly chilled. Not unique, then. She was a freak.

  “You’re special,” he corrected, his stare holding hers. “Not only did you inherit your mother’s unique mortal DNA, you inherited Shad’s—he too was able to block thoughts from most vampires.”

  “So what has all this got to do with my dad walking away?” she had to ask.

  “Jackson knew you were special, unique. It made him believe he wasn’t your father.”

  “What?” Although everything pointed to this, her belly dropped and her mind reeled.

  “He believed your mother’s rapist was your biological father,” Ronan added softly.

  Her breath died. She crumpled. Ronan easily caught her in his arms and tugged her close, holding her as emotions that were all human twisted her heart and squeezed until it bled.

  “But DNA tests would have proved him wrong,” she croaked.

  And revealed far more than any vampire would have allowed. She guessed it wouldn’t have been the first time nightwalkers had had to destroy evidence—right along with mother and baby.

  “Your mother would never have agreed to a DNA test,” Ronan confirmed. “And Jackson never confronted her with his accusation. But she was all too aware of his private opinion, knew he’d grown resentful and bitter by the thoughts eating at him inside.”

  “Poor Mum.” She’d been trying to protect her from her own father all these years. “It all makes so much sense now,” she whispered.

  Ronan’s arms tightened around her. Only when she registered his shirt was sticking to his chest, her cheek, did she realize she was crying again. And yet, somehow she didn’t much care. She needed his strength, his blood-bond perception. Hell, she just needed him.

  “I’ll always be here for you, my darling,” he murmured, his lips brushing her scalp.

  She shivered with longing, with need—imagining a life without him producing an odd rush of sensations within. “And I for you,” she said huskily. She looked up, a smile pulling at her lips. “My place is with you now.”

  His eyes flashed, hinting at red. “You know.”

  What?—that she’d ignored what she’d felt from the moment she’d met him? Or that love at first sight really did exist?

  “Both,” he murmured huskily. “I just had to stick around until you admitted it to yourself.”

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  Looking for more paranormal romance? The sizzling and spine-chilling books of Silhouette Nocturne are available at www.eHarlequin.com or your local bookstore.

  Interested in writing for Nocturne Bites? Send your submission to [email protected]

  ISBN: 978-1-4268-5071-4

  Her Dark Lord

  Copyright © 2010 by Mel Teshco

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