Braden Bratianu stood on Nachari’s rooftop terrace beside his mother, Lily, and the silence lingered between them. At some point later that night, Saxson Olaru would deliver the female vampire-hunter to Princess Ciopori, and the valley was growing thick with inky fog—dark, swirling eddies—as if the earth itself was preparing for the requiem.

It seemed a perfect backdrop for his awkward conversation with his mother.

Lily had asked to speak to Braden privately, without Dario or Conrad present, and the last thirty minutes had barely inched along…

“How are your studies at the academy?”

“They’re fine. Real good.”

More silence.

“How are Nachari and Deanna treating you?”

“Oh, yeah, just great. They couldn’t treat me any better.”

“Good. Good. That’s really…good.”

Another awkward pause.

“So, what’s your favorite class? At the academy, that is?”

“Oh, yeah; I like sparring with the other guys, you know, the future warriors.”

She’d perked up then. “So you’ve chosen your future path of study—you’re going to be a warrior, then?”

He’d scrunched his nose. “Um, no, not really. I’m still undecided. Either warrior or wizard, I guess. Maybe both.”

“Oh.” She’d paced around the deck. “Well, whatever you choose, you seem to be quite healthy and happy now…definitely growing strong as an ox. Are you feeding on a regular basis?”

It was at that juncture that Braden had finally had enough.

Was he feeding on a regular basis?

Seriously, what kind of question was that?

Leaning back against the terrace wall, which fell just below his waist, he crossed his arms over his chest and met his mother’s stare. “Mom…” He sounded as exasperated as he felt. “Why did you ask me to come out here? What did you really want to talk about?”

Lily stared at the sky, seeming to study the stars, and then she sighed. “Oh, son, there’s so much I need to say—I just don’t know where to start.”

Braden grew inexorably quiet, his voice falling to a low, hushed murmur. “What about?” He appraised his mother’s eyes. They looked tired: tired and sad. “Mom—”

“The last couple years.” She rushed the words as if it was the only way to get them out, and then she slowed down. “You’ll be turning seventeen in less than three full months. You were fifteen when we sent you to this valley with Nachari. Braden, I missed the last two years of your life.”

Braden’s muscles tensed, and his spine stiffened—but he didn’t utter a word. What the heck did she expect him to say?

Yeah, Mom, you did?

She ran a dainty hand through her chestnut-brown hair, the hue a perfect match to his own, and leaned against the wall beside him, unable to meet his eyes. “I want you to know that it wasn’t… I didn’t… Braden, I thought about you every day. You have always been my pride and joy.”

His eyes misted over with moisture, and frankly, it pissed him off.

He was a man now—or at least he was quickly approaching a mature-male status—what did it matter if his mommy hadn’t been there to see it happen? “It’s cool,” he muttered. “Really. It’s all good. I’ve been really busy, and—”

“Oh, Braden,” Lily cut in, reaching to the side to give his hand a quick, remorseful squeeze. “What have I done?”

He sighed, long and loud, but again, he didn’t reply.

Lily cleared her throat. “When you were just a boy, when you were growing up…before Dario…when Brad was still in our lives, I clung to you. I relied on you. You were my everything—my pride and joy. I used your curious mind and your sensitive heart to make it through the day.” She chuckled, insincerely. “When Brad would come home drunk, I would tell myself: Braden will never drink like that. When Brad was cruel and crass, I would remind myself: Braden will never speak like that. When Brad was ugly, you were beautiful. When Brad was intolerant, you were patient. When I didn’t want to get out of bed, I would do it anyway—because Braden needed me. My son. My smart, intuitive, amazing son…needed me.”

“You let him abuse me,” Braden said softly, unsure where the candidness came from. “You let him abuse you.”

Lily closed her eyes. “I was broken, Braden. My identity, my self-esteem, my courage—all of it was just…broken. It didn’t happen all at once; it just happened over time, being told I was nothing, being treated like a dog, experiencing what Brad did to me and watching what he did to you. Knowing that I was too weak…too cowardly…too afraid to stop it.” She reached to the side to take his hand again, but this time she held it firmly, perhaps more for her own comfort than his. “When I finally divorced him, it was for you—not me. I didn’t care enough about myself, but I loved you with a passion, Braden.” Her hand trembled in his, and he tightened his grip around it.

She took a slow, deep breath. “Then I met Dario and everything changed. But by then I was…I was so determined…to start over, to do better by Conrad than I did by you, to put the past behind me. But more than that, Braden; I was plagued by guilt. I should’ve left Brad sooner. I should’ve been a better mother. I could never make up for the childhood you should’ve had—the childhood you deserved.”

Braden shifted his weight from one foot to the other, but he didn’t interrupt his mother. He simply listened intently, trying to ignore the sensation of his heart constricting in his chest.

“When Dario and I decided to vacation around the world, when we ended up in Romania, our decision to leave you with Nachari was anything but selfish; we made the choice based on what was best for you.”

Braden nodded, remembering their earlier discussions—it was true, but it was only supposed to be for one month, initially.

“And when we later decided to let you stay with Nachari—to let you remain in Dark Moon Vale—again, we considered your greater good: what would be best for your education, your training, your stability. Hawaii was not the place for you. Home-schooling was not the right choice. Being kept from the warriors in the house of Jadon…I just couldn’t see that, not when you had gone so long without a father. Yes, Dario loved you like his own—he loves you still, son—but he’s only one male. Nachari is a wizard, Marquis and Nathaniel are ancient warriors, and Kagen is a healer. You…you always had something so unique in your soul, a piece of every one of those disciplines. You were special—you are special—and I wanted to give you the entire world, to expose you to the best of what you already were.” She nodded several times, and her eyes filled with tears. “I wanted to give you something better…than me.”

Braden sniffed, released his mother’s hand, and paced along the deck before returning to her side. “I think I needed both,” he said, angling his head to catch her gaze.

She nodded again, agreeing. “I know,” she whispered. “I screwed up, Braden. I really screwed up.”

He swallowed hard and looked off into the distance. The night was growing darker; the fog was growing thicker. The smell of pine permeated the valley, almost as if the trees and vegetation were paying attention.

“Being without you was hard,” Lily continued. “We wrote, we called, we reached out often, but as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks turned into months, at some point, something just sort of happened. My guilt turned into shame, and I could no longer face you.”

“Mother,” Braden said solemnly.

“No,” she countered, “let me get this out. I’ve been waiting forever to say this.”

He bit his bottom lip and remained silent.

“You have to understand where I was at, emotionally. When I would speak with the Silivasis, inquire about your care—your health, your progress, your daily life—for the first time in as long as I could remember, I knew that I’d done right by you. I may have failed you as a mother, but someone else—a family of exceptional vampires—had picked up those scattered pieces and put them back together. You were coming into your own, and you were excelling in ways that were so unexpected. Amazing. Promising. I don’t know why—or exactly how it happened—but the more I heard about your progress, the more I convinced myself that you were better off without me. Yes, I could start over—and do better—with Conrad, but the greatest gift I could give to you was my absence: to let women like Deanna and Ciopori…like Jocelyn, and later, Arielle…finish raising you. To let males like Nachari and Marquis rebuild you. Make up for my infinite failures.”

Braden couldn’t take another word.

He released her hand and swiveled on his heel to face her. His dominant hand moved to her throat and grasped the underside of her jaw. It wasn’t an act of aggression or anger. Quite the contrary, it was a vampiric demonstration of bonding, something that came from an instinct so primordial, it would have been impossible to identify it. His thumb rubbed over her pulse, resting softly on her jugular. “Mamica…”

He chose the term he had called her as a child, and he spoke it with reverence—only this night, he said it in Romanian:

Mommy…

He let the term of endearment linger.

“Te iert.”

I forgive you.

“I always did.”

Lily melted into a pool of tears, and he caught her slumping form, enfolding her in his arms.

“That night,” she whispered sorrowfully into his shoulder, “that thing…what I said…the night when I was drinking; it was unforgiveable, Braden. You might have your father’s features, but you never had his soul. Son, I’m so sorry. I’m so—so—sorry.”

“Te iert.” He repeated the pardon with emphasis, rubbing her back in soft, gentle circles. “Mom,” he whispered in her ear, “as weak as you may have been, you had the courage to leave my biological father. You had the self-esteem to fall in love with Dario, and he gave me the gift of immortality. Together, you gave me the house of Jadon. And the house of Jadon gave me Kristina—or at least, it will, when I come of age. My life is good, Mother. It’s not too late to start over…with me. I need you in my life.”

Lily crushed him in her arms, squeezing the air right out of him. She stroked his chestnut hair, almost like she was petting a cat, and crooned into his ear: “Oh, my baby…my precious baby boy. I love you so much, Braden. I’ve always loved you.” She drew back to stare into his eyes and chuckled. “Dario will be so happy! He’s been lecturing me for these last two years, but he had no choice but to respect my wishes…” She waved her hand through the air, eager to dismiss the past. Then she kissed him on the cheeks, each one in turn, before planting another kiss on his forehead…and then his nose. “My darling baby boy,” she whispered.

Braden fought the urge to cry along with her, but he knew he was losing the battle. Choking back a sob, he murmured, “I love you, too, Mamica. With all my heart.”

* * *

Keitaro Silivasi shut the door to his ancient dwelling, the cabin he had once shared with Serena—the home he was slowly and painstakingly enlarging and remodeling—eager to keep out the fog.

The dark, smoky vapor had been gathering along the valley floor for several hours, and it was growing thicker, denser, and more serpentine in its motion as the hour grew nigh…

The hour when Saxson Olaru would deliver Kyla Sparrow to her final reckoning.

But that wasn’t Keitaro’s immediate concern.

Outside of keeping the unnerving fog out of his cabin, he had more pressing matters to attend to: namely, Zayda Patrone.

The feral female was wreaking havoc on his sanity, his good sense, and his half-remodeled home: When she wasn’t screaming at the top of her lungs, she was throwing construction materials at Keitaro and generally trying to destroy things. When she wasn’t in demolition mode, she was grasping at his groin, speaking words too X-rated to repeat, and trying to seduce him.

When she wasn’t being overtly sexual, she was weeping and trembling.

Only to turn feral, once again, and attempt more demolition.

The gods knew, Keitaro did not want to lock her in an empty closet or chain her to the floor. She had endured enough captivity. And besides, there was only one completely finished room in the reconstructed cottage, which would one day become a four-thousand-square-foot, ranch-level home: Keitaro’s master bedroom.

And blessed Sagittarius, god of his ruling moon, that just had wrong written all over it for a couple of reasons: one, the female had been born into sexual slavery, so bedrooms were just about all she’d ever known; and two, the wires in her brain were so crisscrossed that anything could act as a trigger—one look at Keitaro’s intricately carved four-poster, Valencia canopy bed, and she might start purring like a kitten, trying to undress him once more.

Hells minions, he had no idea why he had brought the female home.

What he’d hoped he could still get out of her…

Vengeance against a race of enemies she didn’t even know she belonged to?

Surely not.

He wasn’t that twisted.

Vital information about the lycans and Mhier?

She didn’t have any information, and besides, no one knew more about the lycans and their world beyond the portal than Keitaro Silivasi. If he never saw that godforsaken land again, it would be too soon.

So what was it then?

Pity, curiosity, or concern?

He already knew that she wasn’t a shifter—few female lykoi were—as only first-generation shifters could create another shifter, and the pairing of a human and a lycan had a fifty-fifty chance of creating another human, rather than a werewolf. Her phenotype could be just that: human in its entirety, with just a hint of lykos scent, enough to identify her species—and her paternity—when sniffed by an ancient vampire…

Or a gifted Master Wizard.

Furthermore—and in keeping with the plight of her genotype—she was probably infertile. It was the plague of the lykos’ kind, and why their numbers had been diminishing for centuries. Still, most male-lycans could mate with human women just fine, so Zayda’s fertility was still a mystery…as was her degree of immortality, if, in fact, she was immortal at all.

And just why the hell was Keitaro thinking about this feral female’s fertility and immortality—what difference did it make to him? She was a virtual child, as wild as a tiger, and a potential genetic enemy.

Still, those eyes…

Those strange, luminous, faery-princess eyes—they were like a cosmic fusion between the sun, the moon, and a silver-blue star.

A beam of silver moonlight, shining through a recently installed skylight, suddenly turned charcoal gray, like the moon itself was dimming.

So it was time.

Saxson—and Kyla—had arrived at Marquis and Ciopori’s farmhouse.

Keitaro shuddered inwardly and whispered a prayer for courage, strength, and finality—emotional protection and principled guidance for Ciopori.

After all, Nikolai was Keitaro’s grandson.

And what needed to be done, needed to be done.

But he didn’t want the princess to suffer, or to be harmed, spiritually, in the process.

He turned to regard Zayda, who was cowering in the corner and shaking like a leaf…

It was time to command her to sleep…

Yet again.

He could figure out his next move tomorrow, discern a clear plan, and decide what to do with her…in the morning.