Rik opened his eyes. His arms were curled protectively around Sam, holding her to his chest even in sleep. Not that they had gotten much sleep, but he felt more energized than he could remember being. Stretching languidly, careful to avoid disturbing the passed-out beauty half-sprawled atop of him, Rik looked up at the ceiling and grinned. The sun wasn’t even up, but his day was already looking great!
Lightly tracing his fingertips along the curve of Sam’s spine, Rik savored the feel of her lush, ample curves pressed flush against his body. He was looking forward to getting used to this. Who’d have thought that less than a week ago, he’d actually be eager to spend the rest of his life waking up with the same woman? Now, he didn’t ever want to wake up without her.
Glancing over at the time, Rik cursed. 5:07 AM. It was Saturday, the day the Village was opening for the vendors and performers to start getting things ready. Besides that, his grandparents were due back from their recent book-signing tour. Looking back over at the woman sleeping peacefully on his shoulder, he gave serious contemplation to just saying to Hell with it all and staying in bed with his cara. With that in mind, he rolled to his side to face her, about to draw her close for at least a little longer.
Unfortunately, Rik's phone chose that very inopportune moment to begin buzzing in his jean's pocket. Glad he had had at least the forethought to put it on vibrate after he had called his sister the night before, Rik carefully slid out from beneath Sam and leaned off the bed, straining to grab his jeans. Finally managing to snag the leg, he tugged them close and fished out his phone, giving the screen a bleary-eyed glare.
A text from Clay. Of course. Bastard barely ever slept. Odd for a feline, but very much consistent with Clay’s ornery ways.
TROUPE ARRIVES @ 8. COAST CLEAR, NO BABES OR EVIE YET BUT YOUR GRAMPS IS LOOKING 4 U ALREADY.
Ah, Hellfire and Eternal Damnation. Rik's grandparents had returned. They'd been in California for some meetings, with both Mortals and Uncannies, regarding one of their current projects—turning one of his grandmother's urban fantasy series into a television show. Both of his grandparents were writers, his grandfather writing romance novels for the last thirty years under the pseudonym of Leonore D'Arc while his grandmother wrote both traditional and urban fantasy novels.
Their books and other projects were just a small part of the overall push the last few decades to paint paranormal beings in a more positive light. While many supernaturals in Europe had gone underground during the spread of the Holy Roman Empire, it was the Inquisition and witch hunters of the 16th and 17th centuries that had truly seen the retreat from Mortals.
With the rise of technology in the last few decades, however, the world was growing smaller. It was more and more difficult to retreat, and even the glamour could only protect them so much. Since it was inevitable that they would be discovered, under Audrick's suggestions and guidance, a long campaign of spin doctoring had begun. Vampire and shifter romance books and movies, in particular, had made incredible strides in making them seem more sympathetic. Even the witches seemed to be making great strides in improving their image, in no small part to the resurgence of Pagans, Heathens, and Wiccans who were embracing old religions.
Sadly, the Sidhe and Fae were still lagging in public regard, that bloody green-clad, blonde-haired fairy cartoon sadly both a blessing and a curse for Fae-Human Relations. Everyone thought fairies were cute and did nice things, like grant wishes, completely forgetting the fact that the Sidhe were directly descended from what humans called gods and fairies who were the agents of glamour. Show's what Mortals know.
When Rik's phone buzzed again, he shoved it against his chest with a muffled grunt, glancing over to see if it had bothered Sam. She had rolled over to her back, one arm crooked over her eyes while the other was curled over her stomach. The damned sheets were still covering her. Lucky bastard sheets.
Carefully edging out of the bed, Rik pulled on his jeans and quietly padded over to the window. Coming face-to-face with the large, white wolf seated in a chair and staring at him with blue eyes glinting in the darkness, Rik cursed and instinctively called forth his power. When his energy surged, becoming visible and coalescing in his right hand to form a long, narrow blade, the golden light reflected from glassy blue eyes. A fucking stuffed animal. Sam had a life-sized white wolf plushie. In her room. And it was looking at him with pity.
Rik released his grip on his glamour with a huff. Note to self. Find out why Sam has a wolf, of all things, in her room.
Patting the thing on the head, Rik whispered softly, "Good boy. Stay."
Turning his body to shield the light from his phone, Rik eyed the screen. It was a text from his grandfather.
Réveille-toi, Garçon! Your mémé missed you. Join us for café downstairs.
Yes, it was totally a command and not a request, and unsurprising, thanks to Clay's warning. Even if they had arrived late last night, they were both early risers, and though their private residence was a distance away from the Château, weather permitting and family in residence, they often met here. Quickly, Rik tapped a message back, Be down in 15.
Padding barefoot back over to his sleeping beauty, Rik gazed down at her and felt his heart flutter. The faintest of snores escaped her, and with her tumble of hair in disarray around her, she looked soft and cuddly and inviting. When she rolled over away from him, revealing the curve of her back, Rik groaned under his breath as the sheet slithered down to reveal that dimpled flesh at the base of her spine.
Rejoining her in bed was a bad idea. Right? Right! He'd never leave, and he wouldn't put it past either Clay or his grandparents tracking him down. And that would be a very bad thing. He wasn't quite ready to inflict any of them on an unsuspecting Samantha.
Absently rubbing the left side of his chest, fingers unconsciously tracing over the still incomplete markings, Rik leaned to kiss her cheek.
"Whazzit?" Sam mumbled groggily, lifting a hand to flail limply at him as she mumbled into the pillow, "G'way. No mas. Sleep. Precious."
Rik buried his grin in her hair. "Sorry, baby, I've got to run. Sleep, love."
Once more, Sam batted him away. A light slap landed on his cheek as she pushed his head away. "G'way!"
Laughing, Rik stood up. "Love you." He froze. He'd never said those words to anyone not blood related to him. Ever. He didn't know they were actually in his vocabulary. His entire body trembled as the air in the room stilled, a torturous silence settling over him.
"Love you, too," Sam responded before she yanked the blankets up over her head and burrowed beneath them.
The air whooshed back into Rik's lungs, a huge grin settling on his face. He knew it shouldn't really count, not officially, but damned if her words didn't unerringly strike his heart and get it to beating properly once more.
Resisting the urge to whistle jauntily, Rik quickly—and quiet as a child up to no good—tossed on his shirt, not bothering to button it up. Putting his Stetson back on and tucking his boots beneath his arm, he tiptoed out of her room and surrounded himself with a shrouding glamour as he headed back to his room for a quick shower and a change of clothes.
Dressed comfortably in an old pair of jeans, an equally worn Colorado Rockies sweatshirt, and a pair of broken in Converse, Rik joined his grandparents in the restaurant. Both were enjoying a cup of coffee with some of Bertie's pastries, and were cloaked in their Mortal façades.
Jean-Paul "Leonore D'Arc" Leon resembled a fit and hearty man in his early sixties, with a weathered, sun-beaten face and hair mostly gone white, with a few black streaks in his short hair and his carefully tended beard. His dark eyes were bright, and he was dressed casually—for him, anyways—in a pair of gray slacks and a pale blue button-up shirt, over which he wore a dark, charcoal gray vest. Casual, Old World elegance, until one got to the silver-tipped black cowboy boots and the Stetson. Beneath the façade, Jean-Paul looked much the same, although his face was unlined and his hair was quicksilver and obsidian, with eyes of black onyx.
Like her husband, Judith's façade gave the impression of a woman aging gracefully. Her long, wavy hair hung loosely down her back, a cascade of white and palest golds. Her eyes were a vivid jade, and she had picked up wearing a pair of spectacles, complete with a chain of silver around her neck. She wore a flowing blouse in a shimmering indigo, printed with large, white lilies, over a pair of white jeans tucked into a pair of calfskin boots. Bracelets, oh so many bracelets, adorned both arms, jingling with every grand gesture she made with her expressive hands. In her true guise, her skin was a flawless ivory, her hair liquid moonlight dancing with threads of sunlit gold, and those eyes glowed with a subtle radiance.
All Sidhe aged. All living things age. Only the true Tuatha and those known as the gods were immortal, and even they could be killed—although it was not easy, and with their ties to the very essence of the world, could have devastating consequences. Like most supernaturals, however, they aged incredibly slowly—only the Vampires could truly boast a lifespan as long as the Sidhe and Fae, whose lives were measured in centuries, aging at about a tenth the rate as Mortals did. The only difference was that most Vampires were made, not born, and were frozen at the age they had been turned. Trueborn Vampires were incredibly rare.
Approaching his grandparents, Rik leaned down to give both a kiss on the cheeks. "Grand-père, Mémé, good morning and welcome home."
Jean-Paul waved his tablet between Rik and an empty chair, inviting him to sit as he gave his grandson a small, knowing grin. "Désolé, mon vilain, to drag you from bed so early," Jean-Paul's deep voice was a strange mix of Old World French and more modern Midwestern drawl, much like the man himself. While Rik had been born here, it was from both his parents and grandparents he had picked up many of his own little quirks.
Pouring him a cup of coffee from the pot on the table, Judith gave him a sympathetic smile. "There, there, don't pout. Drink your coffee, dear." Unlike Jean-Paul, Judith's accent was pure Anglo-Saxon, clipped and precise, with just a hint of the French she had picked up from her husband in the 900 years they had been together. He had swept in as a young knight in service to the Sidhe who had allied with William the Conqueror and the Normans, and stole her away from the Anglo-Saxon Court. They had been together ever since.
Being his beloved grandparents, and knowing him as well as they did, they of course waited until Rik took a sip of his coffee before springing the trap.
"Forgive us for tearing you away from your anam cara," Judith said smoothly as she stirred some sugar into her own fresh cup, "But we thought the poor girl could use some rest if she's a Mortal."
Oh yeah, Rik thought ruefully as he grabbed a linen napkin to mop up the coffee he had choked on. I fell straight into that one.
Clearing his throat, feeling an unfamiliar flush creeping up his neck, Rik glanced helplessly between his smiling grandmother and his smirking grandfather, who treated him to a raised brow and a pointed look. "Uh, yeah...she's Mortal."
"What's her name?" Judith gently prodded.
"Sam," Rik muttered, then gave his grandfather a glare. "Samantha Kelly."
"Oh? Très bon!" Jean-Paul boomed, his face splitting in a massive grin as he reached over and pounded Rik's shoulder in congratulations. "I had a feeling! I'm familiar with her family, which is why when I heard about her situation, I thought I should bring her out here!" Jean-Paul's brow furrowed slightly, "But, she's not..."
"Grand-pèrè, the problem is that Audrick wants us to hire someone else for the Landsmaster position," Rik interrupted with a frustrated growl.
"That old dragon?" Jean-Paul's scowl matched Rik's own, then he gave an expressive shrug, "Et alors! Hire Audrick's man. If she is your cara, then she will be mistress here eventually anyway, n'est pas?"
Judith speculatively eyed her grandson. Then she sighed and shook her head. "You have not told her, have you?"
Yep, the flush moved up to his cheeks, leaving him feeling like a guilty child. Again. Rik couldn't meet his grandmother's direct gaze as he shook his head and stirred his coffee. "Uh, no." I'm over a century-and-a-half old! Dammit, how does she do that?
"Have you told her anything?" Judith pressed her advantage with the same ruthlessness she had shown him when he was a much younger man.
"No, Mémé," Rik responded in a low voice. "Not really, I didn't want to scare her away!" He looked up, defensive, "She's Mortal, and we've only known each other a total of..." He paused, quickly counting on his fingers, "Six days! And..." Oh yeah, Rik felt his entire face blazing now.
"And?" Ruthless. Rik's grandmother was ruthless!
"And...I may have insulted her before I even met her," Rik said as he slumped in his seat.
For the next half-hour, Judith was relentless in prying every single sordid detail from her grandson. From Sam overhearing him talking to Lizzy to them leaving the saloon together the night before. Every attempt to change the subject, to redirect the conversation, was shot down before Rik could blink. By the end of it, she was looking at Rik with disappointment and Jean-Paul was scowling fiercely at him.
Angrily bunching up his napkin, Jean-Paul threw it at Rik's head and began swearing fluently in Old French, and Rik was grateful he couldn't understand the half of it, because what he did understand was rather uncomplimentary. Judith merely continued to give Rik that disappointed look as she drank her coffee.
Finally, Jean-Paul thrust a waggling finger into Rik's face. "Listen up, mon vilain, you had best get this sorted. I want great-grandbabies to spoil rotten before I am forced to return to the Otherworlds forever, oui? Get. It. Sorted!"
"Oui, Pépé," Rik responded, meeting his grandfather's accusing gaze. The old man softened at the affectionate term Rik hadn't used since he was a boy himself. With a huff, Jean-Paul sat back in his chair and picked up his tablet.
"Okay." With a glance over at his wife, Jean-Paul gave her a quick wink and a knowing smile that made Rik oddly uncomfortable. The old man was definitely up to something, but before Rik could pursue it, Jean-Paul said, "Bring us up to date on the business. The contracts we sent, they were good, yes?"
With a sigh, Rik settled himself in and filled in his grandparents over breakfast, knowing he would have to meet up with his troupe in a little over an hour. It's going to be a long day, he thought, but brightened when he considered that he would see Sam again. They had to talk soon, before things got too much more complicated.