Page 17 of Lover Forbidden (The Black Dagger Brotherhood #23)
As Lyric re-formed on her grandparents’ covered back porch, it seemed like the first time all night that she was not stepping through, standing on, or slipping over snow in her Lou-stupidns.
Of course, the stillies were still ruined, her feet were solid blocks of ice, and her ankles and calves were so stiff, they could have qualified as stakes.
But who was counting at this point, especially as she had so much other stuff on her mind.
With a fit of paranoia, she tried to conjure up her human savior’s face—and was relieved to a point when she remembered he had dark hair and had been in a hoodie and a parka.
“What color were his eyes?” she blurted.
He was forgettable by design? Was that what he’d said? Yeah, well, the problem was her, not him, and she needed to pull herself together.
Taking a deep breath, she exhaled and watched the cloud drift off.
This house that she had always loved coming to so much was located on some nice rural acreage, and the pond in the rear yard was one of her absolute favorite places in the world.
Over the course of her life, the trees had all grown up and filled in, creating a sanctuary feel inside the fence line, and about five years ago, her grandfather had added a screened-in gazebo by the water.
Eight-sided and topped with a red tin roof, the thing was a cheerful teapot without a spout—and her eyes misted with tears as she remembered him building it board by board, nail by nail.
It had been an anniversary present for the shellan he adored so much. And in the summertime, on Sunday nights before dawn, Lyric and her granmahmen had liked to go out there after the family Last Meal and have a listen to the whippoorwills and the crickets and the tree frogs.
It was also good when there was a thunderstorm and they’d been feeling adventurous.
When those moments had been happening, Lyric had certainly enjoyed them, but she’d never considered that they were something rare and precious… because there would come a night when she would be out there alone.
Bringing Dev’s coat in closer, she stared across the snowdrifts at the gazebo, and as her eyes filled with tears, she had to look elsewhere.
How beautiful the winter landscape was, so bright and gleaming, the moonlight filtering through the ribbons of clouds to drape the snowcapped pines and hemlocks in shades of blue, the frozen pond like a platinum plate.
There had been an evening back in early October, about three months ago, when the temperature had been unseasonably warm.
The family had gone out there with baskets full of food and all the plates and silverware and drinks.
Granmahmen had cooked, of course, and whatever had been served had been delicious…
Why couldn’t she remember what they’d had?
And come to think of it, she couldn’t recall what they’d talked about, either. There was also no memory of what she’d been wearing, or what anybody else had had on. No sweaters or fleeces, that was for sure, because of the eerily tender temperature.
God, yet another example of how much she didn’t retain.
She was certain, though, that her mahmen , the Chosen Layla, had been there, and her father Xcor as well—and she was grateful now that it had been everyone.
Her granmahmen was never going to have dinner out there again.
They hadn’t known it then. They’d just been there all together, enjoying the beautiful warm night, treasuring it as winter came rolling in. But you never knew when you were going to do something for the last time.
Turning away, she brushed at her eyes as she went over to the French door on the left. The other two opened up into the first floor primary suite that had been added the year before. Thank God her grandparents had planned ahead.
What a shame that what they’d prepared for had arrived so many decades before it should have.
There was a keypad next to the bolting mechanism, and she entered her registry number.
The entire house was wired for sound, as her uncle Vishous put it, the cameras and motion detectors, the alarm system, the underground escape route, all engineered by him and monitored by his staff back at F.T. Headquarters, twenty-four hours a day.
She’d always been grateful the Black Dagger Brotherhood resources protected her grandparents as well.
As things unlocked, she waved up at the nearest camera, pushed the handle down, and entered her grandfather’s office.
Distantly, there was a chiming sound, and she was careful to make sure as she shut the door that the seal was tight and the mechanism could reconnect.
Just like her uncle had taught her when she was very young.
Safety started with opening and closing, he’d always said—
Wincing, she lifted one foot up like a flamingo and loosened the straps on her stiletto.
Slipping it off was a relief, especially in all the warmth.
Except trouble came as she went to put her foot down, and while her arch protested going flat, she braced a palm on the wall for balance as she went to work on the other side.
And that was when she realized…
It was too quiet.
“Hello?” she said as she let the second one drop. “Anybody home?”
She bit out a curse as she rushed into the hall and skidded around the doorjamb. The way into her grandparents’ bedroom was open and she didn’t have time to brace herself emotionally as she usually did. She just careened right in—
The lamp beside the bed was on, the dim pool of light spilling onto the withered female who lay so still.
Lyric, the elder, was positioned back against a stack of pillows, her lined face and thinning white hair still such a shock.
With her closed eyes and her slightly open mouth and no movement at all, it was clear that what they had all been waiting for had—
The Kindle lying closed on that sunken chest went up… and down. There was a pause. Then it went up… and down again.
Letting out the breath she’d sucked in, Lyric sagged with relief, and then checked the two-way monitor that showed the sitting area off the kitchen.
Her father Blay and her grandfather were out there on the sofas, both sound asleep sitting up—and who could blame them.
This death vigil was exhausting, and yet she was not ready for the end.
None of them were—even though it was all anybody had been thinking about for the last month.
Especially the last week.
With sad resignation, she leaned against the doorjamb and pushed her fingertips into her temples.
Unlike humans, who aged on a gradual scale, when a vampire’s end of life came, it was a fast descent into infirmity.
The fact that just back in October, her granmahmen had been cooking and cleaning, raking leaves, and climbing up on a ladder to hang an autumnal wreath on the front door was unfathomable.
And that she’d done all that while looking just like she had for the previous couple of decades?
Only a little salt-and-pepper around her face, her posture still perfect, her eyes lively and her laugh quick as ever?
How were they here… now.
Her granmahmen came into sharp focus once again, and it was then she noticed that Ehlena, the nurse, had already taken care of changing the nightgown.
Tonight it was a pale blue. Yesterday it had been a blush pink.
Both complemented the pastel color scheme of the patchwork quilt and the room’s flowered wallpaper.
Rocke had always said that he slept inside of a Victorian dresser, minus the lavender sachets and the intimate apparel. But he also knew his shellan liked the feminine decor, so he was more than happy to let her have what made her happiest to wake up to.
That little line had been repeated countless times. And the elder Lyric had always filled in at the end that Rocke was actually her first favorite thing to see when she roused, the flowers on the walls and the quilt she’d made were a distant second—
As Lyric’s stomach let out a growl of hunger, she backed up… even though she kind of wanted to disturb all that sleep just as a double-check. Except breathing was enough for proof of life, wasn’t it?
Unless the female had slipped into a coma—
“Well, there you are,” came a weak voice.
Lyric jumped to attention. “ Granmahmen , are you up?”
As she approached the bed, that old familiar smile appeared for a moment, and those eyes, those beautiful gray eyes, held an echo of the sparkle they’d always regarded the world with.
“Look at you,” the elder Lyric said. “What a warm coat.”
Holding the thing open, Lyric did a slow spin. “Do you think it goes with my dress?”
“Like peas and carrots. Wherever did you get it?”
Lyric leaned down and kissed her granmahmen on the cheek. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Well, then, you must tell me right the now.”
That skeletally thin hand patted the quilt, and it was hard not to recall the week before when the elder Lyric could sit up with just a little help. Now she couldn’t do that.
“And where are your shoes, dearest one?”
Settling on the edge of the mattress, she had to smile. “They’re by Grandfather’s desk in his study. I came in the door off the side porch and left them there because I didn’t want to track salt in.”
“You know—” An unproductive cough cut off the words, and there was a moment of recovery afterward. “You know… I must get up and run a mop over the floors. Your grandfather hates mopping.”
“Oh, I’m happy to do it—”
“Not to worry.” There was another pause as those tired eyes shifted to the open door. “I shall take care of it… perhaps after I rest a little more. Your grandfather is so tired, you know.”
That hand swung toward the bedside table and reangled the monitor screen. Her granmahmen smiled again as she stared at the two males on opposite couches, sleeping in identical reclines, their hands linked over the centers of their chests, their chins up as they snored.
“They’re both so tired,” her granmahmen said.