Chapter 25

"So you're having a baby." My dad nudged a plate of his homemade oatcakes in my direction, then sat back in a kitchen chair, arms folded over his worn flannel shirt. "A dhampir."

Beside him, my mom cast him an exasperated look. "I already told you she was."

I helped myself to an oatcake. "It's okay, Mom."

The three of us were seated around the rustic farmhouse table that he'd built for Mom as a wedding gift, long and narrow to fit the dimensions of their 1920s kitchen. At one end of the table a hand-thrown blue pitcher was flanked by a matching teapot; Mom's day job was as a primary school teacher, but she made pottery on the side.

Dad scowled at me. "What were you thinking?"

"Wes," Mom said warningly.

"Damn it, Gigi," he said, "let me say my piece."

She shook her head but subsided.

I was visibly pregnant now. In a month, I'd gone from thick around the middle to holy crap, she swallowed a basketball. Talon and I were both on the tall side, and Olivia had told me the baby was big for his gestational age.

"You—" Dad pointed at me—"should have used protection."

"We did," I said, starting to get angry. I slathered butter and honey on the oatcake with quick, hard strokes.

My father loved me. I knew that. When I'd arrived, he'd opened the door before I could knock, then, without speaking, pulled me into a hard hug. But he was upset. He hadn't wanted this for me. He hadn't even wanted me to become a thrall, but at twenty-one, I hadn't needed his permission. I hadn't expected he'd be overjoyed to find me pregnant with a syndicate baby, but his disapproval still hurt.

"You know the rules," he said, tight-jawed. "Put in your time with the syndicate, take their money, and you're out. Now you're going to be tied to them for the next eighteen years—at the least."

"But…" I trailed off, staring at the oatcake.

But I love Talon.

My throat closed up. I set the cake on the plate without eating it.

That's right, folks. I'm the living, breathing cliché—a thrall who fell in love with a vampire.

Unfortunately, the sleeve of my sweater had somehow gotten pushed up my forearm. Both their shocked gazes locked on the gold band around my wrist. Too late, I jerked the sleeve down.

Mom gasped. "You're blood-bonded to him?"

"Jesus Murphy. I—" Dad shoved his chair away from the table and stalked out of the kitchen.

"I didn't have a choice," I blurted.

Mom's breath whooshed out. "He forced you?"

"No, no. I—" I shook my head. "It wasn't like that. He was trying to protect me."

"Protect you from what?" Dad loomed in the kitchen doorway, his lanky body tense.

I moved the plate aside and, resting my elbows on the table, pressed the heels of my palms into my eyes. "The syndicate."

"Why would he need to protect you from his own syndicate?" Dad asked. "Aren't they happy about the baby?"

"They are, yes." Taking my hands from my eyes, I lifted my head.

Dad's expression darkened. "Then it's Talon who doesn't want it?"

"No! He wants this baby."

I bit my lower lip. You have to tell them the whole story.

They'd blame Talon and the syndicate otherwise, and that wasn't fair.

God knew, I was tired of confessing what I'd done, but if I didn't, I'd have to lie to them, and I was trying to learn from this, to own my mistakes. To be someone my little guy could look up to, like I did my parents.

"I told you I messed up," I said to my mom. "What I didn't tell you was what I did. Dad, sit down—please?"

His whiskered face bunched in a frown, but he retook his seat. "Talk."

"Okay. So…" I wrapped my fingers around my mug of tea and told them the whole sorry story.

When I was finished, Mom reached across the table to pat my hand. "Oh, sweetheart. I wish you would've come to us right from the start. Maybe we could've helped."

"Maybe," I said, even though I knew they couldn't have done anything. And I wouldn't have wanted them to. I was an adult, as I'd told Talon.

I raised the mug to my lips, but it was empty. Dad refilled it for me, adding a splash of milk before pushing it back across the table to me.

He looked older, like the lines in his face had deepened as I told my story. "You're tied to them now. I can't break a blood bond."

"I know. But I don't want to. Please don't be unhappy for me. I love Talon. I want to be with him."

It was the truth, and I knew it would make them feel better. What they didn't know was that Talon didn't feel the same, but that wasn't anyone's business but mine.

The other night, I'd just…snapped. If he wanted sex without ties, then that's what he'd have. I was not a victim. I was not fragile. I was not some needy human.

Last night had been more of the same, except this time we hadn't gone anywhere, just fallen into bed as soon as he arrived. Again, I'd told him he didn't have to stay. I meant it. I didn't want him to, not if it was only because he felt guilty about me.

I could tell I'd knocked him off-balance. He wasn't sure how to handle this new version of me, which gave me a savage sort of satisfaction. Maybe someday he'd even see me as an equal—as much as a human could be, anyway.

And if he didn't, at least I'd have my self-respect.

Across the table my dad opened his mouth, then shut it. I could almost see the words, the angerthat wanted to spill out—not at me, at Talon—but he swallowed it.

"Look," I said, "I know I messed up. But I hope you can be happy about the baby at least."

Mom puffed up at that. "Of course we are. You did nothing wrong there. It's not your fault the birth control failed, and if you want this baby, then we're a hundred percent behind you. Aren't we, Wes?"

"Of course we are." Dad nudged my plate back to me. "Eat your oatcake," he said gruffly, uncomfortable with all the emotion. "I made them with cinnamon and walnuts the way you like them."

Making my favorite oatcakes was his way of showing me he loved me. That and taking a day off during prime lobster season because it was the only time I could visit.

"Yeah?" I smiled across the table at him, relieved to have that behind us, and buttered another piece of oatcake, washing it down with the milky tea. "Mm. These are good."

"They're easy enough to make," he muttered, but I could tell he was pleased.

"Have another." Mom deposited a second one on my plate, adding, "Just give it time. In the end, things always work out for the best. You'll see."

Two of her favorite sayings, back-to-back. I smothered a smile. "That's what I keep telling myself."

"Good." Mom picked up the teapot and clicked her tongue. "It's empty." She rose to make a new pot. While she waited for the water to heat, she smoothed a hand down the back of my head. "You cut off all your hair. And what's with the dye?"

"I was in hiding," I said, and Mom winced.

"Should've come to us," Dad grumbled.

I fingered one of the faded black tips. It had grown out a half inch or so, but was still pretty short. "I like it like this. I'm going to keep it. Even the dye, but this time it's going to be purple." Rio had promised to redo it for me tomorrow.

"Yeah?" Mom touched her own thick blond braid. "Well, I guess it's up to you."

The kettle whistled, and she returned to the stove.

Dad beetled his brows at me. "Talon's treating you okay? Because he'd better. If he doesn't, you let me know and I'll have a talk with him. I don't care if he's the King of England."

"He is," I assured him. "He arranged for me to see Olivia the day after we got back, and I'm getting regular massages because my back's been hurting."

"Oh, I remember that." Mom slanted me a sympathetic smile. "Yoga helps, too."

"It does. Olivia sent over a yoga DVD for pregnant persons."

Mom set the fresh pot of tea on the table and retook her seat. "Talon's all right," she said. "Look how he is with his mom. Mary, her name is. He looks after her—he even hired her a housekeeper/cook."

"I know," I said.

"When they wouldn't let us see you up at the castle," Mom added, "I went to see Mary. She didn't know about the baby. But then Mary was never much of a mother to Talon."

"Drinks too much," Dad muttered.

"I guess," Mom said, "but she was sober enough when I saw her. Anyway, you're here today, aren't you?" she told me. "Maybe she spoke to him."

"Maybe."

"Talon will take good care of you and your little boy," Mom added. "Just like he does Mary."

"Yeah." I nodded agreement, but inside, I cringed as another piece of the puzzle of Talon's family slotted into place.

I didn't want to be another of his responsibilities like his mom.

I didn't want to be taken "good care of." I could take care of myself.

I wanted Talon to be with me because it was what he wanted. That it was what he'd choose even if there was no baby.

The rest of the afternoon passed quickly. Dad got out the Scrabble board and we played until we'd used all the tiles, razzing each other and stabbing the other players in the back whenever possible. I hadn't laughed so much since I'd found out I was pregnant.

The sun dropped over the cove. Talon texted me, asking if everything was okay. I sent him a thumbs-up in return and got to my feet. "Time for me to go."

While in Halifax searching for me, my dad had stayed with my sister and her husband. Now he took out his phone, saying, "I almost forgot, I have pictures of Freya and Devon."

He pulled up a couple of photos. Devon had his arm around Freya's shoulders. In the first photo, they grinned at the camera. In the second Devon nuzzled my sister's cheek. Her expression was so satisfied, so happy, that I couldn't help a twinge of envy.

"They look great," I said, handing the phone back.

If only I'd fallen for a human like Freya had. Life would be so much simpler.

"They'll be here for Boxing Day," Dad said. "You're coming, aren't you?"

"Of course. No way I'd miss Boxing Day."

Our annual after-Christmas celebration was when we exchanged gifts. I'd have to clear it with Talon, but he'd be sleeping anyway. Maybe by then he'd even have let me off the tight leash he kept me on.

I shrugged into my jacket and went to the front door. The SUV was idling at to the curb, the back door open. Mom and Dad followed me onto the porch.

Mom pulled me into a tight hug. "Come back next Saturday, and this time stay for dinner. I'll make my bisque."

I hugged her back. "I'll do my best. And this time, you have to show me how to make it." Mom's lobster bisque was freaking amazing—chunks of lobster swimming in cream and butter, and flavored with a dash of sherry and her special spices.

"We'll see," she said like she always did, adding (also like always), "if you knew the recipe, you wouldn't have a reason to visit."

"I'd visit anyway, and you know it."

She chuckled and kissed my cheek. "Love you, sweetheart. And Eden? You've got this. I have faith in you. You're going to be a good mom."

I hadn't known how much I'd needed her to say that until she had. "Love you back," I said around the golf ball lodged in my throat. "I'll do my best."

"I know, honey. And we're right here whenever you need us. To talk or help out, okay?"

Then it was Dad's turn to pull me into a hug. "You take care of yourself, okay?" he said. "And the little guy, too."

I nodded against his flannel shirt. "I will."

Giving him a squeeze, I jogged down the front steps and climbed into the back of the SUV. I didn't think anything of it when Mr. Jones didn't get out to shut the door after me. I could close my own doors, after all.

The locks clicked and the SUV moved off. My parents stood on the front porch, framed in the light spilling from the hallway, Dad with his lanky, scarecrow body and Mom, a head shorter and curvy. I waved at them through the darkened window, even though I knew they probably couldn't see me, then faced front.

Somehow, being with them today had renewed my hope. I wasn't done fighting.

Maybe I'd accepted Talon's blood bond because it had seemed my only choice, but if I had to do it again, I would. Everything I'd said to my parents was true. Talon was good to me.

"You warm me."

And then later that evening, he'd said he needed me. I'd brushed that off because he'd slipped that into the middle of explaining why he couldn't love me, but now it landed on my heart with an almost audible thud.

Maybe Talon wasn't ready to commit to me, but he'd gradually opened up to me, shared something of himself. That meant something, didn't it?

The more I heard about his parents, the more I realized I wasn't the problem here. Those walls had been put in place a long time before he met me. He was protecting himself, same as I did when I imitated an armadillo.

I fingered the gold bracelet.

Maybe I needed to look at this from another angle. Yeah, he'd offered me his blood bond to protect me and the baby, but he'd wanted it. He'd told me so himself. And looking back, he'd done everything he could to convince me to accept it.

He'd wanted me bonded to him. He'd wanted me.

He needed me. I warmed him.

A smile curved my lips. I could work with that.