Dammit.
From sitting on the bluff where the property is located, I stare out at the bay. Today it’s breezy and choppy, and the waters look dark, nearly black.
Unlike my stupid hair, which turned golden blonde my third day on the run and hasn’t changed since.
Amber’s words come to mind—that my father’s not dead. That Mom thought he was dead since he didn’t return, but she didn’t actually see him…die.
What if it reallyisa kind of homing beacon?It’d make sense Dad would give it to Mom if that was the case, right?
But then what are the phantoms?
I hold the ring in my fist and close my eyes. There are murky memories in my brain, no doubt stirred up by Amber’s words. I remember Mom’s beaming smile whenever Dad returned from being away, how I’d run to him and he’d sweep me into his arms.
Mazbushka.My little Mazbushka.
How worried Mom would act whenever he’d have to leave for days or even for weeks at a time for “work.”
Maybe he was a criminal?
Most of my life’s been spent in fear, on the run. It’s difficult to remember there were large swaths of my childhood where it was the three of us happily spending evenings together, or mornings, depending on Mom’s schedule. Or the four of us, if Dad’s friend, Zuzu, was there.
Or me and Dad, when he’d take care of me while Mom was at work. How we sometimes spent time on hikes with Zuzu. And, sometimes, Zuzu stayed with me and Mom when Dad was away. Or Dad would take me to Zuzu’s.
How Dad hated that Mom had to go to work at all, but there were reasons we couldn’t go stay with him when he had to leave for work.
Their shared looks that, even at that age, I viscerally understood meant a secret I was too young to know. The way one of them would always distract me whenever I asked, to the point I forgot I even asked.
Not like there aren’t crazier things in the world. Vampires. Shifters. Fae.
Maybe this ringisan artifact of some kind.
The colors of the labradorite stone flash in the sun. I stare at the markings on the side and wish I knew what they meant. No matter how much I’ve searched, I cannot find anything else like it. No known runes, or cuneiform, or any kind of markings match them.
I had some hope when Dexter thought it looked familiar, but even Lucius scratched his head over it.
If two two-thousand-plus-year-old vampires who each speak a bunch of languages can’t recognize it, then…
Yeah.
Down in town, a small plane circles on final approach to Homer Airport. It’s not one of the normally scheduled planes, meaning it’s probably some rich person who chartered a plane for a special trip out here. The place is laid-back and beautiful. Not a bad place to end up, I suppose. The end of the world, in a way.
I wish Dexter was here to enjoy this with me.
Yeah, and whose fault is that, girlie?
Mine. It’s mine, because I got my hopes up, and look what happened? Worse, it’s not just my heart I broke, but probably Dexter’s, too.
I hate myself for that.
When I hear Chaldis call for me, I stand and make my way back inside the house, where I find him puzzling over a cookbook he just received yesterday. “What’s up, boss?” He’s barefoot and wearing soft, faded jeans and a black Henley that already has flour on it because he forgets to wear theKiss the Cookapron Corbin got for him.
Chaldis smiles. “Still won’t call me Chaldis, hmm?” He has a slight, sexy Italian accent.
“No offense, but it’s amething, not ayouthing, boss.” I sit on the other side of the kitchen island and nod toward the cookbook.
He turns it around and points to the section giving him trouble. “What doesthatmean?”
Cooking is his new hobby, I guess. Corbin warned me about it, that I’d better figure out how to slip in daily workouts, or Chaldis’ cooking would fatten me up in no time. He frequently makes more than enough food to feed the ranch hands, and I take it down to them, or package it in containers for them to take home to their families. The vampire’s toying with the idea of opening a restaurant one day, because it’s something he’s never done before. A new challenge.
