Page 92 of Pursued

Shoving my hands into my front pockets, I stared at the floor. Turning Mila to a dhampir was the obvious solution. My father could hardly object to our mating when his own mate was a human-turned-dhampir.

But for a human, the transition to dhampir was a difficult, dangerous thing, with only a fifty/fifty chance of survival. Mila would have to drink a vampire’s blood while still fully alive. The vampire couldn’t bring her to near-death as when making another vampire.

My mother’s transition had been harrowing. After she’d drunk my father’s blood, he’d locked himself in a room with her while she’d undergone a painful, hours-long metamorphosis.

I dug the heels of my hands into my eyes, stomach churning.

My brothers and I hadn’t witnessed the metamorphosis, but we’d had to listen to Mom’s screams until Father finally emerged from the room with her unconscious in his arms. Together, we’d buried her in the dirt. No coffin, or she might not have been able to claw her way out once she came back to life.

For the next seven days, the four of us had stood vigil over my mother’s grave. Not knowing if she’d live or die. Like a virus, no one could predict if the metamorphosis would be fatal, or result in the birth of a dhampir.

I’d sworn I’d never ask anyone to go through that for me. I’d be smarter than my dad, choose a vampire mate. After all, as the Kral crown prince I had my pick of beautiful vampire females.

Then I’d met Mila.

Bile filled my throat. Lord, I’d been selfish.

But from the moment I’d seen Mila hovering like some faerie creature at the edge of my mother’s garden, I’d known I had to have her—and I’d pursued her with a single-minded ruthlessness that very few women could’ve resisted.

I turned back to my desk, but I’d had my fill of work for the day. I sent Mila a quick text to say I was on my way back to the penthouse, then leaned over to sign off my PC.

An encrypted message from Tomas popped up on the screen.

Need to see you A.S.A.P. You are still in the office?

I sank into my chair, dropped my hands into my head. Gods, the last thing I wanted right now was to deal with my father’s grinning lieutenant.

But I replied in the affirmative and sat back to await his arrival.

23

Mila

After dinner, Joey and I watched an old Godzilla movie. Jessa had cleaned up and left us alone in the penthouse, so we made our own popcorn and sat on the couch, laughing as the monster stomped its way through a toy-like cityscape. By the end of the movie, Joey was slumped on the couch, lids drooping. As the credits rolled, he stood up and with a bone-cracking stretch, announced he was going to bed.

I nodded and followed him down the hall to his room. It was hard to let him out of my sight, even though I knew he was safe now.

“G’night.” He opened his arms and I went into them. He was bigger than when I’d left. Maybe an inch taller, but his shoulders had broadened.

My baby brother had turned into a man.

I bit my lip, trying not to get weepy. “Guess I can’t call you squirt anymore.”

He snorted. “Like anything could stop you.” His arms tightened on me. “Pleasant dreams,” he said, just like Mom had every night when we were kids.

I hugged him back, hard. “Pleasant dreams.”

Gabriel still wasn’t back yet, so I peeked in the master bedroom, on the opposite side of the study from my brother’s room. I sucked in a breath. It was the most romantic bedroom I’d ever been in.

Creamy walls reached to a ceiling that sloped inward at the top, so that it felt a little like I’d stepped into a billowing tent. The bed was a vintage bronze four-poster, its curved canopy draped with off-white linens. The windows were covered with soft, light-filtering cellular blinds, with more white linen swags draped over rods at the top. On one wall hung an enormous antiqued-gold mirror, and the rustic wood nightstands held small gold lamps, their metal shades punched out with stars.

The bathroom was all warm terra cotta tiles in browns and golds and greens. The tub was a long cream rectangle and the glass shower stall was shaped like a circle with a rainfall showerhead. Set in the ceiling was a smoky green skylight so you could look up at the Manhattan skyline.

Back in the bedroom, I sat cross-legged on the bed and took out my new phone.

I stared down at the screen. I still hadn’t called my parents, but that was cowardly. Mom and Dad didn’t deserve that. And it had been so long since I talked to them. I ached to hear their voices.

I pulled up the keypad and entered Mom’s number.

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