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Beth had always felt a special kinship with the male, not just from their blood connection, but because he had come from the outside world, too, and been narrowly found just in time.
As she had been.
Without Wrath’s vein on the night of her transition? She would have died. Likewise, if John Matthew hadn’t been brought to the Brothers by Bella? He would have died.
And the King wouldn’t have a mate.
And neither would Xhex.
It was as if things had fallen into place exactly as they had been meant to all along, that which had seemed implausible while it occurred, presenting as inevitable in retrospect.
Beth focused on her son. L.W. was back in what she thought of as his all-business mode. Even though he was too young to understand everything—understand anything, really—his pale eyes, which had turned green, unfortunately, were over on the bed, on the prone warrior whose lids were shut tight and whose breathing remained shallow.
As she considered doctors and biological accidents of fate, she knew her son was probably going to go blind, just like his sire.
With a wave of anxiety curdling in her gut, she turned away and went for a walk around. It was on her second pass by the desk that she stopped. Frowned. Felt her own chest get tight.
Over the years, she had been down here from time to time… and yet she had forgotten why the chamber was so significant to her—
No, she hadn’t forgotten. The relevance had never been lost; it had just been eclipsed by regular life.
But seeing all of the images of herself now was a reminder of who had lived here. Who had watched over her.
Who had loved her from afar.
Her father, Darius.
The collection of photographs was extensive, the angles, exposures, and eras all different, just like the frames. But the subject was always her. Taken as a collective, it was a catalog of the eras of her life, from her early childhood and teenage times when she was at Our Lady of Mercy, to her college years at SUNY Caldwell, to when she’d gotten her job at the newspaper.
She had never met her father, but she had no doubt that he had taken care of her. Protected her. Loved her. The photographs were proof. The stories from Fritz were proof.
That he had put her in the path of Wrath to save her life… was proof.
“Mama.”
As L.W. pointed at one of the black-and-white close-ups, she cleared her throat and said roughly, “Yup, that’s me.”
Closing in on the image, picking up the sterling silver frame, she remembered that particular softball game at Caldwell High—she’d been pitching, and the picture had been snapped when she’d been on the mound. She’d been sixteen, and determined to win, her eyes sharp under the bill of her cap, strands of her hair drifting into her flushed face. She had a feeling the picture had been one of her father’s favorites, as it was set right at what would have been his elbow when he’d been in the antique chair.
She had seen a painting of Darius and knew she looked a lot like him.
She had seen a photograph of her mother, who had died in childbirth, and knew she looked a lot like her.
It was funny, even though they were both gone, she felt as though they were never far. And hey, she was a vampire, so why couldn’t ghosts be real—
Beth.
As she heard her name, she wheeled around to the bed, even though she knew it wasn’t John Matthew speaking out loud. For one thing, he was a mute. For another…
What. The. Hell.
John Matthew’s eyes were open and he was staring at her, but something wasn’t right about his face. Not at all.
Even though his features were the same as they had always been, they were somehow different, the eye shape, the angle of the jaw, the arch of the brow, not his anymore. And where were his pupils? Only the whites were showing—
Beth.
That voice. That deep voice… which she had never heard before, and yet which seemed… so very familiar.
Drawn toward the bed, she said something that made no sense, but was undeniable: “Dad?”
Standing over not-really-John-Matthew, she stared in wonder at what seemed to be looking at her. Was it really… her father? It certainly appeared as though what she knew of Darius’s features had been laid over the other male’s.
Maybe she’d had a seizure, too. Or maybe this was a dream?
I think it’s time for me to go, the voice in her head said. I think… you’re okay.
“Dad…” she choked out. “How are you here?”
He’s beautiful. Just like his mahmen.
“Oh, God, Dad.”
The next thing she knew, she was lying across a powerful chest, crying, and L.W. was reaching for the face that seemed partially an illusion.
I love you, Elizabeth. I always have. And your mahmen, she loved you so much she gave her life so you could live.
