Winter Surge

This short story takes place nearly eight years after the novel Driving Thirst and a few years after the events of the short story “Heart and Soul.”

“I’m practically begging,” Saige Sétima murmured to the slightly delayed image of the dark-haired, fair-faced human on the other end of their call. “Please, Stella, I’m at my wit’s end here. Be a friend and come for Christmas, won’t you?”

The image of Stella juddered to life as the woman ran her hands through her hair and then stalled as her glass-green eyes fixed on the camera. “It’s not that I don’t want to, Saige.” The woman’s voice was a low, cool whisper, gently embroidered by the same Arcadian lilt spoken by all the Lanoue women. “But Jay and I promised Thalia and Bellamy we would watch Cora while the last of the renovations are done on the manor.”

Saige tried to remind herself that she was thirty-nine years old and a vampire, and the wife of the Cigar Roller. She tried to remind herself that she was the official liaison between the vampires of England and the Spanish Colonial branch of the business. That the business and the branches she represented created a flowing global network between all vampires, and it was not the sort of job one fell into by being whiny and childish.

Saige tried to remind herself of all that, and in the end, she still sounded like a tearful child as she said, “Leave her with Jason, then. Please, Stell. If I have to deal with the holid and the only adult female for much longer, I’m going to tear my hair out. Or cry.” Her pleading became flat and intoning as she added, “Or commit murder.”

“I feel like claiming you’re the only woman at the ranch is a gross exaggeration of your actual circumstances. I can name at least three who live there full time, not to mention Isabella Esposito.”

“Mrs. Esposito is lovely, but she doesn’t count,” Saige insisted. “She’s the wife of one of my husband’s business associates. And the wolves don’t count either.. They’re all treating me like I’m made of porcelain. And the toms—” she made a sound of disgust as she considered the male vampires running around the ranch.

“Fussy and irritating?”

“I wish,” Saige admitted. “The truth is, any time one of them gets near me, I want to rip his throats out. And that includes my husband.”

Green eyes went wide as the woman on the screen pondered this. “And you want my fragile human ass to fly to Texas so I can put myself in your path?”

“Not at all. I just want some adult company that comes from someone who won’t treat me like sneezing will cause my early demise.”

Still, Stella hesitated. “What aren’t you telling me, Saige?”

Guilt flared. She really should tell Stella why everyone’s moods had shifted towards her. It was only fair... But she also didn’t want Stella to agree out of pity.

And despite her brave face and her half-hearted attempt to sound like an adult, Saige felt herself wilt in desperation. “I just want a friend, Stella. My friend. Here for part of the holiday.”

Stella heaved her own massive sigh. “Saige, I want to come, but I really can’t leave Cora with Jason,” she said. “If I do, I’ll come back to her smoking cigars, counting cards, and riding a motorcycle without a helmet.”

Saige’s protest ran head-first into confusion, and she fumbled with her tongue before asking, “Wait, isn’t Cora eight?”

“Therein lies my concern.” Stella spoke with the same deadpan, matter-of-fact-ness as her younger sister, but where Daniella would have carried secret amusement, the elder Lanoue’s tone housed genuine concern.

Momentarily distracted by her own plight, Saige asked, “Jason wouldn’t really… would he?”

Stella huffed. “He’s a demon of irreverence. He was built to do that. Not that he would mean to. He would just forget that Cora was only eight, and then he would do something stupid. And Cora doesn’t really have an off switch. I mean, the last time I left them alone to go grocery shopping, I came back to them practically swinging on the chandelier in the living room and him shouting ‘Spin! Spin! Spin!’”

That definitely sounded problematic. She opened her mouth to tell Stella she wished her all the luck with her hellion when her office door opened behind her.

Every instinct Saige possessed surged through her body like electricity and the icy gale of deep winter as the tom entered the office.

Tall even for the taller frame of a vampire compared to a human, the Cigar Roller possessed a lithe body that moved with the grace of something sleek and used to clinging to the shadows. Because Saige knew him, because each part of his stride and each casual gesture was a source of love and fascination for her, she could see how that surface grace was marred by the deep echoes of old injuries and battle scars.

He settled his weight on his good leg, alleviating his knee of his body weight. And when he smiled, the scar abrading the left side of his face pulled a little at his upper lip, bringing more of his fangs into the expression than he might have intended.

Still, he was handsome. Despite the ashen hair and the lilac eyes, his face was carved into a striking middle ground between Italian and Hispanic. But his European heritage stopped with his looks. His movement, the way he smiled openly when he saw Saige sitting at the desk, as though seeing her there was a surprise that gave new meaning to his day? These were all-American.

Usually, Saige enjoyed running into her husband throughout the day. Usually, she enjoyed the way those striking lilac eyes drifted over her body and lingered on her face; the way his entire body seemed to ask her, ‘What can I do for your pleasure?’

Usually. But the last six weeks had been a living hell.

“Stop.” Saige swung a hand between them before Lorenzo Sétima managed to come half-way into the room. “Stop there. You’re making my fangs itch.”

His expression fell, and Saige felt a sharp and twisting guilt writhe in her stomach.

“I was just coming in to check on you.”

Saige wrapped her free arm over her belly. “I’m fine.” And then after a moment’s thought, “We’re both fine.”

Lorenzo nodded. “You’ve eaten?”

“Three times this morning, thank you.”

The longer he stood there staring at her, the more that crystalline cold ran through Saige. Into her muscles and tendons and bones. Into the deeper reaches of what she was. Into the beast that made her what she was.

“You should still have lunch.”

His voice was soft, but Saige still gritted her teeth. “Yes, darling. I’ll come out and have something as soon as I’m off the call with Stella.”

At that, Lorenzo looked hopefully at the computer. “Will she be coming to stay?”

Saige could see Stella shifting out of the corner of her eye. She could feel those starlight green eyes watching the whole situation unfold. Reading Saige’s body language. Reading Lorenzo’s. She could feel the woman assessing the whole sorry ordeal.

“She’s watching Cora at the moment. So likely not.”

Lorenzo’s expression tightened, and Saige wasn’t sure if it was disappointment, hope, or dread on the man’s face. “If it’s a matter of the girl, she’s welcome here. She’s family of your family, so naturally, she’s family of mine.”

It was Stella who said, “I’m… not so sure that’s a great idea…Cora can be a full-time job even when she’s on familiar turf. I would hate for her to be an atrocious guest at the home of another syndicate branch.”

“She’s what? Eight?” Lorenzo shrugged. “How bad can she be? And if she’s really that bad, it’ll be good practice for the wolves to corral her.”

Saige held her breath. She hadn’t told Lorenzo she had no intention of telling Stella why she wanted the woman to visit until she was already here, and she hoped that talk of the wolves corralling things didn’t lead to questions.

Stella did not ask any questions, but she didn’t look sold either. That much, Lorenzo could apparently tell, even from across the room.

The tom glanced at his darling wife (and Saige bit her tongue to keep her hiss behind her teeth), and then back to the screen, “I’ll pay for the little heathen’s flight ticket, how about that? I’ll pay for yours, too. First class. There and back. Just tell me what days.”

The silence weighed Saige down as Stella thought. In the dead space, Saige watched Lorenzo carefully, wishing she could get her body to trust the man as much as her heart did.

Instead, she placed her other hand protectively over her stomach and soothed the feral thing swimming inside of her.

It wasn’t fair, she thought idly, chancing a glance down at the flat plain of her belly. Given how much havoc the creature she carried was causing, she should at least be seeing some evidence of it by now.

But Saige was barely six weeks pregnant, and so far, her only actual symptoms were some mild morning sickness and a severe willingness to slaughter individuals of the XY persuasion.

“Fine!” A flash of movement from the screen as Stella threw her hands up in defeat. “Fine, fine, fine! But you’d better bomb proof your house if you want it to be standing by the end of the three days, got it?”

Saige was so relieved that she didn’t bother to question the absurdity of the statement. She just nodded sharply and said, “Yes, certainly,” as if there was no question of whether she could ensure her house was Cora-proof.

Besides, the girl was eight. It wasn’t like they had to plug outlets and put gates on the stairs.

“Thank you, Stella. Truly, thank you so much.”

Stella snorted. “Thank me when we leave.” Then, “I’ll send you the flight details this afternoon. Take care, Saige.” A hesitant pause and then, “Lorenzo.”

Saige’s husband lifted his hand slowly in farewell.

The “Call Ended” screen flashed briefly before Saige dismissed it with the flick of a finger on the touch screen.

“Thank you,” she said to the man. “Honestly, I don’t think she’d have agreed if you hadn’t come in.”

Lorenzo’s jaw tightened. “She thinks we’re in trouble,” he said. “More importantly, she thinks you’re in trouble.”

Saige did her best to smile. “I’m not. And we aren’t. And if Stella thought that, she wouldn’t be bringing her youngest sister’s child with her, would she?”

Lorenzo didn’t look convinced. “You’re sure?”

He didn’t have to clarify. Saige knew he wasn’t asking about Stella and her intentions.

“I’m sure, pet.” She leaned back in her chair and tried to look relaxed. “Maybe I’m a little twitchy at the moment, but I’m sure it will pass. As soon as I get used to the idea of this.” She dropped her gaze to her stomach again and then shrugged. “Things will get back to normal.”

She hoped.

Lorenzo nodded slowly. “And you’re sure you wouldn’t rather have your cousin visit?”

Her nod was firm. “Darling, even if the idea of another male storming around the house wasn’t enough to make the edges of my vision red, he’s busy running New Orleans, and it wouldn’t do to have two branch managers in the same location for very long.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time he’s travelled.” Lorenzo leaned easily on the doorframe, which made Saige’s fangs itch again.

She ran her tongue over her teeth and sighed through her nose. “Yes, true, but that’s not the only reason, is it?”

She waited. Waited for the moment when her husband realized what actually gnawed at Saige alongside the thought of having Nicodemus Hargreaves and his very human wife come visiting to support her.

When all he did was stare blankly at her, Saige said, “It’s the holidays, Lorenzo. No one wants to be reminded of what they can’t have.”

“Ah.” The tall tom rubbed the back of his neck self consciously and he looked away from her. “I guess I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Yes, well, that’s why I’m here,” Saige forced a little cheer into her voice. “To remind you of the things you wouldn’t think of.”

“Oh, of course,” Lorenzo smiled as he strode further into the room.

Again, her instincts wailed an alarum that she and the child she carried were in danger. She squashed the sentiment down forcefully, but found herself standing by the time he joined her at the desk.

“Since Stella has agreed to visit, I have a lot of adjustments to make for the holidays,” she said, taking a step back as he reached for her.

Lilac eyes studied her unblinkingly, and Saige swallowed the snarl that swelled in her throat.

Lorenzo said, “Please remember to take breaks.”

“Of course. But I’ll remind you that I’m pregnant, pet, not terminally ill.” Even though she tried to smile, even though she worked to keep her fangs behind her lips, the tension in Lorenzo’s body told her the expression was more a threat than the comfort it was meant to be.

She dropped her gaze, frustrated with herself and the boorish nature of her own subconscious.

It almost hurt when she looked up to see the small smile on her husband’s face. “Just let me know if you need help.”

“Of course.”

His smile was tight. “May I kiss you?”

Much as she wanted to say yes, she thought about the last time he’d kissed her and the way her instincts had gotten the better of her.

“Just close your eyes, darling,” she told him, “and I’ll kiss you instead. How about that?”

It was the only way she could manage to put her throat in close proximity to the predator that was her husband. A small compromise between the person she had been six weeks ago as Lorenzo’s wife and lover, and the part of her now dedicated to the role of expecting mother.

So Saige cherished the sensation of her lips meeting her husband’s. She let herself be comforted by the shared breath, and by the shape of the jaw she traced with her fingers.

Her husband stood very still as she kissed him. Still and passive, until the predator in him reacted to the smaller, more feral predator in her, and he turned his head away.

“Go make your arrangements.”

She nodded, slipping past the man and starting down the hall at a brisk pace that she wished didn’t portray how much it bothered her to have her back to him.

Behind her, the tom called, “Let me know if you need anything, Miss Starling.”

She smiled, letting herself give in to the rules of the little game they sometimes played. A hark back to the first days of their relationship, where Lorenzo hid his identity from her, trying to pass himself off as Roman Nascosto, the Cigar Roller’s lieutenant, rather than being the Cigar Roller himself.

It was such a tiny thing, that nod to the forbidden attraction she’d felt for him in those early days, when she thought of him only as the head of security for her future husband’s branch. But it grounded her, put the warring instincts she felt as wife and mother into perspective. And it told her, more than anything, that Lorenzo understood she was doing her best to navigate the unfamiliar roads in her own head and heart.

A small glance over her shoulder, a very small smile, with the faintest flash of fang that wasn’t quite the threat it had been moments before. “Thank you, Mr. Nascosto. I shall.”