Blood Bond (An Anna Strong, Vampire Novel)(18)

"Want what?" I interject hotly, angry words rising like lava. "To be like me? A monster? A freak?"

He puts his glass down on the table with a sharp crack and gathers me into his arms. "That's not what I mean and you know it."

Irrationally I'm angry, so angry I struggle violently to break free. Frey tightens his grip until I can scarcely move. When I stop fighting, he still doesn't loosen his grip. He bends his face close and whispers in my ear, "When you got back from Mexico, you told me that you didn't turn Max because you couldn't be sure that it was what he wanted. That you wouldn't do to someone else what had been done to you. Is that what you're thinking now? That you'll ask your mother if she wants to be turned? Do you realize what that means? Her life-your Dad's life, Trish's life-nothing will ever be the same."

He pushes back now, tilts my chin up so that I'm looking into his eyes. "Think about it, Anna. You have so little time left to spend with her. Once you tell her that you're vampire, regardless of her decision, your relationship with your mother will be changed."

A wave of fatigue overtakes me. Everything Frey says is true. But another truth interjects itself as well. I don't want my mother to die. Trish needs her. My dad needs her. I need her.

I close my eyes and lean my head wearily against Frey's chest. Maybe I'm being selfish, but if I didn't at least offer her the alternative to what she's facing, I will never forgive myself.

Frey glances at his watch. "Listen, Trish won't be home for another hour. Why don't you go upstairs and take a nap. You look exhausted. I'll come and get you when Trish is ready to go to town."

Numbly, I nod and get to my feet. "Are you coming with me?" I ask.

He smiles, slow and sweet. "If I come, how much sleep do you think you'll get? No, I'll go find your dad and John-John. I'd like to see that winepress myself."

He steers me toward the house, then takes off down the path to the outbuildings where the wine is processed. I watch him go, glad that I didn't tell him my decision. First chance I get to be alone with my mother, I'm going to tell her.

About what I am.

About what it could mean to her.

I have to.

* * *

I GO UPSTAIRS, PAUSING OUTSIDE MOM'S DOOR. IT'S quiet inside her room, only the sound of her soft breathing. She seems to be resting quietly, no labored gasps, no moans of pain.

I could wake her now.

My heart flutters in my chest.

No. Better she rest.

No rest for me, though. Instead of stretching out on the bed, I sit at the window looking over the countryside and go over the ways I can explain to my mother what I am.

And imagining her responses.

There are only two, really.

She will be horrified and order me out of her house.

She will be horrified and have me committed.

Frey is right. Do I dare risk our last few days together?

On the other hand, does it have to be our last few days?

What if Mom understands what I'm offering and is willing to accept it to stay with her family?

For how long?

Immortality is something I'm wrestling with all the time. Frey and I haven't discussed it, but he knows the reality of our situation. He will age, naturally, gracefully, while I will stay forever the same. I will watch him die, John-John and Trish, too. And I will stay forever the same.

Can Mom cope with that? Watching Dad die-watching Trish and maybe her grandchildren from a self-imposed distance because they can never know the truth?

But she and I can be together, then, right?

Is that selfish?

Yes.

Still . . .

A car is coming down the drive-Trish's ride from school. I go into the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. I will talk to Trish this afternoon. See how she's holding up. She's had a rough life and now this. It's so damned unfair. Maybe she will help me decide what to do. Maybe her devastation at Mom's loss will tilt the scales in favor of presenting my case.

Maybe I'm grasping at something, anything, to take the decision out of my hands.                       
       
           



       CHAPTER 17




TRISH AND I ARE STANDING IN THE DRESSING AREA of one of Lorgues' nicest boutiques. The attendant has just brought in the dresses we chose on our shopping trip a couple of days before. They are in three white garment bags, which she hangs on a wooden rack. She leaves with smiles, a flutter of hands and effusive assurances that she is right outside if we need any help.

Trish goes to the rack and reads the tags. "Here's yours, Aunt Anna. Try it on! I can't wait to see you in it!"

I take the bag from her outstretched hand and step behind the changing screen. I'd chosen a champagne-colored peau de soie sheath, simple, knee-length, tailored, adorned only with seed pearls at the portrait neckline. The silk is light as air against my skin. I can't see myself in the mirrors surrounding the dressing area, so I'll have to judge by Trish's reaction when she sees me whether or not I made a good choice.

Her eyes sparkle and her smile beams. "It's perfect," she breathes. "Oh, Aunt Anna, you look beautiful. Wait until Daniel sees you!"

I twirl around, laughing, before taking her dress down from the rack. "Your turn!"

She disappears behind the screen only to reappear a few moments later looking so breathtakingly grown-up, a gasp catches in my throat.

She'd chosen a simple silk dress, too, pale rose, fitted at the top, pencil skirt. She holds her hands in front of her mimicking holding a bouquet and walks slowly toward me.

I have to brush away a tear.

Trish holds up a hand in dismay. "No crying! Tears are murder on silk!"

Which makes us both burst into tears and scramble to find tissues before we spot our dresses, which in turn makes us burst into gales of laughter. We collapse on a bench and compose ourselves.

Then, our eyes turn to the third garment bag. I unzip it.

Mom's suit is inside. The same pale rose as Trish's dress, this is wool bouclé, an elegant jacket and skirt, cap-sleeved silk camisole. I skim my fingers over the fabric. "She'll look beautiful in this."

Trish's expression softens, saddens. "She looks beautiful in everything."

I sit down beside her. "How are you doing? Really?"

She looks away, her breathing shallow and quick as if swallowing back a sob.

I put my arms around her shoulders. "I'm so worried about you. I know how hard this has to be. Finally, you have a real home, grandparents who love you, and now-"

She leans her head on my shoulder. "I'm doing okay. It's Grandfather I worry about. He and Grandmother are so close. How will he cope when she's gone? When there's just me?"

Her voice catches and I sense an undertone of hesitation, of concern. As if she's afraid once Mom is gone, Dad won't want her around anymore. I know how utterly baseless that fear is, how much my father loves her, but I also realize my saying that won't change the way she feels.

I put an arm over Trish's shoulders. "Go change, honey. Let's get some dinner."

She disappears into the changing area and I remain on the bench, gazing at Mom's suit. I wanted help in making my decision.

I just got it.

As soon as I can, I will talk to my mom.

* * *

MOM DOESN'T COME DOWN FOR DINNER.

Her absence casts a pall over us all. After, Dad suggests we go into town for a movie. The kids agree and spend fifteen minutes in good-natured arguing over what to see-a Pixar animated flick or a new action-adventure featuring the Justice League. The superheroes win out. Since it's an American movie, language won't be a problem. The film will have French subtitles.

The kids disperse to get their jackets, Dad goes upstairs to tell Mom, Frey and I are alone at the table.

"You're not coming, are you?" Frey asks.

I shake my head.

"You're staying to talk to your mother."

Not a question so I feel no need to reply.

Frey sighs. But then he stands up and pulls me to my feet, too. "I love you," he says. "I stand behind your choice. But please, Anna, be careful. I don't want to see you hurt any more than you are."

I put my hands around his neck and pull his face down so I can reach his lips with my own. The kiss is full of longing, gratitude. "I love you, too," I whisper, pulling back. "I think I always have."

Then the kids are racing back down the stairs with Dad right behind them. Frey herds them to the door. No one has to ask why I'm not accompanying them. It seems to be understood. I will stay with Mom.

It's not without a certain irony-this choice of movie. My family has a real-life justice fighter in their midst and they don't know it.

Well, they don't all know it.

I start up the stairs to Mom's room.

And after tonight, there will be one more sharing the secret.                       
       
           



       CHAPTER 18




MOM IS SITTING UP IN BED WATCHING A FRENCH news program when I peek around the door.

She smiles when she sees me and reaches for the remote. "You didn't go to the movie."

I step into the room. "Would you like some company?"

She pats the bed. "I'd love some." She clicks off the television and looks hard at me. "You look so tired, Anna. This should be such a happy time for you and I'm spoiling it."