MacNachton Vampires: Born To Bite Part 18

She whirled, secluded in the shroud of white. "Aedan?"

"He cannot hear you."

She turned. "Please, I wish to go back."

Silence. "None has ever requested to leave."

"A fact I can understand. Never before have I felt such welcome, such acceptance, but never before have I felt the love that Aedan has given me."

Silence hummed within the coc.o.o.n of warmth. "If you go back, you will step into your life as before, into agony so intense you will wish for this peace."

She hesitated. "If I go back, will my child and I live through the conversion?"

The light pulsed. "Aye."

"Then, 'tis my wish to return."

"You are certain?"

Rowan nodded.

"So be it."

The light dulled.

Pain rushed into Rowan like a mace driven into unprotected flesh. Her body throbbed, hurt more than she believed possible.

"She is awake."

Aedan's distant voice reached her. Rowan fought against the pain, fought not to slip beneath consciousness. "Ae-Aedan?"

A hand as soft as it was strong lifted hers. "I am here."

She forced open her eyes, found him watching her, his fear easy to read.

"She is a vampire?"

At the dazed yet melodic voice, Rowan s.h.i.+fted her head, winced against the slash of agony. The fairy queen stood but a pace away.

"Only half," Aedan replied, his voice thick with wonder. "My blood has melded with hers, and incredibly, as I'd hoped, she has retained her fey aspects, and lost only her human side."

Beads of sweat slid down Rowan's body as she struggled to concentrate, to understand the full impact of his words.

"Impossible," the fairy queen whispered.

" 'Twould seem not," Aedan replied.

The regal woman rubbed her brow. "This is all such a muddle." She gave Rowan a gentle smile. "There is much I wish to ask you, but later, once you have recovered."

"Incredibly, I am feeling stronger," Rowan replied, finding with each pa.s.sing second her words were true.

Aedan gave her hand a gentle squeeze. " 'Tis the mix of vampire and fey blood. Both hold enormous strength and ensure you will quickly heal."

She touched the curve of her stomach, surprised to feel the kick of her child against her palm.

"Your child will grow at an accelerated rate due to the mix of fey and vampire blood," Ysenda explained.

Rowan nodded, understanding there was so much more she would learn. From the puzzlement on the queen's face, she was not alone. "You have questions."

Ysenda studied her a long moment. "Laird MacGregor said you were left upon a healer's doorstep."

"Aye," Rowan replied. "After my mother died giving birth, my father struggled to raise me. He felt it a prudent choice."

"Since you were half fey, he would." The fairy queen's hands trembled. "How many summers are you?"

Confused by such a question, Rowan frowned. "Eighteen, Your Highness."

Tears s.h.i.+mmered in Ysenda's eyes. " 'Tis true."

"True?" Rowan asked.

"You, child," the fairy queen whispered, "are my granddaughter, Princess Rowan Campbell of the Otherworld."

Epilogue.

Rowan leaned against Aedan's arms as she stared down at the sleeping babies nestled in their beds. "They are so small," she whispered, aware that, part fey and part vampire, they would be ultrasensitive and easily awakened.

"They will grow fast," he replied.

"Three." She shook her head. "Who knew I carried triplets."

Aedan smiled, his expression filled with pride. "Magic indeed."

"I am thankful my grandmother has accepted you." She lifted her gaze, smiled. "Has accepted us."

" 'Twas that or lose contact with a granddaughter and her great grandchildren."

"More, I think it was your insisting we name one of our daughters after my mother."

"Guinevere is a regal-sounding name."

"Aye," she agreed, "but a token of peace all the same."

"Aye." He winked. "One that worked well, might I add."

With a smile, she took in their children, and her heart filled with pride. "Elspeth and Seras have your eyes."

"And your smile." Aedan drew her into a slow kiss, lifted his head. "Our children. A miracle."

"They are." She shook her head. " 'Tis hard to believe so much has happened in such a brief amount of time."

He brushed a sweep of hair from the curve of her cheek with his thumb. "Aye."

Sadness touched Rowan. "I am sorry your cousin is dead."

"Do not be. Breac's greed sealed his fate."

"I know. Still, I wish it could have ended otherwise."

"As do I, but 'tis done." Aedan took her hand in his, gave it a gentle squeeze. "Never must we forget that our joining, though for us a miracle, will be frowned upon by many vampires as well as many fey."

Like an ominous foreboding, a chill raced through her as she studied the innocent faces of their sleeping children. "Never would I wish them harm."

"Nor I, but 'tis a consequence of our love."

"Aye." She lifted the tiny hand of her closest daughter, pressed a kiss upon miniature fingers, and then tucked Elspeth's hand beneath the coverlet. She turned to Aedan. "But my wish is to focus on the joys of this day. The challenges ahead will come."

"Indeed."

He claimed her mouth in a long, pa.s.sionate kiss, and Rowan's worries fell away. This moment she would savor the man she loved, their beautiful children, and the gift of family found. And if she and Aedan's meeting and falling in love seemed like magic, it was only fitting, with her being part fey. 'Twould seem a perfect ending indeed.

NEVER BEEN BITTEN.

Erica Ridley.

For Frank Stout, a born romantic.

Chapter One.

October 1830.

Lincolns.h.i.+re, England.

To some, the Wedgeworth soiree might appear a splendid crush of debutantes, dandies, and music, but to Miss Elspeth Ramsay-inveterate bluestocking, indifferent spinster, and, most d.a.m.ning of all, tradeswoman-the evening's crush was simply her latest a.s.signment. As planned, she'd been commissioned to enter the world of the ton.

If Ellie were a fidgeter, she might have been nervously smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from the nicest of her outdated gowns. She did not fidget. If she were a coquette, perhaps she would be twining one of her wayward curls about her finger whilst simpering at the eligible bachelors. Ellie did not simper. If she were socially ambitious, she might be near to a swoon at having arrived at a High Society fete as the particular guest of the youngest daughter of a duke. She did not swoon. Instead, Ellie stood in the farthest corner from the orchestra, surrept.i.tiously surveying the crowd and hoping none of them would notice her in the shadows. After mentally cataloguing and discarding each of the revelers as harmless, she turned to her benefactress with a raised brow.

"Well?" she said, impatient to calm her client's irrational fears and escape the oppressive splendor. "Where is he?"

Rather than being affronted by this impertinence, Miss Lydia Breckenridge beamed with self-satisfaction. "He has not yet arrived." Miss Breckenridge nearly bounced on her satin-slippered feet. "I knew you'd be able to discern human from inhuman upon sight, you being an authority on the paranormal-"

"I am no such thing!" Ellie was unable to bear this speech with continued calm. "I am a woman of science, Miss Breckenridge. If anything, I am a 'professional skeptic.' To date, every such claim I've investigated has been quickly proven false, and I don't doubt this one shall unfold in the same way." As much as she and her mother desperately needed the coin, Ellie couldn't help but give a slight shake of her head. "Vampires, indeed."

"But don't you see?" Miss Breckenridge insisted, eyes s.h.i.+ning. "That's what makes your involvement perfect. When even you are forced to admit true evil walks amongst us, the rest will be obliged to take heed."

"And do what?" Ellie asked sensibly. "Drive a stake through his waistcoat?"

"What a horrid image." Miss Breckenridge's brow creased. "To be honest, I had not thought so far in advance."

Ellie forbore mentioning she doubted her client had thought over any portion of her preposterous belief. Rudeness was never warranted, and besides, she planned to earn the promised ten-pound note. "At what point did you first suspect the new earl in town to be a vampire?"

"No, no," gasped Miss Breckenridge. "You've got it all wrong."

Ellie blinked. "He's not a vampire?"

"He's not a lord." Miss Breckenridge sniffed. "Despite his sobriquet. He's a younger son of a family in the Scottish Highlands, distantly related to the head of some forgotten medieval clan. He's not a member of the peerage whatsoever. How could he be, if he's an undead immortal?"

"How indeed," Ellie said faintly. "How, then, did he cut such a swath?"

For a moment, Miss Breckenridge's eyes turned dreamy. "Martainn Macane may be penniless and a cursed bloodsucker, but he's devilishly handsome."

"Penniless!" Ellie exclaimed, forming a much sharper impression of her quarry. His motive might not be much different than hers, but his method stood in stark relief. She had never feigned bloodl.u.s.t for gain. "I deduce he puts himself forward in order to take advantage of innocent debutantes."

Miss Breckenridge gestured at the swirling crowd. "No need for such, when young and old alike throw themselves and their purses in his path at every opportunity."

Ellie's lip curled at the very idea. "I'm sure he cannot refuse such marvelous gifts. The women are aware of his ... nature?"

"Aware? He's nigh irresistible," Miss Breckenridge confessed in a whisper. "Undoubtedly part of his dark magic. The compet.i.tion to be the devil's chosen has eclipsed the judgment of every otherwise sensible woman who finds herself caught in his gaze."

Ellie's client clearly thought herself the heroine of a gothic novel. Either the higher the social rank, the lower the intelligence, or this Mr. Macane was an extremely skillful magician indeed. She'd bet he was nothing more than a two-bit actor who had changed his venue from the streets to soirees. "How can he be so successful and also so terrible?"

"How?" Miss Breckenridge blushed prettily. "Because he's bad in a very, very good way. They've gone so far as to dub him Lord Lovenip, and my brothers tell me the betting books overflow with wagers as to which female he shall claim next." Her eyes widened in horror. "Oh, I do hope you yourself do not fall prey to his wicked charms!"

"Oh, for the love of-" Ellie coughed daintily into her gloved hand, reminding herself that money earned for a fool's errand was still money earned, and she'd be wise not to let her mouth get in the way of the Breckenridge coffers. "Have no fear on that front, Miss Breckenridge. I have yet to find the man capable of turning my head."

Her benefactress cast a discerning eye at Ellie's drooping curls and woefully out-of-fas.h.i.+on gown, managing to convey without a single word that Ellie's spinsterhood was far more likely due to Ellie's own inability to turn heads, rather than any fault inherent in the eligible gentlemen.

Be that as it may, Ellie's distinct lack of position in Society afforded her the perfect disguise: insignificant wallflower. Unlike third-daughter-of-a-duke Miss Breckenridge, Ellie had the ability to stay both in sight and unnoticed at gatherings such as this. Granted, this was the first time she'd been commissioned to investigate a vampiric Scotsman, but she held complete confidence that she would put paid to such nonsense in short order.