Blood Oath (8 page)

Demi rose from his chair. “I live to serve
you.”

Valdemeer chuckled. “How many times do I
have to tell you not to say that, Nicodemus? You’re a member of the family.”

“But, sire…”

His dark eyes twinkled. “Or you will be.”

Demi swallowed down his nausea as nerves
assailed him. “If she’ll have me.”

* * * * *

Anca attempted to steady her shaking hands
as she followed Demi into a lavish sitting room. She didn’t think the Persian
carpet was imitation, nor were the Chippendale chairs knockoffs. She focused
solely on the ormolu clock on the mantle for a few seconds, struggling to
remember how to breathe.

When she felt calmer, Anca turned slightly
to face the man standing in the corner of the room, near a mini-bar. Her
father. She could barely fathom that. She stood frozen to the spot as she
stared at him.

He had long, dark hair secured in a leather
thong. Strands of silver liberally streaked his hair. Dark eyes dominated his
chiseled features. His skin bore wrinkles as testament to his age, but he
looked handsome and vital. His posture was straight, and his shoulders were
broad. He didn’t look sick.

He was staring at her just as intently.
Silence reigned in the salon for long seconds, until he broke it with a harsh
exhalation. He stepped toward her, and his eyes shone with unshed tears. “You
are your mother.” He smiled. “I can almost believe Katrine is standing before
me.”

“I have your nose,” Anca said, and her voice
emerged as a croak. She had always wondered where it came from, since it was
straight and narrow, unlike her mother’s pert little nose. She touched it
unconsciously, while staring at his. She saw a tear slide down his cheek and
realized her own cheeks were wet.

Later, she wouldn’t remember who moved
first. When thinking about it, all she could recall was the feel of her
father’s arms embracing her in a hug that was twenty-six years past due.

He smelled of cognac, pine, and a trace
scent of copper. His beard was rough where it pressed against the top of her
head. The scratchy material of his tunic tickled her skin when she buried her
face in it and sobbed. He murmured words in a language she didn’t understand as
he stroked her hair.

For a moment, Anca forgot about everything,
even Demi’s presence. She was too overwhelmed with emotions to suppress the
harsh sobs. She rubbed her cheek against his shirt, allowing his soothing tone
to wash over her. Slowly, the tears lessened and dried up.

She lifted her head and gazed into her
father’s eyes. She blurted out the question on her mind without thought. “Why
didn’t you come after me?”

Valdemeer flinched, and a hint of color
swept into his pale cheeks. His hand in her hair stilled. “I wanted to.” He
shook his head. “You were safer in New York.”

She swallowed a lump of moisture in her
throat. “Demi told me that. I don’t understand why you couldn’t at least come
see me in New York. Why pretend I didn’t exist for twenty-six years?”

“Never that, dear daughter.” He shook his
head. “It is complicated.”

Anca blinked back another round of tears at
his vague answer. She could continue prodding him for information she didn’t
think he would give, or she could ease off and spend the next few days becoming
acquainted with him. Surely, he would tell her everything before she left.

She nodded. “I see.” To her surprise, he
kissed her forehead, tickling her skin with his beard and mustache.

“I promise I will give you an explanation
soon, Anca. Tonight, I want only to enjoy your company and learn more about
you.”

She nodded again and stepped away from him.
For a second, the physical separation seemed to span miles. She forced a shaky
smile. “All right…Papa,” she said the name hesitantly. When Kathryn spoke of
him, she had always called him her Papa. It had become second nature to think
of him that way.

Would he think it was too soon? Was it too
soon to be calling him Papa? Part of her rebelled at her easy acceptance of the
man standing before her. Too much time had passed, and they would never recover
it. He had wounded her deeply with his rejection, whether or not it was
intentional.

Yet, Anca felt an instant connection with
her father. He had felt it too. She was certain he had. A week ago, she had
accepted never knowing her father. Now that she knew differently and had a
chance to know him, she didn’t want to waste it by imposing needless barriers
and giving life to resentments accrued during a fatherless childhood.

She held her breath, awaiting his reaction.
Her stomach clenched as the ticking of the clock seemed to grow louder. She was
near apologizing for being so forward when he gathered her in his arms again
and hugged her with bone-crushing strength.

When he released her, he didn’t say anything
about it. He seemed to be determined to ignore the tears clinging to his
lashes. Valdemeer cleared his throat. “Dinner is waiting.” He held out his arm.

Anca linked hers through his and walked with
him through the salon. Her eyes locked with Demi’s as they passed him, and she
gave him a small smile. She tried to say, “Thank you,” with her eyes. If he
hadn’t come after her, she never would have known about her father.

As he fell in step behind them, his breath
caressed her neck. “You’re welcome,” he whispered.

Her eyes widened. He had interpreted her
thoughts just from her expression. A shiver raced up her spine. Demi seemed to
know her intimately. How could that be? Was there such a thing as love at first
sight, or was it just an instant attraction for both of them?

She was distracted from her thoughts as they
entered the dining room. It was resplendent, with ecru silk wall hangings,
thick carpets, and a cherry-stained, rectangle table long enough to seat
thirty. Chippendale chairs lined each side of the table. Someone occupied the
chair at the head of the table.

A stunning woman with cinnamon-red hair slid
from the cushioned chair. She wore a flowing ebony caftan that did little to
hide the voluptuous curves of her body. Her skin was olive, and her brown eyes
glittered with green specks as she walked toward them. She seemed familiar, yet
alien.

“Papa.” The smile that flashed across her
face did nothing to soften her hard expression. “I had heard your other child
arrived.”

Valdemeer inclined his head in Anca’s
direction. “This is Anca.”

Anca swallowed heavily as those disconcerting
eyes—so much like her own, she realized with a start—met hers. She forced a
smile. “Hello.”

The older woman stepped closer, stopping
just a few inches away. She held out her hands. “Anca, my dear sister.”

Anca’s eyes widened. She didn’t protest as
the other woman folded her hands in a tight grip. “S-s-sister?”

She nodded. “Am I a surprise?” She looked
sad. “Mother didn’t tell you?”

How could her mother not tell her she had a
sister? How could Kathryn have left her other daughter behind when she fled Corsova?
What about protecting her too? Anca opened her mouth, but she couldn’t find
anything to say.

Demi stepped forward, and again, it was as
if he sensed her thoughts. More likely, he sensed her tension. “This is Nikia,
your
half
-sister. Katrine wasn’t her mother.”

“That’s a beautiful name.” She shook her
head at the inane comment. What did one say to a sister she hadn’t known about?

Nikia nodded. “It was my mother’s choice.
She insisted I have it. That was the last thing she said before she died.” She
spoke matter-of-factly, but her eyes darted to Valdemeer and stayed on him for
a long second. “She was so young.”

Anca frowned as the undercurrent of tension
permeating the room suddenly increased. “I…uh, I’m sorry for your loss.”

Nikia shrugged. “It was long ago, and I
never knew her. Papa did though.” There was a hint of slyness in her gaze. “He
was there when she died so…unexpectedly.”

“Women still die in childbirth,” Valdemeer
said stiffly. “Given Illiana’s state, it wasn’t entirely unexpected.”

Nikia nodded, but she didn’t dispute her
father’s words, as she so obviously wanted to. Instead, she leaned forward and
kissed Anca’s left cheek, and then her right cheek. “Welcome to the family,
sister.”

“Thank you.” She pulled her hands free from
her sister’s hold, resisting the urge to wipe them on her linen slacks. There
was something insincere about her façade, and Anca had the irrational urge to
wash her hands to cleanse them from Nikia’s touch.

Demi cleared his throat. “Shall we sit?”

Anca waited until Valdemeer and Nikia
selected seats before she walked to the one on her father’s left. She smiled at
Demi as he held the chair for her before taking the seat beside her.

She was bursting with questions, but she was
reluctant to voice any with Nikia present. Something in the woman’s eyes
paralyzed her tongue. Nikia was dangerous.

She blinked at the strange thought,
wondering where it came from. It hadn’t felt like a thought that flowed from
her mind naturally. Rather, it had seemed to hammer its way into her thoughts
abruptly.

Nikia was the first to break the awkward
silence once the servants filled golden goblets with dark-red wine and placed
soup before Anca, Demi, and Nikia. “How is your mother?” The question was
appropriate, but there was a sharp edge to her tone. “Is she still living?”

“Yes. She’s been ill.”

“Her heart?” Nikia asked blandly.

Anca’s eyes widened. “How did you know?”

She lifted a thin shoulder. “One of the
servants mentioned your mother’s condition.”

She glanced at Demi with a frown. “News
travels fast here, doesn’t it?”

“Exceedingly.” Nikia drained her glass and
gestured to Geza, who stood by the doorway. He hurried forward to fill her
glass again. “Will she recover?”

“If she avoids stress and follows her
doctor’s orders.”

“It would be unfortunate if you returned to
New York to find she had passed away during your vacation.” Nikia clicked her
tongue softly. “You mustn’t tarry long here at Castle Draganescu.”

“She isn’t that ill.” Anca’s brow furrowed.
Was she imagining the trace of warning she heard in her sister’s voice?

Demi spoke up in a firm tone. “Nothing will
happen to Her Highness. His Majesty instructed me to leave a guard with her
while Anca was away, to ensure her well-being. They will have arrived by now.”
His eyes locked with Nikia’s, and there seemed to be a battle of wills.

Finally, Nikia blinked. “That is good news.”
She set down her goblet and pushed away from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I
have no appetite this evening.” She nodded to Valdemeer and Demi before walking
around the table to stand beside Anca.

Anca turned her head and looked up at her
sister, feeling the tiny hairs on the back of her neck prickle with fear. She
flinched as Nikia caressed her hair. She arched her neck, seeking to escape her
sister’s touch. She winced as Nikia’s nails dug into her scalp, restricting her
movement.

“It was lovely to meet you, sister.” Nikia
bowed her head and pressed her lips against Anca’s in a soft kiss. Then she
lifted her head and stepped away. She walked out of the dining room without
looking back.

Anca stared after her sister, disconcerted.
Nikia’s parting hadn’t seemed very…sisterly. She was distracted when Demi
touched her thigh. She smiled at him, struggling not to show her confusion.

“Pay Nikia little mind,” he said soothingly.
“She’s a turbulent woman.”

Valdemeer sighed. “She’s jealous of you,
Anca.”

She turned her head in her father’s
direction, noting Demi’s hand remained on her thigh. As he stroked in slow
circles, frissons of awareness darted through her leg. She shook her head.
“That makes no sense.”

If either of them had reason to be jealous,
it was she. After all, Nikia had lived with their father all her life, and had
obviously lived in luxury. She was a princess. It was doubtful she had ever
wanted for anything in her childhood, except maybe a mother. That was enough to
kill any envy Anca might feel, because she had a loving mother.

He sighed again, more deeply this time. He
toyed with the stem of his goblet, but he didn’t lift the cup to his mouth to
drink. “She is upset because she wasn’t chosen to be my heir.”

“Is that all?” Anca shrugged. “You might as
well know I’m not interested in the job, Papa. She can have it, as far as I’m
concerned.”

He hesitated, and his eyes narrowed. He
exchanged looks with Demi. When he spoke, he apparently chose to disregard her
statement of disinterest. “It is impossible for Nikia to inherit the
Protectorate of Corsova. She was not born at the proper time.”

Her eyes widened, and she read between the
lines. “So, uh, you weren’t married to her mother, huh?”

Valdemeer appeared startled, but he nodded.
“Don’t trouble yourself with Nikia,” he said dismissively. “I’ll deal with
her.”