Page 100 of Blood and Fire

Tam tilted her head, a small smile playing about her lips. “A hawk,” she said. “The correct expression is, watch you like a hawk.”

“Eagle,” Val repeated stubbornly. “Eagles are bigger.”

Tam chuckled. “Ah. And bigger is better?”

“Yes. I use every advantage I can with you. Always.”

“Men,” Tam scoffed, and turned to Lily and Bruno. “You’ll find towels and all in the cabinet outside the bathroom door. Goodnight.”

“Thank you for everything,” Lily said.

But they weren’t listening. Val had swept Tam into his protective embrace, and was murmuring to her in some language Bruno couldn’t place. She smothered laughter behind her hand. Every gesture, every smile and glance created a bubble of intimacy around them. A magic private space, where both of them felt safe.

He’d never even been aware of such a thing before.

And all of the sudden, here he was, envious of it.

CHAPTER20

The spiral staircase dumped them into a room that under any other circumstances, would have blown his mind. Octagonal, with big triangular windows in each side, each with a different amazing view in the daytime. Gleaming wood paneling, a grouping of chairs and couches around a coffee table and a flat-screen TV, luxurious and understated and comfortable. A wrought iron spiral staircase led up to a loft bed.

He went to the window, stared out into the night. The moon was peeking through a hole in the clouds, illuminating the undulating patterns of glowing white foam spread across the huge beach far below.

Lily wrapped her arm around his waist. “Want to talk about it?”

“No.” It snapped out. Not what he wanted to say. It was just hard-wired in there, popping out to shove away intruders. Like an alarm system, buzzing when it was breached. He could hear the gears grind, as Lily tried to puzzle out how to manage him. Didn’t envy her the task. He couldn’t manage his own self. Why should she have more luck.

“I never knew my own mother,” she said.

Aw, Christ. He was in for it now. He clenched his teeth. “No?”

“She and my father tried for years to get pregnant. That was in the early days of fertility medicine. My dad did research in it, like I told you. My mom did seven cycles of IVF before they conceived me.”

“Yay,” he muttered. “Glad she did.”

Her arm tightened around his waist. “Sweet of you to say so,” she said. “They were, too. At first.”

She paused, gathering her thoughts. Bruno wanted to scream. If it was going to hurt, he wanted to power through it. “Let’s have it.”

“Have what?”

“The zinger,” he said. “Tonight’s all about the zingers, one after the other, straight to the liver. Whatever you’re going to zing me with, have at it. Please. Get it over with.”

She stiffened, turning away. “Never mind. You’re right. Now’s not the time for this conversation.”

He spun her around to face him. “No, really,” he said, brusquely. “It’s the only time we’ve got. Just tell me, goddamnit. I want to hear it.”

“She died,” Lily said. “In labor. A big blood vessel had formed across her cervix. She hemorrhaged. Bled out in a couple of minutes. If they’d done an early C-section, she’d have lived. But they didn’t know.”

He pulled her closer, nuzzled her hair. It smelled like lavender.

“My father felt guilty all my life,” she said. “If he hadn’t moved heaven and earth to get her pregnant…” She shrugged. “I felt guilty, too. I know it’s stupid, but there it is.”

They swayed, locked together, as he tried to take in what she was trying to tell him. “It’s not the same,” he said. “You were a baby. Your parents made their decisions, and took the risk. Both of them.”

“So did Magda. How is it different?” Her voice was muffled against his shirt. “She must have been hell on wheels.”

“Oh, yeah. That, she was.” Laughter shook him, the tight, high-frequency kind of laughter that could all too suddenly turn into tears.