Page 114 of A Game of Love and Betrayal

“Oh.” Brynleigh ran the tip of her tongue over one of her fangs. That minuscule movement had no business being so attractive. “But your mother…”

“By the Obsidian Sands, I hope I’m wrong.” If Ryker thought it would help, he’d travel to the nearest fae temple and pray upon the vials of sand themselves, begging the deities to hear his pleas. Unfortunately, he was a realist. He didn’t think that anything, even the black grains that had been brought across the Indigo Ocean with the fae, could change Tertia’s opinion about her son’s bride.

Brynleigh was attentive, and she picked up what he wasn’t outright saying. “Your mother won’t like me, will she?”

His heart twisted at the doubt in her voice.

Ryker cupped Brynleigh’s cheek, and she leaned into his touch. He loved that she relaxed around him and trusted him enough to let him touch her like this. “I hope she does,” he said. “You are incredible. She’d be a fool not to see that.”

“I understand.” Disappointment flashed through Brynleigh’s eyes.

The sight was a knife to Ryker’s gut.

“Listen to me, sweetheart,” he said gruffly. “No matter what she says in there, I picked you. I Chose you. I will continue to do so until the end of time.”

Nothing would ever tear them apart. No person could destroy the relationship they’d built. It was steadfast, built on a stronger foundation than simply physical attraction. Their souls were linked.

Ryker’s heart boomed as he waited for Brynleigh’s response. Each moment stretched on and on until she finally nodded. “Alright, I understand.”

He prayed to the gods that she did. Or that his gut was wrong, and he was worried for no reason. He hoped this dinner wouldn’t be a disaster.

Only time would tell.

Ryker had been to his family home hundreds of times since he moved out, but this was the first time he felt strange about it. Almost like he didn’t fully belong here.

It was because of the vampire at his side. He’d given Brynleigh his heart, and now, his life belonged with her. Where she went, he would always follow.

Two hours later, Ryker knew he’d been right to worry. His mother had been kind enough to Brynleigh when she greeted them in the garage, but he’d caught the clench in Tertia’s jaw and the hardness in her eyes.

Tertia was incredibly overdressed for the occasion. She wore a floor-length cerulean ballgown with three-inch heels as if she was about to attend a formal engagement and not have dinner with her two children and soon-to-be daughter-in-law. That was Tertia, though. She was the definition of dramatic.

Unlike Ryker, who’d had arranged for contractors to swap out the windows in his apartment to accommodate Brynleigh’s inability to be in the sun, his parents hadn’t changed their windows. However, they had installed blackout blinds since he had made it a condition of their visit. He wouldn’t take Brynleigh anywhere that might endanger her.

It wasn’t Tertia’s words that had Ryker on edge. For the most part, his mother was kind enough as she played tour guide and showed Brynleigh through the mansion. It was what she wasn’t saying that had Ryker ready to bolt far earlier than he had planned.

Whenever Tertia thought Brynleigh wasn’t looking, she shot Ryker searing looks. When she spoke, she used the sickly-sweet tone she reserved for people she considered beneath her. Disapproval radiated from her pores.

Anger frothed and bubbled in Ryker’s veins, worsening by the minute. Brynleigh was to be his bride, and he wouldn’t allow his mother to continue treating her in such a fashion.

“This is Cyrus’s study.” Tertia pointed at the closed door, which hid the space that had sat empty for the past decade and a half. “It doesn’t get much use anymore.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Brynleigh said softly.

So was Ryker. He waited for his mother to say something kind. To acknowledge Brynleigh’s comment.

Instead, Tertia said, “Hmm,” turned, and walked away. Her heels clicked on the marble flooring, and Ryker stared at her retreating back.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, squeezing Brynleigh’s hand. “She’s not usually… I’ll talk to her.”

“Thank you,” Brynleigh murmured. “It’s okay, though. She doesn’t like me. I understand.”

No, it wasn’t okay. Not with Ryker. The sooner this tour was over, the better. He would be talking to his mother tonight about her attitude. This was inappropriate, and he would not stand for it.

They followed his mother.

As a child, Ryker used to love running down these halls. Waterborn House had over forty rooms and three floors. When his mother wasn’t home, he had free rein. Ryker had many memories of racing through the house, roaring with laughter, and sliding down the floors in his socks as his father chased him, imitating a dragon.

Those shrieks of joy were long gone. Now, Waterborn House was simply a ghost of times long gone. A holder of memories. A keeper of the past.

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