Page 45 of Dark Master's Redemption

Elegant, my father has tawny chestnut hair with streaks of bright gold and aged silver in it. Tall and lean, he wears a dark green Victorian vest embroidered with gold, grey breeches, russet riding boots and a white shirt tonight, plus a beautiful men’s torque around his neck. Cuffs of ornately-worked gold are at his wrists; his slow, calm command weighs me as he nears.

He stops before me—as his deep, emerald-grey eyes suddenly tear.

“Adia!” he says, though it’s almost a sob as we stand before each other. I know why, as a deep energy flows between us now. My eyes tear also, feeling how much he’s missed me. A powerful, loving energy flows through me now from him. And I know no matter who’s child I was, he is my father; my real father.

I know it to my bones as I step forward, embracing him.

He gathers me in his arms. It’s a father’s loving embrace as I cling to him, tears stinging my eyes hard now as they cascade down my cheeks. I’ve felt so much for my parents these past weeks; love, rage, hate, betrayal, amazement. I hitch a hard breath in his strong arms, as joy overwhelms me and I laugh.

Somehow, it’s a brighter, more bubbling laugh than anything I’ve ever made in my life. My father laughs with me, picking me up and whirling me around before setting me back on my feet.

He pulls back, staring at me now; his green-grey eyes become intense as he marvels at me, brushing a lock of red hair back from my face. He shakes his head, his eyes beaming, even as I feel someone else approach from the house. I know it’s my mother, come out to join us as she bustles up with no bullshit.

She turns me at once by the shoulder, gripping me in her iron embrace.

A petite Fae woman, my mother wears a blousy copper and cream striped summer dress tonight, though she has her filthy white formulating apron on. With fiery red hair just as wild as mine, her piercing dark eyes are like ebony, as a sensation of beautiful homecoming flows between her and me.

Her eyes burn with tears as she pulls back, reaching up and touching my cheeks with her strong hands. She blinks, and though her tears aren’t shed, she regards me with an intense, righteous knowing now.

“Figlia mia!” my mother says. “My beautiful daughter! I wasn’t sure if we’d ever see you alive again!”

“Mamma,” I choke, knowing I could have been dead by now had I not met Quinn and Lucca all those weeks ago. “I’m here. It’s okay.”

“I love you, cara mia. But nothing is okay, not at all.” She inhales a deep breath, steadying herself. Stepping up beside my mother, my father curls her in a loving embrace to his side.

Even as he reaches out, pulling me to his other side as he beams.

“Come. Let us head to the house and have dinner.” My mother bustles us towards the manor, breaking the spell that had caught us all in the yard. Putting an arm around my waist, she hustles me up the steps and inside to the foyer.

As I admire our manor’s gorgeous entry hall, festooned with live plants and dried herbs hanging in all the white stuccoed niches, plus the classical Italian Renaissance statuary hiding here and there, a colorful light is cast around the space. The ornate dragonfly glass flutes in their wrought-iron chandeliers are lit for the oncoming night; my mother snaps her fingers, and her house and apothecary help Dorabella comes rushing out from the formulating pantry.

“Dora. Dinner for our daughter. The best of what we have right now, please,” my mother says.

“Yes, Illyria.” Dorabella curtseys in her light green summer dress with an apron nearly as filthy as my mother’s, though I see her blink with intrigue at how I’m being treated by my father and mother tonight. She moves away to our vast white stuccoed kitchen that crawls with even more plants and dried herbs than an apothecarist’s treasure horde, as my mother gestures my father and I onto our beautiful receiving parlor at the rear of the manor.

Full of plants and stunning natural light, even as the day fades, the parlor is topped by a wrought crystal dome with dragonfly stained glass windows open to let in the evening breeze. The room crawls with blossoming plants on wrought-iron strands like a conservatory; urging us to the dining table, my mother beckons me to sit.

We settle in the dining space, a living area of green silk settees and wrought-iron tables beyond. We’ll wind up there after dinner, as my father takes his russet leather, high-backed chair at the head of the solid oak table now.

My mother bustles to an alcove of liqueurs, fetching a dark green crystal bottle with an ornate stopper. A libation we’ve never touched before, it swirls with Fae colors as my mother pours it into tiny crystal cordial glasses. As my mother hands around the vibrant apple-green and violet draught, beaming, I know she’s uncorked her best tonight.

Something made by her magic, before she had to hide it.

As we all raise glasses and sip, I’m rocked by the lovely cordial. Happy and vibrant, it’s as if pure sunlight washes through my veins as I beam now at my family. The cordial has the same effect on my father, who chuckles as his power surges in delight, creating luminous green-grey rainbows in the air.

Silver rainbows curl throughout my father’s magic, as my mother’s opens, as well. Glimmering a fierce rose gold in the twilight, intense gold and red rainbows wash through my mother’s power, as if ready for battle.

As we beam at each other, our emotions unleashed by the drink, my magic shimmers out as well. Potent with its dark, oil slick rainbows, its natural flashes of silver and gold light flare more in the settling twilight. Extending a hand, my father moves it through my power with an intense thoughtfulness. As my mother does the same, heaving a sad but pleased sigh, I know they understand what I am.

Better than even I do, perhaps.

“Our Animante Dark Fae,” my father says at last as he glances at me. “Making waves at the Summer Fae Court and infuriating the King. Not to mention the Vampire Council.”

“How are you here, Ariana?” my mother asks then, her dark gaze intense as she regards me, despite the cordial’s effect. “For we have heard the Summer Fae gossip of you, but nothing from you yourself, other than that one phone call to let us know you were alive. How did you come to survive getting thrust into the Twilight Realm? And becoming bonded to Valerio Incendari and Lucca Bellari, both mighty powers of the Fae.”

I know it’s time to fill my parents in on everything that’s happened to me, since that fateful day at the art auction. As I lay it all out now, right from first meeting Quinn, up through our escape through Bello’s portal in the pizzeria last night, my father and mother listen.

Dinner comes and goes, a lovely pork ragù over creamy polenta, with mini fig and prosciutto pizzette on the side. After we finish the green cordial, we open a bottle of chianti, then another as I talk. Nodding and alert, neither of my parents seem to feel the effects of the alcohol, though I’m feeling it plenty now. As I finish my tale, having a deep swig of my wine, I pin them both with my gaze.

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