Page 57 of The Child of Rue Royale
“I’m so close,” I cry, my heart racing, and I look at him. “I don’t want it to end.”
“It’s never ending,” he growls, picking up the pace, the table seeming to ride the waves of our rapture. “It will always be like this.” His thrusts come hotter and heavier, and my hips rise to meet his, and I’m back in that space where only Bastian and I live when we come together. His mouth on mine, our bodies moving together in unison. It’s bright and brilliant, the pulses of pleasure bellowing inside me like a siren’s song, my mouth delivering words of love into his ears. The gusts of electricity crackle throughout my body as they wash over me, his warmth filling me as he moans, and the table slams to the ground, sending our hearts into a whirlwind, our breaths stolen from our very bodies.
After, we tiptoe back into our room, his hand pulling me behind him. We warm each other under the blanket as he whispers how badly he needed me, how glorious it was, how much he loves me. And we fall asleep until I’m awakened by my mother’s phone call.
I run to the family room and fall on the couch, sliding the call button on.
“He doesn’t remember,” I say, not wanting to beat around the bush. I close my eyes, expecting her wrath.
“What the fuck do you mean he doesn’t remember?” The phone zaps my ear, her rage causing a current over the line, and I can’t help but cry out, dropping it.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t… Are you okay?”
Rubbing my face, I pick it back up, placing it on my other ear. “That hurt,” I whisper through gritted teeth.
“I’m sorry. It wasn’t on purpose. I just…how can he not remember, Aster?”
Her voice is so strained, almost desperate, and I hate that I don’t have the answer we all wanted so badly.
“That night, he was a new vampire, and he drank the blood from a drunk man, and he was heavily inebriated. He’s so upset that he can’t remember, believe me. He’s seriously disappointed in himself.”
“Well, he should be,” she says, and I sigh, slowly breathing out. I’m constantly reminding myself that I put her into this precarious situation, so I try to have patience with her negativity when it comes to Bastian, but my patience is growing thinner and thinner. But that means I must help resolve our delicate situation to rid myself of this guilt.
“Chantal said it must be in his memory somewhere. That I need to find it and pull it out from the deep pockets of his mind. I thought of different ways to do this…take him back in time, bring up things from the era to jar his memory. What do you think about that?”
She’s quiet for a moment, turning over the idea in her mind. “I think that could work. But it would have to be home, and where he was that night. Go into his memory. And we really need to have that blessing ceremony.”
I sit upright, clenching the phone in my hand. “I’m not pretending Aven’s a girl, Mother. It’s dangerous.”
“What’s dangerous is that we have an almost two-month-old child that’s only supposed to be a month old. We need a blessing ceremony to keep the coven at bay. I had a dream last night that something was revealed there. Believe me, Aven won’t care that you put him in a dress.”
“It’s not that…wait. What happened in your dream?”
“It wasn’t very vivid. But it’s the first sign I’ve gotten, so it must mean something. In my dream, we were standing around, and out in the bayou, I saw Franklin’s ghost. Why would his ghost be there?”
“That’s very strange. God, what a mess,” I say, that uneasy feeling in my stomach clenching like a fist. From the bedroom, Aven’s cries erupt, and my stomach drops.
“A mess that must be cleaned. A mess we can’t pretend doesn’t exist, Aster. Come home.”
At the end of the hall, a gleam of sunlight bursts and Bastian emerges, Aven on his chest, bouncing as our son cries from hunger.
“I have to feed the baby. I’ll call you back.”
“Aster, call me back.”
“I will!” I say, exasperated, and hang up the phone. It zaps in my hand immediately, her little way of getting back at me for hanging up, and I throw it on the couch, my anger boiling inside.
“What’s wrong?” Bastian asks, but he knows. Aven’s eyes are pinched from crying, wanting my milk, so Bastian hands him to me. I nurse him, stroking his brown hair back, his cheeks puffy and warm. He makes little sounds as he eats, music to a mother’s ear.
“I love him so much, Bastian. I only want him to be safe.”
Bastian sits next to me, helping to prop a pillow under my elbow, already knowing the ways I’m most comfortable while feeding him. He watches intensely, a look of protection overcoming his face.
“He will be safe. He’ll be safe as long as I’m alive.” It’s a vow, a father’s promise, and I believe him, but I also believe in all of that which isn’t under his control. The magic that can be used against us.
“My mother wants us to go back home. For one, there are ways to get memories flowing, but we’ll need to take you back to Pirate’s Alley. And for two, she says she can’t hold the coven off for much longer. She saw Franklin in a dream and thinks it’s a sign we have to go to the blessing ceremony. And we’ll have to pretend Aven is a girl for the ceremony.”
“What?” He looks at me in disbelief, his eyebrows knitting together. “What if they find out?”
