Mona Lisa Blossoming m-2 Read online

"Bernard, please, madame."

  Madame? Wasn't that French? Made me wonder if a Full Blood Monère could be French.

  The little man standing beside Bernard cautiously took a small step forward. Throwing back his shoulders, which had inadvertently hunched, he puffed out his chest like a little pigeon. "Allow me to introduce myself as well. I am Horace, the former steward here. I will be staying a short while to introduce you to your many holdings before returning to my Queen, Mona Louisa."

  My eyes narrowed as I felt a subtle tension gather behind me in my men. I wasn't entirely sure, but I think he just insulted me by not addressing me by my title. One thing for sure, though. He was Mona Louisa's man. Therefore, our enemy.

  I returned Horace's insult by not addressing him in turn. "Is that normal protocol, Amber?"

  A long silence and then Amber said, "I am… ah, not entirely sure, milady."

  Oops. I figured Amber would know, being one of the oldest. One hundred and seven years old. I figured wrong.

  It was Aquila who rescued me. "Yes, milady. That is a normal courtesy extended a Queen when she takes over a new territory."

  "Thank you, Aquila." I didn't bother thanking Horace.

  Bernard smoothly stepped into the hostile silence. "If you will kindly direct us to your luggage, madame, we can be on our way."

  For the next ten minutes all the men busied themselves loading our many trunks and various baggage into the back of two large SUVs, one dark green, the other spotless white.

  "Tomas, Aquila, Rosemary. If you will please go with Horace," Gryphon instructed smoothly. Silently I approved the division. It kept Thaddeus, Jamie, and Tersa—the youngest, the most vulnerable—with us.

  Reluctantly, Tomas and Aquila stepped into the dark green car, which had Steward Horace at the wheel. Looking as if she smelled something foul, Rosemary took a back seat also, leaving the front passenger seat conspicuously empty. Apparently they liked Horace as much as I did.

  The largest among us, Amber took the roomy front passenger seat, dipping the white SUV down with his weight, while the rest of us piled into the two back rows, which were surprisingly spacious and comfortable. Bernard, who was driving and sitting closest to Amber, became visibly nervous. More, I think, as a reaction to Amber's sheer size and presence than to the fact that he was a Warrior Lord.

  A glint caught my eye and made me focus more closely on the hands gripping the steering wheel. Bernard wore a simple gold ring on his left hand, fourth finger. A wedding band? Did the Monère marry?

  "Cool. These are Suburbans, aren't they?" Jamie asked with youthful enthusiasm. Unlike most Monère, he liked to use American slang that he had picked up from watching television.

  "Yes," Bernard confirmed, smiling at Jamie through the rearview mirror as he pulled out of the airport. That smile alone made me like him. Not all Monère were kind to Mixed Bloods. Useless inferior mongrel mutts was more their common thought and reaction. Although that wouldn't be quite the politic view to express before one's new Mixed Blood Queen. Not unless one wanted to commit suicide, that is. Still, I liked him for that smile.

  "Suburbans are what the President and all the top government officials travel in," Jamie enthused.

  Bernard seemed so normal, so human—they all do in the beginning—until he asked, "Which president?"

  "Of the United States," my brother, Thaddeus, replied.

  "Oh."

  See, not so human after all.

  Chapter Three

  We passed New Orleans and headed into the… I wouldn't call it suburbs, exactly. More like pockets of civilization carved out among the wild. It was lovely, the farther away from the city we drove. Rich with lush green foliage, thick woods, rolling fields. Twenty-five miles later the smell and feel of water permeated the air more thickly. Nearby, the flowing Mississippi River murmured a gracious welcome as we pulled into a long, private driveway. Rounding a bend, Bernard glanced in the mirror back at me. "Welcome to Belle Vista, your new home."

  It seemed there would be no shabby warehouses disguised as mansions here in Louisiana, like back in New York. No, sirree. Here was a blatant, in-your-face mansion. No hiding. No pretense. Soaring three stories tall, and so many columns… over a dozen at first glance. Lots of columns. Lots of windows. Lots of grandeur.

  An ancient towering oak draped with Spanish moss dramatically framed the building on the left. A rounded, pillared wing, the gentle sweep of a half-circle was visible to the right. Cast-iron balustrades gleamed darkly in the night. When I realized my mouth was agape, I gently shut it.

  "Belle Vista is set on the rise of a twelve-feet arched foundation—what kept it dry when other homes flooded. It's a plantation home originally built in 1857," Bernard announced proudly as our vehicle rolled to a gentle stop.

  Home didn't quite describe the immense structure.

  We piled out of both cars, all of us captured by the sheer loveliness, the old, timeless grandeur of the magnificent edifice.

  "It's beautiful," Tersa whispered, expressing the sentiment for us all.

  "Greek revival," Thaddeus proclaimed, more technically. "Although it also has a definite Palladian influence."

  Horace sniffed with surprise, looking even more weasel-like. "You are correct, young man."

  "Fluted columns," Thaddeus muttered, "and my God, look at the amazing Corinthian capitals. The size of them. Hand-carved, I'll bet."

  The step Thaddeus took toward the house was halted by my hand. "Wait," I said.

  There were no other cars, which was why I'd missed it at first. Although hard to imagine how I could have missed it… the hundreds of countless heartbeats. Slow, slow heartbeats. Much slower than the human heart. "There's people inside." My voice flat, I looked sharply at Bernard and Horace.

  Bernard dipped his head calmly. "Your people, my Queen."

  My people? So many? My palms suddenly grew damp.

  Amber and Gryphon stepped up on either side to flank me. Tomas and Aquila surrounded Rosemary and the children—although they weren't technically children. In fact, Tersa was actually older than I was, but that was how I thought of them. Chami automatically took the rear guard. All done without thought.

  Bernard's eyes widened. "They are here to welcome you, milady." Milady, not madame. Using the more standard, formal Monère address to… what… calm the savage beast, I mean, Queen? My eyes probably did look a little wild.

  "It's okay." I didn't know who I was reassuring, him or me. "Let's go meet them." I tried for a smile. Bernard didn't look too reassured by it. It was probably more of a grimace, but I couldn't help it. I was looking forward to this about as much as I would have liked having a rotting tooth drilled and scraped without Novocain.

  Horace and Bernard ascended the wide, flat stone steps and opened the front oak paneled double doors, moving slowly so as not to spook the wild beasts. They were half right, I thought as we followed them up the steps. We were definitely spooked.

  My inner voice was shrieking: What? Were we crazy? The ten of us deliberately walking into a houseful of hundreds of Full Bloods? Maybe that's what being a Queen was… crazy. No other reason why a sane creature would deliberately put herself among such outnumbered odds.

  The entry hall was large and airy, reaching all the way up to the roof… Grand. A spiral staircase flowed majestically up and around invitingly to the second level. Veined marble tiles, rose white, gleamed spotlessly beneath our feet—had we wiped them before entering? I couldn't remember.

  You didn't even need one of those big-ass overhanging crystal chandeliers to impress people, although there was one of those, too. Just the sheer size of the place, all that generous space—how could one place have so much damn space! — took one's breath away.

  It was as if the steward read my mind. "Fifty-three thousand square feet. Many of the furnishings, paintings, tapestries, and rugs are originals imported from Europe," Horace informed us primly, his voice muted as though it would be a sacrilege to speak too loudly. "As is the marble, of
course."

  Of course.

  I sniffed, not in a huffy way but because there was a distinct metallic tang in the air. "Is that… gold?"

  Horace gestured to the walls, "fourteen-karat gold-leaf wallpaper.»

  Was he for real? My nose said he was. Sheesh!

  I followed him and Bernard in a near daze as they turned right, leading us down a wide expansive hallway to another set of double doors, paneled cherry wood, these. With a flourish, Horace swung them open. "The Grand White Ballroom," he intoned.

  Grand and white was right. White tiles. White marble mantels. A sea of white faces all staring at us.

  I swallowed.

  The collective power from that room crept over me like thick sticky invisible fingers pressing down over my skin, almost smothering. I felt the power within me start to instinctively react and strangled it back, kept it choked. Definitely not a good time or place to let my aphidy run loose. I don't think even Amber or Gryphon could save me if it did. Not against so many. Jesus, how many people were there?

  "We number four hundred twenty-three, milady," Bernard answered. Again that annoying knack. I didn't like it that he and Horace seemed to know what I was thinking.

  My heart skipped a beat when the sea of faces suddenly dipped down and turned back up en masse, like a fluid wave. They had bowed, I realized. Just bowing to me. A normal courtesy, I reassured myself over my loudly pounding heart. Although they were the ones suddenly looking scared.

  "Milady," I heard Bernard say in an odd tone.

  I turned to see him staring with appalled fascination at my hands. At the two sharp long knives I was gripping. I resheathed them calmly, casually, without a blink, as if it was a normal occurrence for Queens to unconsciously call their blades to hand—one of them a silver blade I had taken from their own former Queen's hand. I wondered if any of them recognized it, as I dipped my head, nodding to the crowd in return.

  Bernard cleared his throat cautiously. "If you will… uh… step this way, Queen Mona Lisa." He indicated a large ornate chair set on a raised dais—a throne, really. "I will introduce your people to you." He said it like a question, and appeared quite relieved when I nodded and took a seat calmly at the throne. Amber stood on my left. Gryphon on my right. After a brief hesitation, the other seven members of my little group followed, standing several yards behind me, keeping our formation of protection intact. And watching our backs.

  A small group, all fair blondes, was led forward by Bernard. Two women and one man. The women were presented first.

  "Lady Margaret Fruge," Steward Horace loudly announced as a lovely woman with delicate features, her hair swept back neatly in an intricate coil, curtsied gracefully before me. It felt awkward enough just sitting there as she did that, with her head so near my feet. What she did next shot my feelings straight past awkward all the way to aghast. Kneeling, Margaret picked up the hem of my dress and kissed it. Now I knew why Queens wore long gowns. So their subjects could kiss the hem. Jesus fucking Christ!

  She remained kneeling.

  At an utter loss for words, I fluttered my fingers at her, indicating she should rise. Uncertain she glanced sideways at Bernard, who nodded. She stood but kept her head bowed before me. My eyes flashed down to her hands and I saw that she wore a simple gold ring on her left hand as well.

  "Your new Queen, Mona Lisa," intoned Horace.

  Hesitantly, as if she was unsure of what to do next, now that I had disrupted their normal proceedings, Margaret curtsied low once more. "My Queen."

  "Are you related to Bernard?" I asked.

  Surprised, she looked up, bobbed her head, and quickly looked down once more. "His wife, milady."

  "A pleasure to meet you, Lady Margaret." I gestured to my right, since it seemed as if Horace had no intention of introducing anyone. "This is Warrior Lord Gryphon." A hand sweep to my left. "Warrior Lord Amber."

  "My lords." Another curtsy as she kept her eyes lowered. I wondered if her back hurt from all that scraping and bowing.

  Margaret stepped back and the other woman moved forward and curtsied. Her hair was light and fair, like a sheath of wheat bleached by the sun, long and flowing. Her features were like Margaret's but a little sharper, bolder, the nose taller, the mouth fuller. The color of her eyes, I noted when she glanced briefly up at me, was an unusual shade of gray.

  "Lady Francine Fruge" was Horace's crisp announcement.

  She started to kneel.

  "Just a curtsy is fine," I said firmly.

  She stood.

  "Queen Mona Lisa." There was a look of disapproval on Horace's sour face as he grudgingly continued his introduction. "Warrior Lord Gryphon and Warrior Lord Amber."

  A second low curtsy from Francine. "My Queen. My Lords." Her gray eyes, I noted, lingered a little on Gryphon, eliciting mixed feelings in me. Mostly annoyance.

  "Are you also a member of Bernard's household?" I asked. My guess was Margaret's sister, but with a Monère you could never tell. They all looked young. She could have been anywhere in age from twenty to two hundred—I think their hair started to gray after that—and anyone from great-granddaughter to great-grandmother. Safer just to ask how they were related rather than presume.

  "His daughter, my Queen."

  See.

  My eyes sharpened upon her with interest. I'd never seen a complete Monère family before. A whole unit—father, mother, daughter… a precious child.

  A man stepped forward next. His bearing was graceful and confident and more than a touch arrogant. It might have come from his looks. He was fair, like the others, with a thick wave of sun-kissed hair, strikingly handsome like one of the ancient Greek gods. Tall and moderately muscled, with lovely moss-green eyes. But his was a mere beauty of the world, a cold surface perfection. Something to admire from afar, like a figure on a coin, or a cold marble statue. Gryphon's beauty was otherworldly, like that of a fallen angel's, unmatchable, with a drowning sensuality that made you want to touch him, stroke him, to breathe his essence deep into your body and wrap yourself in his sweetness.

  "Dontaine Fruge." Something about the way Horace announced him proclaimed him special.

  My eyes narrowed as I sensed him, the quiet thrum of his power. He was strong, much more so than Bernard. Perhaps the confidence wasn't just in his looks then, I thought, as Horace went through his spiel.

  Dontaine swept a courtly bow. "My Queen." Kneeling, he pressed a kiss to the back of my hand. Other men had kissed my hand before when acknowledging me, so I couldn't protest, though I wanted to. Because Dontaine did it differently. His lips caressed my skin with conscious, provocative heat that deepened the green of his eyes to a dark fiery jade. And he didn't just touch me with his flesh. He touched me with his power, a taste of it. A different kind of power than any I had ever encountered. An electric strumming that danced like little shocking jolts upon me. Pleasurable, for the moment, but with the dark promise of pain if it continued.

  I removed my hand and he drew back.

  "Another Fruge?" I asked coolly.

  "Margaret is my mother."

  Interesting how he'd answered that.

  "And Bernard?"

  "My mother's second husband."

  "Your stepfather, then."

  "Yes, my Queen."

  So Margaret had borne two Full Blood children. A precious girl and a powerful warrior. They were a prized family, no doubt favored by their former Queen, Mona Louisa, with their fair coloring so like her own. Dontaine had clearly held her favor, I intuitively knew. Why, then, had Mona Louisa left them here for me?

  Dontaine turned his head to my left, looking behind me, and inclined his head respectfully. "Warrior Lord Amber." But when he shifted his gaze to my right, there was some knowledge, some subtle difference in those cat-green eyes. "Warrior Lord Gryphon, a pleasure to see you once again."

  "Dontaine," Gryphon replied, his voice bland, and I knew without looking that his body and face were as inscrutable as his tone.

  They knew eac
h other. My brow creased as I pondered that. Dontaine had not been with Mona Louisa at High Court. And then it came to me. Mona Louisa had brought Gryphon here to her home when he had bartered his body to her in return for protection for me.

  Had she paraded Gryphon here before her people, her new pet? Her new toy to play with before he died from his silver poisoning? Had she shackled a jeweled collar about his throat and held the leash in her hands, the way she had displayed him at High Court? The answer yes whispered to me with certainty.

  Oh, baby. No wonder you looked so sad.

  Chapter Four

  The rest of the introductions flowed forward like fast streaming water, filling the vessel of my mind with a general feel for the whole, but slipping away if I grasped for much detail. Like individual names, for instance. They were a glittering throng, dressed in their best to meet and greet their new Queen, the women sweeping the floor with their gowns like antebellum beauties, the men dashing and neat in their formal wear. They fit into the grand ballroom like naturally extended props because the fashion could have been set back a couple of decades or even a century. Sashes accented men's waists. Bow ties, neckties, even knotted cravats topped off crisp white shirts. In general, there were many more men than women, as seemed to be the norm among the Monère. But there were at least twenty women here; the whole number I had expected to rule. By the count of their women alone—those rare precious women—this must have been considered a quite prosperous territory, even though it was still recovering from the ravages of Hurricane Katrina.

  With the ceremony completed, refreshments were served and we were expected to mingle. I was never good at mingling. I grabbed Gryphon and slipped out onto a balcony, closing the French doors behind us. The cool night welcomed us with an airy embrace, a breeze rifling through our hair, over our faces, kissing our skin with refreshing grace.

  "Gryphon, are you all right?" My question was like the night itself. Soft, natural. A whisper of sound. I touched the side of his face and Gryphon brought his hand up to cover mine, as if he would keep it against him always. Turning, he pressed a gentle kiss into my palm.