He stood up and withdrew his iPhone from the pocket of his leather pants. He marveled. Here was a phone that could reach between the Realms. Ethan had brought the Nine Realms up to electronic speed. As Mastyr Vampire of the Bergisson Realm, he was the youngest of all the mastyrs, being but thirty years in his mastyr state and only ninety from his birth date. So fucking young. And powerful. Ethan had more raw power than any mastyr Gerrod had ever known.

He thumbed the surface and smiled, a little, just off to the side of his mouth. Oh, Goddess, she had kissed that side last night. He wondered about his half smile. Maybe that meant something. So many decades of carrying the weight of so many lives on his shoulders, however much he treasured and valued each one, aye that was a load-and-a-half, so half-damn him for his half-a-damn-smile.

He chuckled softly and thumbed the front of the phone.

He heard the ring and drew a deep breath. He turned toward the doorway to his library. Was Abigail awake? Had she felt desolate rising in an empty bed? He had despised the footsteps he took to leave the room.

A strong male voice hit his ear. “Hey, Gerrod. How’s it hangin’.”

He looked down at his cock. He was fucking upright.

“Ethan.”

“What’s groovin’, bro.”

Gerrod laughed. “Groovin’? Is that how we speak now?”

He could almost see Ethan shrug, one of his favorite gestures. “I’m groovin’, but I take it you’re not. What’s going on in Merhaine? You got Invictus sign?”

Gerrod told him what had happened at the wedding.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.”

Yes. Shit. Several of them linked together.

“And at a wedding.”

“We didn’t lose anyone.” He almost told Ethan how Abigail saved the troll child, but he swallowed the words. Abigail needed to leave, not become part of his dialogue, realm-to-realm. “The only one of the Merhaine Guard to engage was Jason. There was Invictus sign in the south, but no battling. Just in the north-central area near my castle. Ethan, this group was different. There were forty of them and they seemed organized.”

“That just doesn’t make sense. The Invictus function in pairs, and packs of maybe six. Never so many, never with a strategy.”

“You have just made all my points, Ethan. Would you come to Merhaine? I think we should discuss the future. We may need to act together more cohesively from this point forward.”

“You’ll never get all nine mastyrs to do it. We’re too damn independent and ill-tempered.” But he laughed.

Ethan was right. The mastyr vampires of the Nine Realms had talked of a federation for decades, especially since the realm world and human world had collided some three decades ago. Permits traveling either direction were extremely limited, primarily to university professors studying realm-folk, and to the nearest connected towns.

However, the joint meetings usually ended with at least four of the mastyrs brawling. Some of the eastern realm leaders had roguish violent tempers.

So who would head such a federation, how would it operate, how could it benefit so many scattered and diverse lands?

And yet something had to be done. “The poorest population in the south loses realm-folk quite often, especially prostitutes and those addicted to hard substances.”

“Drain-and-kills?”

“We’re not finding bodies.”

Ethan snorted. “You’ve got a big desert out there in the Southwest, in the human lands of Arizona, New Mexico and the northern reaches of Mexico. That’s a lot of place to dump realm-folk.”

“Even if that were true, what does that suggest to you?”

“I see what you mean: a higher degree of organization. Have any of your politicos been unhappy with the power structure in Merhaine, maybe motivated to align with the Invictus, create an army of them?”

At that, Gerrod laughed outright. “You are making a joke, are you not, Ethan? I know of at least seven local dignitaries who come to the top of my head right now and all seven I’d love to whip to the edge of the realm and back.”

“Hell if I don’t know exactly what you mean. All right. I’ll get my ass over there. Give me an hour.”

“Thank you. And Ethan?”

“Yeah.” He spoke in bark-like words, which also quirked up the side of Gerrod’s mouth.

“You’ve been a good friend and I’m grateful.”

“Aw, shit, you’ll make me weep like a little girl. See you in a few.”

Gerrod thumbed his phone. He pursed his lips and whistled once more. This time he kept on whistling. If his staff stared at him and gossiped more than usual, right now he really didn’t care.

*** *** ***

After her shower, Abigail put Gerrod’s robe on, holding the sleeve up to her nose. She closed her eyes, shivering.

The fabric smelled rich, warm, erotic, that lovely fresh rain scent of his that simply undid her.

Who knew vampires smelled so good?

Opening her eyes, she crossed to the pegs where her gown still hung and checked her thong. It was fully dry.

Now that she was up and moving, her thoughts turned to the bakery, which she and her Merhaine elf partner had dubbed, Just Two Sweet! They both thought it was an awesome play on words.

So now there would be Just Too Sweet!

And Just Two Sweet!

Suh-weeet.

She moved across the bedroom and through the sitting room to the door. The castle was a little old-fashioned and still made use of a well-functioning bell-pull system.

She crossed the room and gave a tug.

A few minutes later, Gus arrived. She was still sunk in Gerrod’s massive terry robe, well-covered when he knocked.

The troll stood in the doorway, grinning at her and didn’t look like he was going to stop anytime soon.

“What gives?” she asked, but oh, her cheeks were hot now.

His eyes twinkled as his grin broadened. “The mastyr is whistling this morning. He looks well, even healthy.”

Her hand flew to her throat. Now her cheeks flamed.

It had all seemed so natural, so exciting, so adventurous last night, but right now she wanted to die. And like hell Gus wasn’t sharing all this information with the entire staff of twenty mixed specie realm-folk.

Oh. God.

“Nay, Mistress Abigail. Don’t have even a gremlin’s tit of distress. Tis a great thing you’ve done, I swear it. You’ll have nothing but respect and much appreciation from the castle employees, I promise you.”

She forced her color down and decided she’d have to get used to this unless she wanted to sneak out the side door and hightail it back to Flagstaff.

It was a thought.

But she’d already made her decision. She was going to the Merhaine bakery. The grand opening had already been announced in the Merhaine Star and the Mayor of Hollow Tree would be on hand to sprinkle the ceremonial herbs. At least three babies had been promised as well, to bring an element of luck to the doorstep.

She squared her shoulders. “I need some help, Gus.” She told him of her plans to stay on for at least another day, which brought an almost angelic light to his face as he shifted back and forth on his feet about a dozen times.

“Whatever you need, Mistress. The castle can get anything for you.”

“I don’t need very much, just a few toiletries, some clothes. I was hoping one of the fae women in residence could provide me with a shirt, pants, and a pair of sandals.” Fae feet were unusually long, but sandals would work.

He glanced down at Abigail’s feet. “What size are you?”

“A solid eight.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. You’re in-between trolls and fae. Now if we had an elf on staff, but we don’t.” Generally elves despised any work having to do with home maintenance, a fact of realm life that still didn’t make sense to Abigail.

“And I need to borrow a brush and a scrunchy if any of the women have something like that.”

“I’ll see to it all.”

Abigail thought this would take some time so she spent the next few minutes snooping in Gerrod’s closet. Of course more of that fresh rain scent poured over her when she pushed the folding doors aside. She found that nearly everything he wore was some version of his Guard battle gear. He had at least a dozen pairs of black leather pants, and a variety of long, sleeveless black leather coats. Gus had once told her that some mastyrs, like Ethan of Bergisson Realm, often wore blue jeans, but Gerrod was much older and continued to sport a more formal, conservative look. The shirts were all made of soft woven fabric died in earth-shades from ochre to maroon to deep blue-green.

He had several pairs of boots as well, but all were similar in design with only a few silver accents to change the overall effect. Rather like corporate men and their suits.

When she heard a knock on the door, her thoughts went straight back to Gerrod.

She hurried over, trying to still her ridiculously beating heart.

She opened the door.

Not Gerrod.

Something second-best, however, waited for her: Gus with a tray of coffee, cinnamon raisin bread and scrambled eggs. “You are spoiling me, my friend.”

But he merely grinned at her once more, set the tray on the dresser, and said, “The least we could do for you, mistress.” He then waved a fae woman forward who bore a pile of clothes in her arms and several pairs of flip-flops dangling from her fingers.

He then gestured with a sweep of his arm toward her. “Will this do?”

“So much to choose from. How generous you all are. Thank you so much…for everything. Just, everything.”

Gus motioned for the woman to lay out the items on the bed and to place the flip-flops on the floor. She then handed Abigail a brush and the requested scrunchy, bowed slightly and left.

Her hair wasn’t always manageable, having a slightly unruly curl. But a ponytail would always work in an emergency, like now.

After the fae was gone, Abigail turned to Gus. “Really, my friend, thank you for everything, especially your wise words last night and for showing me the viewing room. I’ll never forget this as long as I live.” Because her heart was full, she hugged him.