Archangel's Shadows

“She felt what a child does with a new toy.” He spoke the words without rancor. “I was different enough in my lack of sophistication that I was new and shiny and amusing for a period. I, on the other hand, believed myself in the grip of a grand passion”—laughing at himself, eyes dancing—“and so like a fool, I gave up gumbo for blood.” There was no recrimination in his gaze, nothing but an affectionate humor directed at the young man he’d once been.

Ashwini had asked him once if he loved Shamiya still. His answer had resonated deeply with her.

A silly question, cher. You know love cannot survive where there is no light.

Tonight, she saw that he’d not only moved on lifetimes ago, he bore no grudge. “Have you ever seen her again?” she asked, curious. “Shamiya, I mean.”

“Oui, many times. She is as feckless and as fickle as she always was, while I am no longer green and impressionable. I outgrew her at the infancy of my Contract.” His eyes locking with hers. “But before I grew into this man I am today, I was that boy at the mercy of a brute, and that unsophisticated young man abandoned in the court of the Queen of Poisons. I am no stranger to being under the control of others.”

Ashwini knew that like the small boy, that idealistic young man was long gone. Janvier had survived both his childhood and the betrayal of the woman who had lured him into vampirism, come out of it a strong, intelligent male who would never again allow himself to be powerless.

Except . . . that was exactly the position she’d put him in once she told him everything. And not telling him was no longer an option.

“Your sisters?” she said, choosing to focus on the good and not the dark; there’d be plenty of time for the latter. “Did you continue to support them after you became a vampire?” The answer wasn’t truly a mystery to her. She knew who he was.

“It was my task as their elder brother,” he said simply, allowing Ashwini to turn the conversation back to his family. “Though Amelie and Jöelle married young to proud men who would not take my help—and that, too, is right—for my mother I was able to do a great deal.”

“Her husband didn’t protest?”

“Oui, of course.” A laugh. “But there is a difference between a son who wishes to ease his mother’s life and an elder brother who wishes the same for his married sisters, non? My stepfather knew he stood no chance, and he was a good man, understood that I had been the head of the family long before he came on the scene. We were never father and son, but we were good friends.”

“I didn’t realize vampires could earn income early on in their Contract.” She’d always believed it was more a case of indentured servitude.

“It depends on the angel, but loyalty and a willingness to learn and work hard beyond simply fulfilling the letter of the Contract are generally rewarded.” The rhythm of his voice, it held a heavier Cajun accent now, some of his words not quite English. “For a young man from the bayou, those rewards were staggering. I was able to get my mother anything she needed, help my nieces and nephews with their educations.”

Ashwini knew they should get out, start walking to the clubs, but she wanted to know so much more, could listen to him speak forever. “Amelie and Jöelle,” she said, stealing another minute, “were their marriages happy?”

That wonderful deep cheek-creasing smile again. “My sisters grew up into strong women who ran their households with iron hands—their husbands were quite henpecked and delighted about it.” Unhidden love, his eyes warm with memory. “They created a legacy of children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.

“But even when they were ’tite old women who’d lived such lives, cher”—raw pride in every word—“they would act as my baby sisters when I visited.” His smile faded into poignant tenderness, the grief tempered by time. “They’d tuck themselves against my chest and complain to me of everything and nothing while I held them as I’d done since they were babies with dirty faces and a hundred kisses for their brother.

“‘Janvier,’ they would say, ‘dat Arnaud, he’s a lazy saleau. He sits on his behind all day long while his pa-pere carries and fetches. And did you hear what Colette did? She put a cunja on dat jolie jeune fille I said you should marry.’” A thickness in his voice. “It didn’t matter when I came, they always had room at their table for me, and a hundred stories to tell.”

Ashwini could almost see it: him, eternally young and strong, holding his fragile mortal sisters protectively in his embrace. Until one day, there were no more complaints, no more stories. Reaching out, she comforted him the same way he’d done her so many times, her knuckles brushing his cheek in a touch that said he wasn’t alone.

He took her hand, pressed his lips to her knuckles before releasing her.

“Do you stay in touch with any of their descendants?” she asked, his name written so deep in her heart, it would never be erased.

He laughed, and the sound was big and warm and gorgeous. “Cher, I would be hunted down and fed to a gator should I miss a single family event. Their descendants are as fierce as my sisters were, and just as glorious. I’ll take you to the next fais do-do—or I’ll say we’re coming and it’ll be the excuse they need for a party. Then you’ll see what a wild family I call mine.”

Ashwini had known some vampires kept in touch with the descendants of their original families, but she’d never met one who spoke of his family with such affection. For most, the loss of the old seemed to outweigh the delight of the new. Or they’d become too inhuman to find happiness in familial connections. “I’m up for a good fais do-do. As long as you haven’t told them tales about me.”