The Lycan Rebirth (The Flux Age Book 3) (18 page)

BOOK: The Lycan Rebirth (The Flux Age Book 3)

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Jack swatted at Florence playfully. “See you soon, Underwood,” he said more seriously. “If you need
anything
at all, I’ll come running. You know that.”

“I do,” Florence said. “And I’ll miss you guys like crazy. Please be careful.”

The trans-Atlantic flight was a reasonably tolerable ordeal. A little turbulence high over the ocean made Yasmin nauseous, but it passed fairly quickly. She was vaguely uneasy about leaving Florence to build the Fellowship in New York, but to say that she was ‘alone’ was stretching the truth. Gustav and Nate were both on hand to provide expert guidance. Yasmin was deliciously happy when the Odessa siblings proposed to settle in New York and act as vampire ‘ambassadors’ across the Atlantic. Yasmin thought it was a splendid idea, seeing the Odessa family settling in very well indeed.

So Florence had some serious intellect and muscle around her. More than enough to see her through the next few months.

A connecting flight from Paris to Bucharest saw the couple touch down at dusk local time. A helicopter awaited them in a private section of the airfield. Such things were relatively cheap in Romania, and since the Odessa family was now supporting Yasmin’s dark army, the vampire queen had money to burn. Of course, there was also Tomas’s life savings. Yasmin had received legal counsel just before she left New York - she had inherited all of Tomas’s wealth. It wasn’t much, especially in the face of the Odessa fortune, but Yasmin resolved to do something meaningful with it. She had a crazy notion simmering in her mind - a Flux research facility. A place where scientists could apply their logical minds to the Flux phenomenon. Such a place could yield dynamic discoveries and go a long way to saving thousands of lives. There was plenty of room at the castle for a state-of-the-art laboratory. The closer Yasmin got to Frica the more detailed her plans became.

Jack was bone tired by the time they landed on the snow-blasted ridge south of Frica. The pair walked arm-in-arm through swirling snow devils, the belfry ablaze with the purple light of the vampire beacon.

The Maramurians had been forewarned of their queen’s arrival. The hall was clean and scented with rose oil. Yasmin led Jack to her chamber and shut the door behind them. She unbuttoned her great coat slowly, gazing at Jack the whole time. Next came her scarlet dress, then her lingerie. She lay back on the bed and beckoned for Jack to come over. She couldn’t help but smile at the goofy grin on his face as he fumbled with his own clothes.

Yasmin spent most of the next day sleeping soundly in her tomb-like bed. Jack took to the forests in the lower valleys, relishing the opportunity to catch dinner with his bare hands. That night the pair enjoyed fresh venison roasted over the fire and a few goblets of rose frecia. The Maramurians had been working diligently on stocking the kitchen from the various villages in the region. The castle now had a full time chef, something Jack could not get his head around.

“Yas, you’re like a rock star,” he said in amazement. “This place is luxury. Kinda depressing, but luxury.”

A week had passed before Yasmin dug up the courage to do something about the small urn sitting on her mantelpiece. Late one night she took Jack to the top of Mount Brasev and hurled Tomas’s ashes to the frigid Carpathian winds. Jack held her as she broke down like she knew she would. Like she knew she had to. This was the end of a long, slow goodbye and Yasmin promised herself to look forward from that moment on.

Spring slowly suggested that summer was a real possibility. Yasmin eased into a gentle rhythm of clifftop walks, long fireside chats with Jack and the gradual development of Frica.

She had the best architect in Romania draft a plan for the research facility, choosing a flat patch of ground abutting the east castle wall. The high bluestone wall would need to be adjusted, but that was nothing the Maramurians couldn’t handle.

Yasmin would never dare admit it, but the early signs at Frica were favorable. She had her home, she had her man, she would soon have her child. Florence was building something wonderful in New York.

Life was good. For now. But the world was now in the grip of the Flux.

Which meant that life was more beautiful than it had ever been.

It also meant that death was less patient.

On the 17th of July Yasmin gave birth to a girl with jet black hair. Jack stood at the foot of the bed, a hazy mirage through her intense labor pains.

She couldn’t tell for sure, but his face might have clouded over into a frown.

“Is she OK?” she heard him ask the doctor.

“I don’t know,” came the dreaded answer. “I’ve never seen eyes like that before.”