Fantasyland: Midnight Soul Part 102

"Has Kristian finished his cigar?" she asked his back.

"Yep," he answered the window.

"Foul things," she murmured and the door clicked.

Noc stared at the courtyard.

Frannie came right to him, circling him with her arms and fitting herself to his back.

"I love having the house filled with family," she whispered.

She was talking about Dad and Sue, Kristian and Brikitta and their three boys visiting.

She was also talking about their own five kids.

Four boys.

One girl.

Amara right smack in the middle.

"Noc," she said softly, "is everything all right?"

He looked from the courtyard to her hands at his stomach, her diamond blinking faintly in the moonlight. He felt her b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressed to his back, the belly she'd nurtured his five children in tucked to his a.s.s.

He could smell her.

He could feel her power contained but still emanating through her.

And it took no effort at all to pull her face up in his mind's eye, that delicate neck, her beautiful mouth, her gorgeous hair.

Her arms around him tightened.

"Darling? Are you okay?"

Noc took her wrist and pulled it to his side, forcing his wife to circle around to his front.

She kept hold of him, and when he stopped her, she tipped her head back to catch his eyes.

He let her wrist go and lifted his hand to cup her jaw.

Holding her there and drawing his other arm around her to pull her close, he dipped his face to hers and studied the woman he loved, so G.o.dd.a.m.ned beautiful, even more right then, lit by moonbeams.

"My valiant," he whispered.

He saw those beautiful blue eyes of hers warm.

And then he saw them grow bright with wet.

She lifted up on her toes so that f.u.c.king amazing mouth was a breath from his.

But she didn't kiss him.

She whispered back.

Two words he never believed.

Two words he knew she believed down to her glorious soul.

"My hero."

The End This concludes the Fantasyland Series.

Thank you for reading!

Read an excerpt from Until the Sun Falls from the Sky, the beginning of Kristen Ashley's The Three Series!

The Selection My dress was blood red.

This, I thought, was farcical. I mean blood red? Were they serious?

"Smile. Be nice. Respectful. Always respectful. Remember, you're representing the Buchanans," my mother at my side whispered urgently to me. Her eyes did not leave the length of the hall and her bearing was stiff as we walked side-by-side.

She was nervous and excited. Unbearably so.

It was driving me nuts.

I didn't need her to say this to me. Since I'd received my invitation to The Selection she'd been coaxing me, coaching me, and constantly reminding me that I was a Buchanan and what that meant.

Like I'd ever forget.

In fact, since I was told when I was thirteen what being a female Buchanan meant, I'd never forgotten. Not one word. They were burned on my brain.

I didn't answer her, just stared down the long hall.

It was, as it would be, lush but spooky. A dark gray carpet runner flanked by polished dark wood floors. Matching gray walls with pristine white cornices and ceilings. Every six or seven feet a small, exquisite sconce dripping crystals was affixed to the wall, enough of them to light the way but not enough of them to take away the shadows. Much further apart along the walls there were doors, all of them closed. At one end was the elevator we rode down however many stories and at the other end was the door to where we were heading.

And in between it was a long walk.

Way too long in blood red satin shoes with a pencil-thin heel and an ankle strap that was so dainty it threatened to break with every step I took.

"I think these shoes were a bad idea," I grumbled under my breath to my mother.

"Leah..." she started in the warning mother tone I'd heard her use with me many a time over the years.

"No seriously, I fear a ma.s.sive shoe incident. The Buchanans can't have a ma.s.sive shoe incident, not at something as important as A Selection. What would that do to our reputation?"

"Don't worry about your shoes. Your shoes will be fine."

"No, I don't think they will. I think we should leave, find me another pair of shoes, and come back," I suggested.

"You don't have another pair of shoes that would be appropriate."

She was right about that. Who owned two pairs of s.e.xy, seven hundred dollar, blood red evening shoes?

"Well then, maybe we'll talk to the powers that be and say I couldn't make it due to possible shoe failure and could I have another go at the next Selection?"

At my words, her head whipped to face me and she looked panicked. This freaked me out more than I was already freaked out at the very prospect of the evening's festivities.

"You have to attend this Selection. For you, there is no other Selection," she hissed, not angry. She was frantic.

So frantic that out of habit, even though I didn't understand her anxiety, I found myself soothing her. "Okay, Mom. I'll work these shoes. It'll be all right."

She took in a deep breath and turned again to face the hall. So did I.

That proved it. She'd been beside herself with glee, and strangely, nerves when I got my invitation. Not because everyone in my entire family thought I'd never get an invitation to A Selection (and I'd been hoping, since I found out who my family was and what they did, that they'd be right) but because I'd received one to this Selection.

Though she'd never explained.

"Mom, is there something...?"

I didn't finish. We were five feet away from the door at the end of the hall. It opened. A man in evening dress stepped out and closed it behind him.

I stared at him in shock.

He had to be seven feet all, very thin, his head shiny and bald. He had a heavy, protruding forehead, no eyebrows, big, dark eyes, and long, long limbs that matched his height. His hands were incredibly long and thin, longer than even his body demanded, with slender fingers and k.n.o.bby knuckles.

Although he was an unusual looking man, he was somehow alluring, even handsome.

His eyes went directly to my mother and he smiled with genuine warmth. He had beautiful, white, strong, even teeth.

Oh my G.o.d. Was this what vampires looked like?

At the sight of him, my step had stuttered. My mother put her hand on my elbow to propel us forward the last few feet to stop in front of him.

"Avery," she greeted and smiled up at him.

"Lydia." He took her hand, bent low, and brushed it against his lips. "It's always a pleasure," he went on after dropping her hand. "I hear our Lana is faring well."

He knew my sister, Lana. And he knew she was faring well.

This was true. Lana had been to her Selection three years ago. She'd been selected, according to my mother, within minutes of arrival. She'd done very well for the Buchanans; a vampire of some status had chosen her. She was still in her Arrangement with the vampire who selected her without any hint she'd be released.

This was unusual. I'd been told after I received my invitation which heralded the time new secrets could be shared that Arrangements lasted on average two to three years before the vampire released his or her concubine and moved on. Any Arrangement that lasted longer than that was known to be particularly successful.

The Buchanan women for five hundred years had made a habit of such accomplishments. My mother's Arrangement had lasted seven years. She was practically a legend. At least that was what my Aunt Millicent told me with some envy. Her Arrangement had lasted four and three quarter years. The "and three quarters" was a very important addition to Aunt Millicent.

I'd never met Lana's vampire. As an Uninitiated, I wasn't allowed. I didn't even know his name. I had seen Lana countless times since her Selection. She was ecstatically happy though she couldn't tell me why. It was still plain to see she was.

"And this is Leah," Avery said, his words low, giving me the strange impression there was some meaning to them outside of the fact that I was, indeed, Leah.

He'd taken me out of my thoughts and my eyes focused on him to see he was studying me and had his large hand extended toward me, palm up.

My mother nudged me.

I put my hand in his and he brought it up, brushed his lips against it, and then his grip tightened. He didn't let go as he looked in my eyes.

"I've been looking forward to meeting you."

Again, there was more meaning to this. More than me being a Buchanan, the first concubine family that put their name to the Immortal and Mortal Agreement five hundred years ago. More than me being the Legendary Lydia's daughter. More than just common courtesy.

"Thank you," I whispered, my voice soft and not my own mainly because he was freaking me out even more.

He smiled at me, dropped my hand, and looked at my mother. "Lucien will be very pleased."

My mother dipped her head down and looked at Avery under her lashes before she murmured, "I hope so."

What was this? Who was Lucien and why would he be pleased?

"Who's...?" I started but Avery's long arm swept out, cutting off my question.

He caught both me and my mother in its length and turned. He opened the wide heavy door with no apparent effort and gently led us through.

I blinked at the sudden light.

"Lydia Buchanan, Distinguished!" Avery bellowed from behind us. "And Leah Buchanan, Uninitiated!"

The soft murmur of party conversation suddenly silenced at his words. Everyone turned to stare.

I stared back.

There was a lot to stare at. Too much. I couldn't take it all in.

The room was oval. It was opulent. I'd never seen anything like its simple finery.

Rich blood red walls, again with the white cornices and ceilings, no windows as we were well below the earth's surface. No paintings, no mirrors, just lots and lots of deep blood red. An enormous oval chandelier illuminated the room, its millions of crystals dancing prisms of light everywhere. There was a plush, blood red, oval carpet on the floor that didn't reach the edges of the room and you could see the dark, gleaming wood at the sides.

There were people there, maybe a hundred, maybe more. Even with that many people the room was far from filled it was so large. Everyone was wearing black, like my mother. The men in black evening dress with sparkling white shirts. The distinguished ex-concubines (or mothers, aunts or grandmothers of the Uninitiated) in glamorous black gowns. The female vampires, appearing much younger than the males but no less elegant, also in black gowns.

There were maybe only a dozen women wearing blood red gowns amongst the group and I noticed that my gown was different.

This, I realized instantly, was a tactical error on my part. Even though I was one in only a few who wore blood red, I was going to stand out.

I didn't want to stand out. I didn't want to be selected.

d.a.m.n it all to h.e.l.l.