She’d only been back here once in the dozen years she’d been gone, and that time was only a single daytime visit after she’d graduated university. Since then, she’d persuaded her parents to meet her at one elegant hotel or other—some in Barcelona, some not. And after she’d contracted with Clyde Wilkerson to live on his French vineyard and theoretically protect it from she didn’t know what, her parents had visited France twice.
But this time . . . this time she’d have to suck it up and stay at the Fortalesa. It was the only way to ensure she learned what was really happening with her father’s health. “Don’t be a coward,” she muttered as she rounded the final curve of green forest. “It was more than ten years ago, for fuck’s sake. He probably doesn’t even remember it.” It being the night she’d humiliated herself. The night the fucking vampire had made it clear she was nothing special.
“What did he know?” she muttered and shoved aside all thoughts of “that night,” while she looked up at the huge fortress in front of her. She automatically scanned the Fortalesa’s walls, taking in the thick walls and battlements, the modifications to accommodate modern weapons. The solid merlons of the battlement walls had been built up to form a series of square bunkers which surrounded the defending shooters, and provided two windows suitable for weapons up to and including machine guns. Her eye caught on some work being carried out on the portion of wall alongside the road, and closest to the surrounding forest. A three-man team was up there performing repairs of some kind. She squinted, trying to see more clearly in the morning glare, and frowned. That sure as hell looked like fresh damage, as if the wall had been struck by something heavy. Her frown deepened. It could be old damage that had recently become a problem. The Fortalesa was very, very old, after all. But it sure as hell didn’t look old. She’d seen enough fighting, including the kind of heavy bombardment that could inflict that sort of damage to a strong wall. She also recognized fresh stone when she saw it. And this was damn fresh. It made her reconsider her mother’s warning, and her father’s easy cheer in response. Had her father been injured in battle? Had the Fortalesa been attacked? Was that what her mother had been warning her about?
She drove the final fifty yards to the entrance, expecting the huge gates to open before she got there. But they remained solidly shut, and she didn’t like that any more than she did the damaged wall.
A man on the wall above the gate watched her approach and stop at an electronic call box that hadn’t been there on her last visit—which admittedly had been years ago. Without saying a word, the guard studied her through her windshield as she pushed the intercom button and announced her name.
“Layla Casales. I’m here to see my parents, Ferran and Ramlah Casales,” she added deliberately.
The guard had ducked back while she was speaking, so she hadn’t caught his reaction to her name, or her father’s, who also happened to be the guard’s commander. But the gates immediately rolled back to either side, moving along metal rails that were inside the wall and looked to have been replaced recently. Security clearly had been improved, and she wondered about the reason as she drove through and into the Fortalesa’s huge main yard. There was a well-concealed parking garage around back for the many full-time residents, both vampire and human. But visitors parked at the far end of the yard, near the barracks, where there were several parking spots lined out for that purpose. It felt odd to be a visitor in the place where she’d grown up, but it shouldn’t have. She no longer considered the Fortalesa her home, and never would again. If not for her parents, she’d never have been there at all.
She was already parked and out of the car, the back door half open while she reached inside for her backpack, when the scent of her mother’s perfume filled the air. She turned into Ramlah’s embrace, dipping her head to cover the tears that filled her eyes. It didn’t matter that she was now a head taller than her mother. In an instant, she was transformed into a child finding comfort in the embrace, in the familiar scents and sounds of home. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it all until that moment. Damn it. I am not going to cry like a fucking baby.
“Laylita, mija,” her mother crooned, wrapping her arms around Layla as if she truly was still a little girl.
Layla straightened, which made her so much taller that she had to bend over to hug her mother again. “Mama. How’s Papa? How’s everything?”
“Perfect now that my daughter has come home. Come, close that door. We’ll have tea.” Ramlah waited while she slung her backpack over one shoulder, then locked and closed the door of the rental car. Linking their arms together, the two women strolled across the mostly dirt- covered yard.
Layla glanced into her father’s office as they passed. It was full daylight, and he was in charge of the Fortalesa, but the room was empty. Not a great surprise. He rarely spent time in his office. Ferran Casales liked to be on the wall with his troops, not sitting behind a damn computer, as he’d often said.
“Where’s Papa?” she asked, as they started up the stairs to the family quarters.
“Oh, he’s around somewhere. Now that you’re here, he’ll join us soon enough.”
“He still knows everything that’s happening inside these walls, huh?”
“I tell you, mija, he’s worse than ever. He’s hired many people to take over some of his duties, but I swear he’s busier than he was before he hired them.”
Layla dropped her pack in her childhood bedroom, then settled at the small table in the warm and sunny kitchen. “And what about his heart?”
Her mother didn’t meet her eyes. “His heart?”
“Mama, you said he was having chest pains. He should have his heart checked.”
Your father insists it was only a pulled muscle.”
“Did he see the doctor? Is that what the doctor said?”
“No. He did finally agree to see a doctor, and the doctor said . . . ” Her mother’s lips pursed as if fighting back the next words.
“What? What’s wrong?” She couldn’t believe even her stubborn father would ignore the most obvious signs of a serious problem. As for her mother . . . she’d always been too willing to go along with what her father wanted. It had always frustrated Layla that her strong and intelligent mother lost half her brain cells and most of her backbone when it came to dealing with her father. Ferran was not a garrulous man, but he was perverse enough to enjoy a good argument. And yet she’d never seen or heard a serious disagreement between her parents. “Chest pains could be serious, Mama. We need to catch it as soon as we can. Postponing will only make it worse.”