Layla considered everything he’d said. He was right about the terrain. The forest surrounding the Fortalesa was nearly endless, covering hills that dipped and rose again with no break in the tree cover. Xavier owned some seventy-two of the surrounding acres, and as far as she knew, had no intention of clearing any of it. He liked the coverage it provided, the privacy and the defense. Now that she had education and training of her own, both from the university and from years spent on battlefields around the world, she understood why Xavier liked his trees, liked the privacy and the defensibility. It would have been even more defensible if he’d cleared a mile-wide killing zone all around the Fortalesa, giving the enemy nowhere to hide. But she understood why he hadn’t done it. He would have achieved greater defensibility, but the price would have been a near total absence of privacy. Not to mention the splendor of the tree-covered hills, their cool shade in summer and fresh scent in winter. They were simply too beautiful to despoil.
It seemed a fanciful reason for a hard-ass vampire lord, which Xavier definitely was. But he’d always been more than that, for most of her life at least. It was part of why she’d fallen so hard for him.
Her thoughts screeched to a halt. Had fallen, she reminded herself. Past tense. She’d been young and stupid. But she wasn’t anymore.
“I can recommend some very good people from Madrid,” she told her father. “Good fighters who can help you—”
“I don’t want very good people, mija. I want the best.”
Her gaze narrowed. Oh no. She got it now. She was absolutely not going to fall for this. “The local fighters are excellent, Papa. I’ve worked with them. I’ll give them a call while I’m here.” She reached for her cell phone.
It was her mother who stopped her. “Your papa needs your help,” Ramlah said in her soft voice. “Not from strangers, Laylita. From you. His daughter.”
“Mama. I signed a contract in France. I cannot just—”
“The doctor says he might need an operation.”
Layla froze. “Operation?” She looked from one to the other. “Papa?”
“Si.” Her father all but spat the single word. “They want to cut open my heart and—”
“They’re not cutting open your heart, Ferran,” her mother corrected mildly. “They don’t know yet what is wrong. That’s why they want more tests. You might need only those stents they talked about. To open your arteries.”
Layla’s heart was still beating too fast, and she knew her mother was much more stressed than her calm words revealed. It was an act for her father, and Layla tried to do the same. “And if they can’t?” she asked. “Put in the stents, I mean.”
“Then heart surgery,” her mother admitted.
“And they will cut my heart open, as I said.”
“Papa,” Layla said in exasperation. “Even if you need surgery, that’s not how they do it. When are the tests?”
“We have an appointment with the specialist in two days. But only if this stubborn old goat agrees to go.”
“Of course you’re going,” Layla said, genuinely surprised.
“Am I?” her father demanded. “And who will take care of all of this”—he gestured out the window, with its view of the courtyard and the high surrounding wall—“while I’m sick? It might be several weeks before I can do my job the way it needs doing. And who will take care of the Fortalesa until then?”
Layla made a tsking noise. “Gabino is perfectly capable of—”
“Gabino left two months ago. He moved his family to Madrid to be closer to his wife’s parents. They’re getting too old to be alone, and her brother lives in Portugal.”
“Then who’s doing his job while . . . No wonder you’re exhausted, Papa. You’re trying to do it all yourself, aren’t you?”
“No,” he said firmly. “I am not. I’ve promoted Danilo from the ranks. She’s very smart and very capable. If this were a regular time, a peaceful time, as it’s been for fifty years, she’d be fine. But it’s not, and Danilo is not yet experienced enough to handle a true crisis. The situation with these human attackers could blow up at any moment.”
Layla knew what she had to do. She didn’t want to, but there was no choice. She was no doctor, but she knew enough. Her father needed his heart looked after, whether with stents or something more serious. Without treatment, he could have a major heart attack, and possibly die. What was the inconvenience and embarrassment of dealing with Xavier when measured against her father’s life?
She had to help, had to cover for him until he was at least well enough to walk the battlements and order everyone else around.
Layla closed her eyes, trying to steady her stomach. She wanted to throw up at the very idea of staying in the Fortalesa, of dealing with Xavier night after night. But she swallowed it down, put her arm around her father’s broad shoulders, and said, “Have the tests, Papa. I’ll stay until you’re better again. I can do this.”
Her mother’s eyes filled with gratitude, but her father gave her a stubborn look. “You have your own job, and your own people to worry about.”
“Brian can handle them, especially now. The man who hired us, Clyde Wilkerson, is in residence at the vineyard for now, and is planning to stay for the next few months. The most that will happen is that drunken party guests will try to walk through the vineyards after dark, and fall in the dirt. Every one of my people is bored to tears. We’ve been running drills just to stay busy and keep our skills up. My guys will be fighting each other for the chance to fly here and help out. What do you say, Papa? You think I’m good enough to fill your shoes for a while?”
Her father didn’t answer right away. He was studying his hands, his fingers as scarred as her own, as battle-marked as any full-time warrior’s would be. He seemed to be considering her words, and for a moment, she worried that he didn’t think she could do the job and was trying to find a way to tell her so. When he finally raised his head, it was to look at her mother. Layla did the same and saw fear shadowing the love in Ramlah’s dark brown eyes, fear that she’d lose him, begging him to save himself for her, if for no other reason.
He took his wife’s hand across the table, and spoke without looking at Layla. “All right,” he croaked, his voice rough with the same emotion that had filled Ramlah’s eyes with tears. “When?”
Layla sighed deeply, mostly from relief that her father would go through with seeking help. But a small part of her was sighing because she didn’t want to stay in this place. Not even for a single night, much less the weeks it might be before her father was well enough to return to full duties.