Blood of the Maple

might as well greet the dawn.

And that thought terrified him even more.

“I believe you.” The relief that rushed through him was short-lived. “But I need you to meet someone.” She took him to a stunning Schwedler Norway maple crowned in brilliant crimson leaves. “Beautiful.”

She smiled again, and it felt like the moon had come out from behind clouds. “Thank you.”

“This is your tree?” He figured introducing a potential mate to your tree was a big deal for a dryad.

Parker froze. Mate?

He glanced down at the smiling woman beside him and licked his lips. Her taste lingered on his tongue, and he shuddered.

Oh fuck yes. She’s my singele sotiei. Bloody hell. Terri is going to kill her.

“Touch the tree, Parker. She wants to say hello.” A dryad and her tree couldn’t be separated. If Amara accepted him but her tree didn’t, Parker would greet the dawn. He’d have no other choice.

There was no real choice. Parker would do anything his sotiei asked of him. He touched Amara’s tree and found himself sucked into an intellect so alien yet so familiar he felt overwhelmed. That intelligence delved into him, sought out his darkest places, basked in the sunshine he’d managed to hold on to despite his curse and the physical loss of Greg, rooted out his pettiest feelings and his deepest desires. It latched on to his feelings for Amara and turned them inside out, examined them, pulled them apart and put them back together like a child’s toy.

By the time it was done, Parker was ready to drop from exhaustion. The tree withdrew from his thoughts with a final farewell caress that meant he’d been accepted at the deepest levels.

“She likes you. She really likes you.” The pleasure and satisfaction in Amara’s voice mirrored his.

Wonderful. Now if only I can get my legs to work…

“Oh dear.” Amara gasped as Parker hit the ground with a resounding thump. “Oh boy.” She glared at her tree and tapped her foot. “What did you do to him?” Leaves rustled, the maple’s equivalent of soundless laughter. “Uh- huh. Well, at least I’m sure now Parker had nothing to do with what happened in my garden.” A leaf fell, one crimson tear shed for the loss of Amara’s last link to the woman she’d thought about calling mother. “Thank you.”

Maybe she could ask Parker to help her figure out who had done it and why. The townspeople were prime suspects, but they’d never before damaged the garden. Indeed, some of the people who actively disliked her loved that garden and would be as devastated as she was at its loss.

One way or another Amara would get to the bottom of the destruction. The destroyer would hurt when she was done with them. Then she could begin rebuilding the dream she and Glinda had shared. She’d made a start already by clearing away some of the death and destruction. She’d prepare the ground, fertilize it well, and when the growing time came, she’d be there as always. It would take years for the mature trees to grow back, for the plants to spread and thrive.

Amara picked Parker up and slung him over her shoulder, careful to keep his head from bouncing on the ground. He was a foot taller than her, and she didn’t want to accidentally damage him. “I’m taking him home. You be good. We’ll talk when I get back.”

She carted him through the gate and back to his house. “If he can go in without an invitation, then so can I.” She opened his front door, only to shut it again so quickly she feared she’d permanently bruised his right butt cheek. “Or not.” She blinked, trying to erase the sight of a naked Brian bent over the arm of Parker’s leather couch. “I do not want to know.”

She sighed and shifted Parker. He wasn’t all that heavy, but his limp body was terribly awkward. “Guess you’re sleeping at my house tonight. Where do vampires sleep anyway? Do you need a coffin? A pile of dirt? Blackout curtains?” She hoisted him through the door, almost knocking over her antique umbrella stand with his head. She’d better call Dragos. The elder vampire would know what to do.

She carted Parker to her room, hoping her scent would soothe him if he woke up, then headed back downstairs and picked up the phone. She didn’t bother to dial. She didn’t have to. “Dragomir Ibanescu.”

The click of the phone being answered was faint. “Yes, Amara?”

“I have a vegetarian vampire in my bed who’s had a conversation with my tree.”

There was a pause. Then again, whenever Amara called Dragos he paused to process whatever she was telling him. It had long ago ceased to bother her, but she did wonder sometimes why her calls were so unusual. After all, she wasn’t the strangest person he knew, not by a long shot. “And?”

“He’s unconscious.”

“Ah. You are worried he is injured?”

Dragos’s faint accent never failed to send a shiver down her spine. Was that why Parker’s accent was so irresistible? Maybe she had a thing for tall, dark, exotic men with lovely accents. “I don’t know how long he’ll be out or how to keep him safe from the sun.”

“And where is his Renfield?”

“Uhhh—” she coughed, “—busy. Very busy.”

Again one of Dragos’s infamous pauses filled the air. “I see.” He was amused. “Make sure the room you put him in gets little sunlight. Unlike the movies, he won’t combust to ash at the merest touch of Helios’s rays, but he will be very uncomfortable if left in direct sunlight.” The amusement turned to gentle teasing when he added, “He is a plant that requires shade. Too much time in the sun will burn him to a crisp.”

She blew the mayor of Maggie’s Grove the wettest raspberry she could.

“You’re welcome.” The connection cut off, but not before Dragos laughed.

Really. People thought the elder vamp was cold and unfeeling. Amara knew better. Dragos was a friend. Hell, her tree liked him, and that was good enough for her.

Amara dialed Parker’s employer. Now, this was a conversation she was not looking forward to.

“The Greenhouse, Miss Ferguson speaking.”

“Mollie? It’s Amara.”

“Oh. Hello, Amara. Is there a problem?” Mollie’s tone instantly chilled.

“I introduced Parker to my tree, and now he’s unconscious. Was he supposed to work tonight?”

“Yes, he was.” The chill turned to concern. “Does he need a doctor?”

Amara held back her sigh. “No. He’s physically uninjured.”

“Does he need the witchdoctor, then?”

She gritted her teeth and kept her tone polite. “My tree wouldn’t hurt him that way.”

“Amara. I’m sorry, but you are what you are. Should you call Selena?”

“No.”

This time the pause was uncomfortable. She’d much rather talk to Dragos any day. “Tell him to call me when he can return to work.” The chill was back.

“I’ll do that.” Amara hung up without any further words. None were needed. That chore taken care of, she ran a circuit of both her garden and Parker’s. “No weeds. Good.” She dusted her hands off and knocked on Parker’s front door, praying Brian and Greg were finished with whatever they’d been doing, because she really didn’t need to see it again.

The front door opened. Brian, disheveled and happy, had a huge red mark on his neck. “How did you get a love bite?”

He blushed almost as fiery red as the leaves of her tree. “Hello to you too. Where’s Parker?”

“My place. I introduced him to my tree.”

Brian winced. “Oh. He’s out, huh?”

She frowned. “Did you expect that?”

“I bet fifty-fifty odds that he’d go down, yeah. Greg owes me—uh. Never mind.” He rubbed at the hickey. “Did your tree like him?”

“Yes, she did.”

He grinned. “Then I expect I’ll see some love bites on your neck soon.”

Amara covered her lip.