Alpha's Promise

by Rebecca Zanetti

  Ivar nodded. “We’ll fly three helicopters under the radar.” This was what he’d been good at before going to hell. Strategizing and organizing. “Satellites are watching us, but the cloud cover is good right now. We can take three copters, head toward the Pacific; it will look like we’re going on maneuvers if spotted.” His hands itched with the need to steer one of the copters.

  Ronan opened the door. “Two pilots in each craft. The lead craft with six additional soldiers and same at the rear. The center craft will take us.”

  Ivar turned. “We’ll secure both ends of that street.” He looked toward Garrett. “Bring up the entire neighborhood.” He waited until the map showed on the screen. It was a nice street in a small community near the ocean. No way would demon and vampire soldiers blend in. “We’ll have to go after dark and hope the cloud cover still provides some secrecy.”

  “We could just kidnap her,” Logan said, eyeing the map.

  “No,” Promise said, shaking her head again. “If she doesn’t know anything, we’d be harming her. She’d never be able to return to her life. If nothing else, the Kurjans would learn of her.”

  Ivar’s neck felt like a broad hand was squeezing his flesh, making breathing difficult. “She knows something.”

  “Maybe not,” Promise said gently. “Her paintings may be from dreams. Or rather, she may think they’re dreams. We don’t want to cause her pain, Ivar. She’s had enough.”

  That was a fair point. Even so, if the woman could provide any information about a way to save Quade, Ivar was going to take it. “All right, ladies. You need to figure out how to get her to meet with you.”

  Promise tapped her unpainted nail against her lips. “I’m thinking I need to buy a painting or three.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Promise smoothed back her hair and then straightened her flowered blouse, making sure the miniscule camera was pointed at the light green door.

  “Stop messing with the button,” Ivar growled through the earbud in her left ear.

  She stilled. What a bossypants. Faith stood on her right and Grace on her left, both sporting hidden cameras too. She felt like an undercover cop from a television show, and even though this was deadly serious, she couldn’t help the flush of excitement rippling through her. A quick glance at her friends revealed pink cheeks and sparkling eyes.

  Ivar had secured the entire neighborhood, taking point in a vacant house on the other side of the block, along with Ronan and Adare. Soldiers were stationed out of sight throughout, and the three helicopters had headed out to sea to pretend some maneuvers, just in case the Kurjans had caught wind of their leaving Realm headquarters. But the rain slashed down, and the clouds remained dark over the night sky, so hopefully it was just a precaution.

  Promise knocked on the door, her adrenaline flowing freely.

  She could hear somebody press against the door to look through the peephole. The porch light came on. Then a series of locks, at least five, were disengaged.

  The door opened. “Dr. Promise Williams?”

  “Yes. Hi.” Pain hacked into Promise’s temples from within, and she gasped, pulling shields into place.

  “Promise?” Ivar asked, sounding as if he was already moving.

  Promise coughed. “Excuse me. Sorry about that. Allergies.” Her eyes watered from the pain, and she doubled the diamond in her shield, pushing most of the pain out. There, that was better. “I’m okay,” she said. Partially. Obviously Haven had a lot of power, because the pain echoed still, not horribly but still present.

  Promise held out a hand to the very petite blonde. Small to the point of appearing fragile. Both of her eyes were a dark green, so she obviously wore a colored contact in at least one eye. Did she ever allow the black iris to show? “It’s nice to meet you. I take it you checked out my credentials?”

  “I wouldn’t have opened the door otherwise,” the blonde said quietly. “I’m Haven.” Her voice was throaty but not as much so as any of the male demons. “Who are your friends?”

  Maybe two doctors would reassure the woman or at least impress her a little.

  Faith stepped up. “Faith Cooper. I’m a neurologist, and I’m interested in the thoughts behind your paintings.” They shook hands.

  “Don’t like doctors. I just paint.” Haven released Faith and looked toward Grace. “You?”

  “Oh.” Grace switched her dark camera to the other side so she could shake. “Grace Cooper. Big fan.”

  Haven’s chin lowered. “Grace Cooper the photographer?”

  Grace straightened. “Well, yes.” A smile bloomed across her face. “You’ve heard of me?”

  “Now I’m the big fan,” Haven said, animated for the first time. “What happened to you? There were tons of photographs and then you just disappeared.”

  “Oh, head injury, coma, and now recovery,” Grace said with a wave of her hand.

  “I see.” Haven stood back to look them over. “Promise, Grace, and Faith. Huh. Who would’ve thought? All we need is a Hope to make it complete.”

  Promise coughed. The woman had no idea. “It is funny.”

  “Isn’t it, though?” Haven opened the door wider and gestured them inside. “Come on in. My studio is actually upstairs in the attic. Well, what used to be an attic.”

  They stepped inside a small living area decorated with bright splashes of jewel colors. A tuxedo-type cat with luminous green eyes looked up from his perch on the back of the sofa, blinked, and then returned to sleep.

  Haven waited until they’d moved farther inside before reengaging all the locks, one at a time, and then double-checking them afterward. She peered through the peephole for several seconds and then turned off the porch light.

  “Is there a lot of crime here?” Faith asked, sounding merely curious.

  “No.” Haven turned, patted the cat, and walked into the kitchen. “Follow me.” The woman moved gracefully past a fifties-diner-style table, older but well-kept appliances, and comfortable, light yellow Formica countertops to a steep staircase hidden by a narrow door. She walked up easily, flipping on lights as she went.

  The smell of paint and turpentine filled the air.

  Promise followed her, grabbing the noncompliant handrail, and made sure her button camera faced the front to capture everything. They emerged into a sprawling attic space with paint splotches covering the floor and every visible part of the walls. One whole wall was made of glass, no doubt remodeled to let in more light. “Wow.”

  Haven pulled tarps off a couple of paintings. “Most of my work is in Northtown for a show I’m having in two weeks. But as I told you on the phone, I do have a few pieces still here, if you’re interested.”

  “Exquisite.” Grace moved to the first painting, her attention clearly caught. “The movement in this is almost painful.”

  The colors were deep purple and red with a hint of orange. Jagged rocks rose out of a bubbling amethyst ocean that spewed angry spray into black clouds tumbling across a furious sky. The harsh paint strokes almost conveyed sound, they were so wildly vibrant.

  “Holy shit, I’ve been there,” Ivar muttered through the comms.

  Haven pulled cloths off several more paintings. Each conveyed raw, brutal beauty.

  Promise walked closer to a large painting of a swirling vortex that almost drew her in. “This is amazing. Where do you get your ideas?” She made sure to stand for a moment at each painting so the camera could record.

  “Dreams, mainly,” Haven said, picking at dried paint on her left thumbnail. “I’m driven to be precise to a point of almost creating a photograph.”

  “This place looks real,” Faith said, bending down to view a series of mountains in front of three suns, which turned the peaks a blood red. “The contrast between the wild, imaginative subjects and the style here creates a sense of astonishing power.”

  Haven lean
ed against the one empty spot on the wall. “That’s the goal.”

  The woman didn’t speak much. Promise took a deep breath and turned to face her. This was unbelievable. The ultra-preciseness of the brushstrokes were mathematical in nature, as was the way the rippled skies suggested the presence of dark matter. Or nearby dark holes. She had to force herself to finish her job here and not run off and immediately start working the math. “On the website, I saw a painting of a man with aqua-colored eyes. He was so compelling I couldn’t look away. Do you have that one here?”

  “Nope.” Haven smoothed down black yoga pants beneath a pink T-shirt covered in paint stripes. “I don’t like to paint portraits, although the few times I have, they sold quickly.”

  “Oh, shoot.” Promise forced a smile. “I really want that one. Any chance you remember who bought it?”

  “No,” Haven said, straightening, her gaze direct and open.

  If she was lying, she was exceptional at it. Of course, somebody raised the way she’d been would certainly learn to mask emotions and tell falsehoods, just to survive. “Do you remember the painting?” Promise pressed, infusing curiosity into her tone.

  “I remember all of my paintings,” Haven said. “The guy you’re talking about is made up. I think I saw a movie, a horror story really, and he kind of looked like the guy in it. A combination of the guys in it.” She shrugged. “Sorry.”

  That had to be a lie, since the painting was so obviously Quade. So yes, the woman could lie convincingly. Promise nodded. “I see.”

  “I want this one.” Grace picked up a 2 x 3 abstract oil painting with greens, yellows, and oranges that moved as if it was running away. To something with light. “How much?”

  They haggled over the price, and Grace pulled out the cash that Adare had given her.

  Haven’s eyebrows lifted as she accepted the money. “You walk around with that kind of cash?”

  “I knew I’d buy something,” Grace said, her eyes alight with intrigue.

  Faith moved around. “Do you have anything more upbeat? I love these, I really do, but I often work with coma patients, and something soothing would probably be better for the family members who regularly visit and read to them.”

  Haven studied her for a minute. “I do have something new. Just finished it last week.” She walked over the paint-riddled floor and moved several of the darker works out of the way. “It’s a little silly and so different from the others that I decided to keep it out of the exhibit.”

  Promise’s gasp made all three women look at her. “Oh, I just love it,” she covered, her legs trembling. Haven had captured Mercy’s Brookville world perfectly, right down to its bubbling brooks and sweet grass meadows. The three suns shone down, glimmering off the gently waving grass. “You say you’ve dreamed of this place?”

  “No. Not that one.” Haven pulled the canvas out. “I was just playing around and decided to paint something lighter. Even smelled sugar cookies when I did it.” She smiled for the first time, looking years younger and not so closed off.

  What Promise wouldn’t give to get the woman in an MRI machine. Had she traveled to these places? It seemed unlikely she would’ve survived the hell worlds she’d painted.

  So what did that mean?

  What about the Seven ritual? It was Promise’s understanding that the males’ bodies had stayed on earth while their consciousness had traveled. What if that wasn’t the case? Mathematical equations filtered through her brain faster than fireworks on the Fourth. What if—

  “Promise?” Faith asked. “You okay?”

  Grace sighed. “She just started working on a math problem. See how her eyes gleam?” Her voice lowered. “Haven, our friend is one of those genius types who forgets other people are in the room. Your painting must’ve inspired her somehow.”

  Promise shook herself out of it. Briefly. “Sorry. It’s the precise lines and the depth of the strokes. I got lost in math land.” She smiled and tried to look rueful. “Surely, you leave this world too when you paint, Haven.”

  The woman nodded, understanding lighting her expression. “I do. Can paint for hours and forget to eat.”

  Oh, Promise wished the woman trusted them. She had so many questions. But pushing Haven would be a mistake; she knew that to her bones. They had to proceed cautiously while keeping Haven’s existence a secret from not only the Kurjans but other immortal species as well. “I definitely want to purchase this painting.” She’d give it to Mercy. “Faith, would you please negotiate for me?” She turned her most guileless smile on Haven. “Would you mind terribly if I used your powder room?”

  Haven looked at her for a moment and then shrugged. “Sure. First door on the left after the kitchen.”

  Promise nodded and walked to the stairwell as Faith began to negotiate for the painting, hopefully keeping Haven occupied. She reached the kitchen and edged her way through, ducking her head into a small bathroom decorated in rich colors. Trying to keep quiet, she moved to the only other door and swung it open, holding her breath.

  Haven’s small bedroom held a bed covered in a purple comforter, a nightstand, and a dresser, all decorated with knickknacks. No pictures. Her closet door was already open to reveal clothing and an impressive number of tennis shoes.

  Disappointment filtered through Promise, but time was running out, so she turned back to the kitchen again. An enclosed mudroom was beyond the stairs going up, and she peered inside to darkness. Biting her lip, she swung the door open to find a washer and dryer across from a bench with shoes lined up beneath it. Another closet was adjacent to the door. She quickly flipped on the light and stepped inside the room to open the closet door, expecting to see more coats and boots.

  Paintings filled the space. One fell out, and she grabbed the canvas before it could hit the floor. She pulled several out, looking at them, making sure the camera caught them all.

  Every single painting was of Quade Kayrs, surrounded by hell.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Ivar didn’t let his body relax until the helicopter rose above the town, turned sharply, and headed back toward safety. They remained beneath the cloud cover, enduring the rainstorm, the Realm-upgraded fighting helicopter making no noise.

  Promise waited until they’d leveled off and then looked around. “Why didn’t you all tell me how those worlds looked? Even though I saw the paintings on the computer, seeing the actual brush strokes, the mathematical precision of them, is different. I told you I need to go to those hell worlds to get data. There are equations within equations in those scenes. Something completely new, damn it.”

  Ivar’s eyebrows rose. What was she talking about?

  She looked at him. “Paper. I need paper.” Urgency colored her words, and her tension clawed his spine.

  He shook his head. “No paper, honey.”

  She growled—it really sounded like a growl—and looked frantically around. “Pen or pencil. Anybody?” Her voice rose shrilly.

  Ronan looked around from the pilot seat, reached in his rear pocket, and threw back a partially chewed black marker.

  Faith looked around again and zeroed in on Grace. “I need your shirt.”

  Grace glanced down at her white T-shirt, her eyes wide. “Huh?”

  Promise grabbed the bottom of Ivar’s shirt and yanked hard enough that he ducked to give it up. She tossed it at Grace. “Put this on.”

  Adare was sitting next to Grace, his eyebrows raised. Without a word, he partially turned to block his mate. Her shirt soon sailed over his head, and Promise grabbed it, her body vibrating. She dropped to the floor, flattened the shirt, and started diagramming equations. “Yes, that’s it,” she said, her shoulders still shaking.

  Faith leaned over to watch her. “Fascinating. I wish I could stick her in an MRI machine right now.”

  Promise drew out complicated equations, but Ivar thought he recognized a co
uple pertaining to string theory. But then she went far afield, writing quickly, mumbling to herself as she worked.

  Man, she was impressive. Cute and fascinating. Now that they were safe, somewhat, he sat back and enjoyed just watching her mind at work.

  “No—no.” She scratched out part of the equation, digging deep with the marker. “Damn it.” She moved to the side of the shirt, her pen working so fast it caught on the cotton several times. “That’s it,” she muttered, making what looked like a checkmark. Then numbers started appearing along with parentheses and more.

  Faith scratched her head and looked toward Ivar, who shrugged. It was new math to him.

  A gust of wind battered the helicopter, and Promise fell over. He slid down the bench, grasped her shoulders, and put her between his knees. Then he spread out the shirt in front of her and placed his boots at the very edges of the cotton to hold it in place.

  “Thanks.” She leaned forward, her shoulders protected by his calves, and kept diagraming.

  They landed with a soft bump, and he scooped her up, T-shirt and all. She protested, but he ignored her. Ducking his head over hers, he protected her from the rain and ran inside the demon headquarters, straight for the room where he’d had her whiteboards moved from the cabin. A row of computers on a wide desk took up one wall of the room.

  Her sigh was one of relief as she jumped down and leaped for the nearest marker.

  Faith stood to Ivar’s side and shook out her long auburn hair. “Man, I want a look inside her head.”

  “Doesn’t look very comfortable,” Ronan said, putting his arm around his mate’s shoulders. “Faith? You wanna get that button camera from her?”

  “Nope,” Faith said.

  “I’ve got it.” Ivar angled around a desk and reached his mate, flipping the camera free while she continued to write furiously on the whiteboard. He tossed it to Ronan, who caught it easily. “Get those downloaded, please. I’d like a printed picture of the woman.”

  “Why?” Ronan asked.