“You do?”
He knew the feeling all too well. His lonely heart thumped in sympathy. Yes, he knew what it was like to find her and watch her walk away.
“Yes. There are some women you just can’t get out of your mind. Somehow, they worm their way below your skin, taking possession of every one of your waking thoughts. Every other woman you meet pales in comparison to her.” Killian sighed. Gods, he could still remember the first night they’d met. She’d been wearing a white gauze dress which clung to her like waves. He wasn’t supposed to be there, but they were out for the summer and the boys had decided to have some fun. They’d wandered into the tiny little beach town where they’d heard the choosing was taking place. None of them cared about the ritual part of the festivities. They were only interested in the booze and food there’d be. He should have known she was different when he found her standing alone, observing her friends dance. She was beautiful but no one had drawn her to the dancefloor. No one except him had dared. Too late did he find out the reason.
“Who is she?” Max whispered.
“Someone I can never have,” Killian replied with a shrug.
The door creaked loudly and they both turned to it. A petite woman with grayish hair stood beneath the frame, smiling at them. Her eyes sparkled and she smirked.
“You boys look like you were up to no good.” Her nose wrinkled. “Girl talk, eh? Well, you’ll have to continue after Aslan sees you. Max, he’s waiting for you.”
“Aren’t we going in together?” Max asked.
“No, Aslan wants to speak to each of you individually.”
Max stiffened.
Scarlett’s features softened. “Don’t worry. Everything will be all right.”
“Who said I was worried?” Max got to his feet and followed Scarlett out.
Killian sighed and rolled his neck, willing the nervous energy which had crept up his back to vanish. It didn’t. His fingers itched and the iron grip on his heart squeezed, forcing him to shut his eyes.
Keep her at bay.
He couldn’t. He’d gone back down memory lane and now he couldn’t erase her. Damn it. He usually managed to keep the thoughts at the back of his mind, but the memory came rushing back to him.
Bittersweet.
For some time, he’d forced himself to regret it. To hate her. It’d lasted a week. Less. Then she’d come up with the agreement.
His hands curled into fists and anger, sharp like a knife, cut into him.
How did it not hurt her as much as it hurt him? He’d begged her to reconsider. He’d proposed different alternatives, but she’d refused all of them.
“Why can’t we just be together like any other couple?” he asked.
“Because we’re not like the others. Please, Killian. Don’t make this harder than it already is.”
“Prudence.”
“Killian, Aslan is ready for you.”
Killian jumped. He glanced at Scarlett, who stood at the door waiting for him.
“Are you all right?” Scarlett asked.
He clenched his jaw. Another six months and he’d see his mate again. Patience. It was all he needed.
“I’m fine,” he said. “Take me to Aslan.”
Chapter Two
“Have a seat, Killian,” Aslan said, pointing to the pair of accent chairs in front of his desk.
Compared to the stuffy waiting room, Aslan’s office was spacious, airy, and bordering on minimalist. The shelves were neatly organized, the books, he suspected, arranged not only in alphabetical order but also color-coded. The items atop the desk were placed for convenience, each of them in their set spot. Killian focused on the man behind it all. Aslan was no longer in active duty but he kept in good shape. His blue eyes had the steel edge of a man who was always expecting trouble. Danger radiated off him, latent, waiting for the unexpected.
Perhaps it was the reason why Aslan didn’t hurry through things. Since Killian had known him, his boss never left anything to chance. Every word was calculated, every action held its own weight. To some, his clear-cut manner came off as unkind, but he wasn’t. Killian had witnessed his softer side before. He cared for his men. He just didn’t openly show it. Aslan clasped his hands, his index fingers vertically resting over his lips.
Killian settled into one of the seats but Aslan didn’t budge. His mind crowded with questions for which he had yet to know the answers. The waiting game, his boss’s favorite, was on. Inexperienced soldiers dreaded it. They had a hard time dealing with the silence and the uncertainty of it all. They began to overthink, to fear what was to come. Killian bit back a smile. They forgot their training. When in battle, you had to keep your head screwed on tight. The actions of the enemy were out of your control but your own were in your hands. Coming to see Aslan was all the same. Training was the key.
Killian placed his hands over his belly button and envisioned his ink. The tats always kept the thoughts back, barricaded against an invisible wall impossible to crack.
“You will get far, Killian,” Aslan said. He smirked. “Few soldiers have the restraint you seem to show.”
“I merely know to wait, sir. Patience is what keeps the dead from the living.”
Aslan grinned.
“Spoken like a true soldier,” he stated while pulling out an envelope from the bottom of papers on his desk. Killian’s eyes widened and his heart accelerated. He recognized the seal. It was the Spell Caster’s signet, which meant it came from Veritas Island. His digits tightened, digging into his flesh.
“Do you know what this is?” Aslan asked.
“A missive from the Spell Casters.”
“A mission from them.” Aslan paused. “To you.”
“Me?” Killian wet his lips.
Prudence. She was his only contact in the order, but why would she send him a letter through Aslan? A twinge of fear slithered down his spine. He gripped the arms of the chair. More questions tumbled into his mind, sending his pulse into overdrive. He took in a shaky breath. He needed a moment to compose his thoughts. A diversion.
“What about Max?”
Aslan’s eyes narrowed.
“Maximilian has been given a written notice. You are not to concern yourself with that matter any longer.”
“But he was under my charge.”
“The Council never found you at fault for Maximilian’s disobedience, Killian.” Aslan pushed the envelope in his direction. “If we had, this request would have been denied and you wouldn’t be sitting here.”
“Request?”
Only one person in the order could have called for him. Only she knew him well enough to do so. But why? For what? Had something happened?
“Yes, from your mate,” Aslan confirmed.
Killian froze. Mates. It was strange when somebody else used the term and defined a relationship which didn’t really exist. Prudence didn’t want to be his mate. Having a significant other was an unwelcome distraction for a Spell Caster. They had to focus on their magic, just like he had to focus on his fighting. He took in a deep breath. His mind cleared. This wouldn’t be about them. It never was. Whatever the envelope contained, it’d just be another job.
“What is my mission?”
Aslan cocked his head, his brow furrowed slightly almost as if he were appraising him. Killian clenched his jaw. He held the stare. He didn’t owe his superior an explanation and the fact Aslan appeared to be expecting something else from him drove his resolve. This was work and he’d treat it as such. As Prudence liked to remind him, they were knee-deep in a war which had no end and they each had a role to play. His was to fight in hand-to-hand combat. Hers to offer protection through magic. They could never mix.
“Sir?”
Aslan cleared his throat. His eyes twinkled with something which Killian could only interpret as satisfaction.
“A group of Spell Casters, led by Priestess Prudence, will be traveling to Spain to perform a cleansing ritual on the country’s political and cultural elite. The place is in
shambles, the capital a cockroach den of Inferum. Jose, one of our Human Guardians, has been on the case for some time and you will work with him to direct the military op.”
“Yes, sir.”
“He is a skilled detective but lacks the military training of our more elite troops.” He looked pointedly at Killian. “All the information you need is here. I will lead you to a room where you may read it. It goes without saying it is all confidential and must not leave this building.”
“Of course.”
Killian reached for the envelope. His fingers skimmed the wax emblem and a current of pinpricks traveled up his arm. He frowned. Had it been blood sealed? He’d learned to recognize the signs of magical presence and this document was vibrating with it. Why?
Aslan pushed away from his desk.
“Follow me.”
Chapter Three
Killian followed Aslan down the corridor. The lamps on the wall gave off a dim, yellow glow, barely illuminating the paintings hanging from them. Not for the first time, he wondered why the passageway to and from Aslan’s office was so dark. Was it an executive decision or perhaps carelessness? They turned to the left, in the opposite direction from whence he’d come earlier.
Tunnels. As if every passage were a test you had to pass. From darkness to light. Aslan represented light, his bright office a respite from the darkness of the halls. They veered to the right once more then stopped.
“In here.”
Opening a door, Aslan motioned for him to proceed. Killian entered. He blinked, taking in the tiny space. The only furniture pieces were a wooden chair and desk. Atop the latter, someone had placed a reading lamp. A sliver of light filtered through a narrow window, reminding him it was still early in the day.
“No one will bother you in here. Take as long as you need. Once you finish, make sure you return the documents to Scarlett. I’ll let her know you’re in here.”
“Yes, sir.” Killian hesitated, uncertain if he should ask his boss about the magical undercurrent which seemed to permeate the papers. He decided against it.
“There are two existing copies of this document. One is kept on Earth in the hands of our Human Guardian. The other, you hold in your hands. As you’ve probably realized by now, the envelope was blood sealed and the information within has also been magically altered so as to avoid other forces to interfere with it. I understand you are familiar with how to proceed?” Aslan paused.
“I am, sir.”
“Excellent. I imagine you won’t need a weapon.”
“No. Thank you, sir.”
With a brief nod, Aslan left, closing the door behind him. Killian sat down. He stretched his legs, trying to find comfort in the hard material. There was none. He stared at the envelope in front of him. The broken seal taunted him, its interconnecting arches reminding him of where it had come from. Aslan had said the mission was for him, from his mate. He shook his head. Whatever was inside had nothing to do with them personally.
Killian took in a deep breath. Time to leave all fanciful notions aside and see what the fuss was about. Shaking out the content, he wasn’t surprised to find a blank booklet.
Reaching down, he lifted the leg of his pants and pulled out his dagger. The weapon glinted in the sunlight. Carefully, he pricked his finger with the tip. Blood rose to the surface, the vibrant red like a rose’s teardrop. He pressed his finger against the white sheet, imprinting it. A current traveled up his arm, warm and pleasant, and it journeyed across his limbs to his toes, extending and spiraling, licking him with invisible flames as it burned until he had to grit his teeth to keep from crying out. Abruptly, it ceased. A flash of coolness swept through him and he let out a long breath. Opening his eyes, Killian stared at the document. As if someone were writing at lightning speed, words began to appear.
Confidential.
Objectives: Direct the military operation. Protect the Spell Casters. Rid Spain’s political elite of the Sins.
Killian reread the list of magic users who would be journeying to Earth. Prudence’s name was at the top as the one in charge. He sucked in his cheeks. How did she feel about this? She’d never been to Earth, had never experienced a mission firsthand. Prudence delved in magic and politics within their world. This was new and no doubt an exciting moment for her. Killian shut his eyes. The ache in his soul settled in his bones. He yearned to see her, to watch her eyes fill with life as she spoke about her magic. God, he longed to touch her, to simply press his lips to the smoothness of her cheek and hear her sigh his name with that bittersweet tone mingling love, sadness, and resignation she only reserved for him.
“Stop it,” he mumbled.
This was work. Nothing else. His jaw tightened. She would surely be seeing this as nothing more than a business transaction. Their duty. Aslan had said she’d requested him, but he had to be wrong. Killian focused his gaze on the document. This mission was too important for it to mean anything else.
Sighing, he riffled through the rest of the book, stopping at the picture of a young woman which looked vaguely familiar. His eyes widened as recognition hit him. Eva. Max’s Eva. He skimmed the profile. The Human Guardians suspected she was a succubus. Allegedly, she was also an escort. Damn. Max wouldn’t be too pleased. Killian pressed his lips together. Not that he could tell him. Right? He shook his head and moved on. The booklet was filled with pictures and names of both the people they’d be targeting and the innocent, those who were not infected by Inferum. Sadly, there weren’t many of the latter.
Finally, he turned the last page. He took in the white space, waiting for something more to appear but it remained blank. Killian ran his fingertips across the sheet. There had to be more. He could feel the tingling warmth of magic. He pressed his palm to it. The bound book vibrated as if it were still holding a secret message.
“What are you hiding?”
Quickly, he squeezed another drop of blood. This time, the magic robbed him of his breath and quickened his pulse. A single word shone on the page.
Come.
****
The bells rang throughout the island, the sound rolling like a wave in the sky, expanding and crashing against the white-washed stone buildings in a harmonious toll. Taking a left, Killian swept through a narrow street and down a passage. At first glance, Veritas, home of the Council, Spell Casters, and those who served them, was nothing more than an ancient city which had lost the train to the present. It was a far cry from the truth. Steeped in magic, every crevice of the city vibrated with a song of constant renewal. Veritas was constantly in motion, searching for a balance between tradition and modernity, rising to every new challenge, adapting, growing until it became an almost living creature.
The heart of the island came into view. Home to the priests and priestesses of the Virtues, the structure stood atop a hill, extending several miles to both sides. It wasn’t a tall building, its dark dome, known as The Mirror of Truth, being its highest point. It reflected the sky at all times, and rumor had it if someone were to look into it, they would be able to see deep into their own soul. Or so the rumor went. Killian hurried through the arches surrounding the area. As usual, the hairs on the back of his neck stood. He’d once asked Prudence if there was some kind of protection spell on them, but she’d waved him off, letting him know the Spell Casters didn’t need such devices. He crossed the patio, his boots clapping on the flagstone. There was no one about, the setting sun pulling everyone back into their dormitories. The double doors, taller than the height of two men and wider than five, still stood open. He let out a breath he hadn’t been aware of holding. If the doors had been closed, getting inside would have been a hassle. After crossing through them, he took a left and knocked on the ajar door of a small office.
“Come in.”
The smell of dust and aging paper tickled his nose and he sneezed. Unperturbed, an old man with weathered skin and a head of white hair sat behind his desk, busily scribbling away.
“One second,” he said.
Killian crossed his arms and waited, trying to recall the man’s name. Finally, the elder looked at him, his eyebrows rising in surprise, as they always did when he came.
“How can I help you?” he asked, though no doubt he knew. Killian always came for the same reason.
“I must speak to Prudence.”
“Visiting hours have just finished.”
“This cannot wait. I have been assigned a mission.”
“Do you have permission?”
Killian leaned forward, splaying his hands on the worn wooden table heavily laden with books and scrolls. “She requested I come.”
The elder stared at him, searching his gaze. Killian held his stance. Romeo, he recalled the man’s name, was a perceptionist and as such, he had the ability to tap into Killian’s emotions and detect if he was lying.
“She told me you would come.” The man’s lips curved into a toothy grin.
Killian scowled. “Why—?”
“It is my job,” the man replied with a shrug. “I will have her brought, though you are aware that due to the time, you must see her through the box.”
“Of course.”
He rang a bell and moments later, a young boy appeared in the doorway.
“You called, sir?”
“Yes, please fetch Sister Prudence. She has a visitor.”
“Who shall I say has come?”
“He whom she requested,” Killian said.
The boy looked toward Romeo as if seeking confirmation and the perceptionist nodded. He scampered off.
“I shall take you to the box.” Romeo stretched, the crack of his joints loud in the small room. “Come on.”
“I know the way,” Killian said.
The man didn’t reply, merely chuckling as he ambled across the patio.
“You know,” he said, his voice thin. “Hope is such a precious thing. I hope it helps you in your quest and does not hinder you.”
Killian frowned. “Um, thank you. Although, I don’t think we need hope to defeat some Inferum. It is our job.”
The man glanced back at him, a smirk painted on his face.
Killian's Hope Page 2