by Jen Colly
He liked living this deep below ground. The simplicity of the sixth level outer corridors appealed to him. Brick walls rose high to create a low arched ceiling. The doors were spaced out in pairs, and though all were solid and for the most part uniform, the multitude of colors made each door unique.
At the end of the corridor, he ducked into a spiral stairway and climbed to the first level. He could have taken the elevator. Most did. Rollin could claim he didn’t care for the confinement, but the truth was, he was just as confined within the narrow stairway. As ridiculous as it might sound, he didn’t like standing and waiting when he could move.
Stepping out into a pristine first floor corridor, Rollin strode beneath the red, domed ceiling, each section the focal point of a starburst pattern. The aristocracy lived mainly in this corridor, and if the extravagantly detailed ceiling didn’t give it away, the decorative, oversized doors would certainly clue you in.
Rollin could have lived here among them, but he felt more at ease with a quiet, simple life. He’d been a Guardian in Balinese for two years. Being a Guardian was all he’d ever wanted in life, his one and only goal, and he’d achieved the position in record time.
Gian Ashford, fellow Guardian and friend, entered the corridor and headed toward him. His swaggering stride as recognizable as his face, Gian moved as if he’d seen it all, done it all, and was ready for anything the world threw his way. His confidence was staggering, though somehow, not off-putting. Rollin had fallen into an easy camaraderie with Gian, and neither seemed to notice that eleven years separated them in age.
As Gian came closer, Rollin noticed he had a bruised eye, a split lip, and a slew of cuts and scrapes. He’d begun to heal, but had clearly been in a scuffle.
“What happened to you?”
“Your brother fleeced me again,” Gian said, though he didn’t sound upset.
Rollin let out a heavy sigh. “It’s not a fleecing if you know you’re going to get whipped and you still lay money on the table.”
Gian threw his arms out wide, his shoulder-length hair swaying. “What do you expect me to do, walk away? He’s the closest I’ll ever get to a demon. The experience is worth the price.”
“Will your parents miss the money?” Rollin asked.
“Probably not,” Gian said as he passed him, on his way home a few doors down. “I’ll just tell them I gave it to a charity case. It’s sort of the truth.”
Rollin shrugged in agreement. Gian had a point. At seventeen, Jovan had already been living on his own for a year. He’d picked up and walked out. No job, no plan, no money. Several months ago, Rollin found out his brother fought for money, betting on himself to emerge the victor. Rollin never went to these fights, but according to rumor, Jovan always won. Not even seasoned Guardians looking to put the young kid in his place had been able to best him.
“Hey,” Gian called as he leaned on the door to his home. “Why don’t you ever fight him?”
“I don’t see the appeal,” Rollin said honestly.
“Right. So he kicked your ass when you were kids and you’re not ready for a repeat. Got it.” Gian let out a clipped laugh, then disappeared into his home.
Rollin sighed heavily and continued. Yes, Jovan had beaten him a time or two when they were much younger, but they hadn’t fought since. Rollin liked rules. Jovan lived to break them. His brother had become a vicious, dirty fighter.
Jovan had begun the training to become a Guardian, and he’d excelled with an amazing show of talent that could only be accredited to their foster mother, Cat.
Cat had lived her entire life in survival mode, and the lessons she’d taught her foster children were a direct result of this. She’d trained all five of them, Rollin included, and Cat was brilliant at pointing out their strengths, as well as brutally exposing their weaknesses. It wasn’t in her to spare feelings, not when knowing your flaws could save your life. He and Jovan had had a definite advantage over the others who had gone through the training to become Guardians.
When Rollin’s training had ended, he took a post as Guardian, more than ready to serve his city. Jovan? His brother had walked away, cutting his training short by several years. Jovan had carelessly brushed off the opportunity to become a Guardian, and instead of protecting his city, focused on making money.
Rollin didn’t always understand Jovan, or his motives, but he felt the need to convince his brother to walk away from gambling and serve his city. Jovan had promised to meet him tonight, to stand at his side as he guarded the gate. One night of standing at a post wouldn’t appeal to Jovan in the least, but it would give Rollin a chance to explain his point of view.
Jovan was family, end of story, and Rollin looked after family. All of them. He had one brother and three sisters, though technically they weren’t blood. The five of them had lost their parents in a demon attack many years back. Cat had taken them in, begrudgingly at first, but she’d quickly become the most fiercely protective female he’d ever known. She had unapologetically boxed their ears a time or two, but if anyone came after her kids, she’d take their head off. Literally.
To Rollin, Cat was not his mother. She was his hero. Cat had worked hard to provide for five children she’d never even met before the night of the attack. She made certain they had been clothed, fed, schooled, and prepared to face anything life threw at them. Cat saw the world differently, in a way Rollin didn’t understand. He admired her, loved her, and to this day valued her opinion over all others.
Cat had married Navarre Casteel, the Lord of Balinese, two years ago. They’d slowly transitioned into living together first, giving the children plenty of time to adjust. Rollin had to admit that despite his original assumptions, Navarre fit in well with their odd little eclectic family.
Moving through the main corridor, Rollin passed the dining hall. Preparations for first meal were well underway, and the grand room was abuzz with servants, some bustling in and out of the kitchens, and others spreading tablecloths.
Ahead, the corridor curved, and the right side fell away to reveal an underground lake down below. Rollin passed the two corridors on his left. The first belonged to Soren and Faith Rayner. The second? The city’s missing captain.
The captain had been gone for nearly four years. Several years prior to Savard’s disappearance, the city of Galbraith’s captain had vanished, and in that particular instance, foul play was suspected. This was not the case with Savard. Cat, and at least one other Guardian, had seen Savard leaving the city of his own volition.
Navarre had ordered Savard’s home and corridor left untouched. Normally four years would be a long stint to hold out hope for a man to return, but Captain Savard had waited nearly seven years for Navarre to wake from a healing sleep. That corridor would likely remain as it was for a good while longer.
Rollin’s path soon morphed into a richly decorated royal-blue corridor. The Casteel wing. He raised his hand to knock, but paused before his knuckles touched the wood. He reached for the knob instead, and it turned. Rollin stared at the knob in disbelief. Unlocked.
Rollin opened the door and walked inside, shaking his head as he entered the grand foyer. He passed the library, and as he did, Navarre waved, never looking up from the book laid out across his lap. Rollin waved back, because…well, it felt rude not to.
Cat was seated in the cozy dining room at her round, glass table, one cup of coffee in her hand and another set before an empty seat. She always waited for him, and he never failed to show up.
“Why isn’t your door locked?”
“You were coming,” she said with an easy shrug.
“I wish you would at least try to prevent intruders,” Rollin said, his tone a touch more scolding than it should have been as he joined her.
“No one would dare,” she said with a prideful smile as she tipped up her chin. Then she laid her throwing knife on the table, the metal clanking against the glas
s. “They’d be dead before they made it halfway across the room.”
Rollin glanced over his shoulder toward the door. “No way you’d hit your target. Not from where you’re sitting.”
“I could if I leaned to the right far enough. It doesn’t matter anyway. I knew it was you and I didn’t feel like moving.” She shrugged, then looked down through her glass table. “And Barro wouldn’t get off my feet. He’s been clingy for weeks.”
Rollin peered through the glass, and sure enough, her large black panther was sprawled over Cat’s feet. Barro was a lot of poundage when he wasn’t inclined to cooperate.
Cat shifted in her chair, leaning back to give her growing belly more room, and no doubt searching for a more comfortable position. Rollin smiled. Shortly after Jovan, the third of her five foster children, had left the house, Cat had announced her pregnancy. Other than taking long naps in the first trimester and her exceedingly large belly, she seemed exactly the same.
“This sucks,” Cat said as she rubbed her temples.
Trying to hide his amusement, Rollin asked, “Can I get you a pillow?”
“I don’t need a…” She looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “It’s the decaf coffee that sucks. Why am I even drinking this? It has no purpose.”
“You’re drinking it because we always have coffee together before we begin the night, and because I won’t let you drink caffeine. It’s not good for the baby.”
Cat tossed her short, vibrant red hair back and away from her face. “I only have a few weeks to go. Just give me the damn caffeine so this kid can kick its way out.”
“Not a chance, so stop complaining. It’s not like you’re alone in this struggle. I quit the caffeine with you,” he said, lifting the mug and making a show of drinking down the decaf.
She glared at him, but said nothing. As they stared at each other over the rims of their coffee mugs, Maeryn stepped from her bedroom. Sixteen and well on her way to becoming a woman, she’d begun acting her age, taking the time to perfect her appearance in preparation to face the world. Tonight she’d chosen a deep purple matte dress, her favorite color, with a black ribbon around her waist matching her black suede boots.
Maeryn sat at the table with them, her hands clasped in her lap. She had parted her straight black hair down the middle and brushed it until it shined, framing her face like an open curtain. By nature she was quiet and withdrawn. While some frowned on the way her family catered to her every whim, few knew why they treated her like fragile glass. Maeryn was fragile, and Rollin took great pride in knowing that each member of his family ruthlessly guarded Maeryn’s emotional well-being.
Sitting here between him and Cat, she hadn’t said a word, but with her hands locked tightly together, Rollin could see she was about to speak. The poor girl didn’t even realize she had a tell. Maeryn only asked for something when her hands were clasped together, silently pleading.
“What do you want?” Cat asked her, recognizing this same sign all too well.
Softly, she asked, “May I go to Dario’s tonight with Jovan?”
Cat lifted an eyebrow, then glanced at Rollin, expectantly waiting for him to offer up his opinion.
“Wherever you find Dario, Gian isn’t far behind.” Rollin shrugged, knowing these men well enough to state this as fact. “But at least Jovan won’t start any trouble if Maeryn is in the room. It’s not much, but it’s something.”
Maeryn had always been in love with Jovan. It was a love of companionship and adoration, but it was love just the same. Jovan cared for Maeryn in his own way, though it was difficult to decipher the extent of his affection. Still, Jovan always included her in his plans, and was careful to remove Maeryn from any situation she might find upsetting.
Maeryn looked to Rollin for an answer, but it wasn’t his call anymore. Rollin had once been the oldest male figure in the home, and as a result, his siblings often reverted back to old habits, coming to him for permission, advice, and even help. It had been an adjustment for Cat as well. She’d become accustomed to the tag-team parenting that had worked so well for them, and was also waiting for Rollin to answer. He cleared his throat and caught Cat’s attention.
“Go ask Navarre,” Cat urged.
Lips pursed, fingers twisting together, Maeryn stood and slowly made her way to the library. A few mumbled words later and Maeryn returned, flashed them a tiny smile, then ducked back into her room and shut the door.
“Wow,” Rollin said to Cat. “I would have said no.”
“Yeah, well, Navarre just wants her to be social.” Reaching for her coffee-like concoction, she wrinkled her upper lip before taking a hesitant sip.
“Has Maeryn even tried to do anything without Jovan?”
“Not since he moved out. When she leaves this house, she’s at his side.” Cat shook her head. “She still makes time for Oriana, but everything revolves around Jovan.”
“She can’t do this forever.” Rollin sighed, then drank down the last of his coffee. He took both of their cups to the sink. “I need to go.”
“Rub it in, why don’t you? I’m stuck here all safe and bored and you get to go to work.” Cat sucked in a deep breath and yelled toward the library, “Navarre, how did I ever let you talk me into having this baby?”
From the out of sight in the other room, Navarre answered, voice steady, matter of fact, “You had no complaints during the child’s creation.”
Rollin coughed, their intimate talk making him uncomfortable.
“I didn’t know I’d be completely out of commission for damn near nine months,” she grumbled, none too quietly.
“We have Guardians, my love,” Navarre added, still in the library. “As lady of my city, you are no longer one of them.”
“Yeah, well, I want to kill something!” she yelled back.
Oriana popped out of her room, swinging from the doorjamb. Adorably short with fat black curls springing this way and that, and the biggest bright blue eyes Rollin had ever seen, Oriana was the current baby of the family. A thirteen-year-old baby. “Who are we killing, Mama?”
Rollin chuckled as Cat dropped her head into her hands and muttered, “I’m not killing anyone, baby. That’s the problem.”
Oriana shrugged, but when she caught sight of Rollin, she let out a squeal of delight and headed straight for him. He raised his hand high in the air, and with a run and a jump, Oriana tried to hit his hand for a very high five. No luck. She was still too short. Rollin offered his other hand at a lower level. She smacked his hand, the loud crack making her smile, and then she darted off to the library.
Barro lifted his head, watched Oriana disappear around the corner, then became happily distracted with rubbing his face on the carpet. Cat moved her foot from beneath his furry shoulder, and the panther stretched, reaching one massive paw out to curl around her ankle and pulled back her foot.
Rollin shook his head at the feline’s antics. The first time he’d seen the panther, he’d been terrified. Yes, Cat had saved him and his foster siblings from demons, but so had Barro. The memory of the panther viciously ripping out a demon’s throat had been forever etched into his brain.
That attack had permanently altered each member of this family. Navarre had nearly lost his life. Cat had gained a family and a home. Maeryn struggled with the crippling fear of losing those she loved. Jovan had acquired a hair-trigger temper accompanied by a driving need to fight, and Dulcina the urge to seek solitude. Oriana was the beacon of light that tethered them all together. Thankfully too young to retain a memory of her own tragedy, Oriana seemed wholly unaffected by never knowing her true parents, and lived her life with exuberance.
For Rollin, being a Guardian was his life, but it was more than safeguarding his city. He’d come out of the ordeal with an intense need to protect anyone. Everyone.
Chapter 4
Valenna
Bette had left her
home, at least technically speaking. Back against the corridor wall, she finally worked up the courage to simply open her eyes and look around. It was as she remembered from years ago. Narrow. Chairs were still set between the homes of the aristocracy on both sides of the corridor, making the walkway smaller. Even the oversized pictures filling the space between the ceiling and tops of the chairs lent to the claustrophobic atmosphere.
She wasn’t afflicted with claustrophobia, but the overwhelming corridor only agitated the urge she felt to race headlong into the sun. Since the setting of the sun tonight, that pressure had calmed, though not completely. Her mind was once again her own, at least, as much as her slipping sanity allowed.
She longed to dash back inside her home, to curl up and hide from the world, but hiding meant death and she refused to give in, not yet. Her one chance at survival was Delmor Abney.
Slowly, her steps sideways to keep the entire corridor within eyesight, Bette approached Delmor’s door. After a moment, she pressed her ear to the door and held her breath, listening for the slightest hint of movement. All was quiet. She knocked softly.
The door cracked open swiftly, and the barrel of a gun poked out, pointed directly at her head. Bette squeaked, quickly covering her mouth with both hands to contain the sound.
“Babette!” Delmor lowered the weapon, shock and confusion registering on his face. He took hold of her wrist and pulled her inside then stuck his head out into the corridor to make certain the corridor was empty. “You shouldn’t have come. It’s not safe. They’ve started guarding the kitchens again and I haven’t been able to get food for us yet. Just a day or two more—”
“My nourishment is no longer the problem,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion.
“The sun?” His pained whisper brought tears to her eyes once again.
She nodded, and when she spoke she barely recognized her own voice. “I need to go. I need to…”
“Is this what you want? To die?”