Sheltered

by Jen Colly

  Once settled in, her Guardian hadn’t moved, other than the expansion of his ribcage as he breathed deeply. Bette slid her hand to the center of his chest, fascinated by the rise and fall. Sleep was trying to pull her under, to heal her long-deprived body, but she refused to miss this moment. The heat of his skin radiated through his shirt and warmed her hand. She had no memory of the last time she’d touched a man, or heard deeply toned words filled with kindness. This foreign feeling welling in her heart was something akin to wonder and possibly joy.

  He touched her hand, hesitantly at first, almost as if he, too, were in wonder at her touch. Curling his big hand around her chilled fingers, he shared his warmth.

  The door opened and Bette flinched, but then, so had her Guardian. He hadn’t expected the intrusion either. Not ready to leave this man or answer any questions, she feigned unconsciousness.

  “Soren, I didn’t expect you this soon,” her Guardian said, his rumbling voice sounding a bit more sluggish. “Did Ivan find any demons?”

  “Not yet. He and Keir are doing a sweep of the chateau.” There was a long pause from the man, then in a scolding tone that sounded almost fatherly, he asked, “Was it necessary to feed the girl?”

  “She was in need,” he affirmed.

  Soren approached them. “Here, I’ll take her. You ride it out.”

  “No,” he said sharply, and his arm tightened around her waist. The footsteps stopped.

  “What is this? Why?” Soren asked, suspicion laced within his words.

  “Mine is the only face she would recognize, and she’s been through enough tonight.” The way he spoke, that authoritative certainty of his words, seemed out of place for a Guardian when speaking to his superior, but Bette was relieved he was at least attempting to keep her with him. Would Soren put him in his place, or allow him to do as he pleased?

  “Suit yourself. I’ll radio you in half an hour. Make sure you’re mobile,” Soren said, then the door shut, leaving the room in silence once again.

  Free from fear and cocooned in warmth, safe for the first time in years, Bette let the world around her fade away. Her mind slipped in and out of consciousness, a strange wakeful sleeping that made her doubt she’d actually slept, but then the static of a radio woke her. She’d missed the words from the other end, but was able to catch her Guardian’s response.

  “Okay, I’ll talk to him,” he said, then replaced the radio onto his belt.

  He lifted her as he stood, and carried her from the room. Her body would heal rapidly with his lifeblood coursing through her, and although Bette was likely capable of walking alongside him, she felt drained after tonight’s flight from Valenna and the sun. Not to mention, this mode of transportation was decidedly more enjoyable. Relieved to avoid a difficult conversation for the moment, she remained lax in his arms, never hinting that she was awake. Truly, this was common after feeding, and even now she wasn’t sure how long she could remain conscious. She’d slept against him, but never fell into the full healing sleep her body longed for after years of deprivation.

  Apprehension kept her alert, uncertain of where this stranger would take her, what he would do with her. He’d acted caring, gentlemanly, but behind closed doors, men could change. As they moved through the corridors, Bette was tempted to peek at the wonder Balinese was reported to hold, but she refused to open her eyes. She hadn’t come for a city.

  He carried her down at least two levels, maybe three, before finally entering a room. A home, maybe? The air around her felt warm, inviting. Like him.

  “Miss? Are you awake?” He waited for her response. She gave none.

  He gently kicked the door shut behind him and brought her deeper inside. After stepping sideways through a doorway, he’d made it only a few steps when something gave him pause. He slowly let her feet drop to the floor and changed his hold on her. Bette struggled, mentally and physically, to keep her body limp, ignoring the impulse to catch her balance.

  Clasping her to him, chest to chest, he held her with one arm. His fingers slipped a short inch inside the back of her gown, and Bette tried desperately to keep from reacting to his touch. The sound of a zipper filled the silent room, followed by a rush of cool air on her back.

  He separated their bodies enough to tug the cumbersome fabric from her, but there was no need. The entire gown dropped to her feet.

  “Oh…that fell right off,” he whispered. “Oh, wow. Okay.”

  This time Bette bit down on a smile. Her black lace panties and polka-dotted, ruffle-trimmed corset must have thrown him for a loop, but he carried on valiantly. He scooped her back up, and placed her gently on a bed. She heard him walk to the other side of the room, followed by the ruffling of thick fabric. A moment later, he covered her, pulling the blanket up to her chin. He brushed her long, side-swept bangs from her face.

  “Sleep. You’re safe.” He said the words like they were a vow, precious and absolute, and Bette believed him.

  Chapter 7

  Balinese

  Rollin shifted positions for the twelfth time. Thirteenth time? He’d lost count. His couch had been created for sitting. Sleeping didn’t work, mostly because he didn’t fit. He was too tall and too big. If his feet didn’t flop over the arm when lying on his back, then when he flipped to his side, his knees fell off the cushions, nearly sending him to the floor. Sleep didn’t come easy, and for the most part, didn’t come at all. Between complete bodily discomfort and the keen awareness of the woman in her undergarments tucked into his bed, he was a wreck.

  He searched out the clock in his darkened home. Nightfall neared. Time to give up and get up. Rollin threw his legs over the edge of the couch and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms.

  Checking his wrinkled attire, he shrugged. Yesterday’s clothes would have to do for now. She was sleeping in his bed, and with his closet inside his room, he wasn’t taking the chance of waking her. Besides, she was having her own clothing problems. Her dress was a ruined, muddy mess. Rollin picked up his phone and dialed the direct line to Maeryn’s room instead of waking the household.

  “Hello?” Maeryn called out, her voice groggy.

  “I have a secret mission for you, sis,” Rollin whispered.

  “Rollin?” she asked. “I’m too old for this game.”

  He smiled at her pouting declaration. She was absolutely too old for this nonsense, but Maeryn wasn’t capable of turning down a good intrigue.

  “Meet me at the front door in two minutes,” Rollin instructed, her instant response a quiet huff, but he waited for her answer.

  “Oh fine, I’ll be there,” she said, followed by a great deal of clattering as she attempted to hang up the phone in the dark.

  Rollin grabbed Bette’s muddy gown off the floor before he walked out of his home, locking his new houseguest inside. Quickly, he made his way up the stairs and through the corridors. Everything was quiet here on the first floor. Uneventful. Which was why these upper levels were coveted positions for Guardians. Little effort brought home a healthy paycheck.

  Still, he was a little edgy walking in the silence. He hoped desperately to avoid Cat, Navarre, and the truth of what had happened between him and the woman.

  Rollin wasn’t supposed to feed anyone. It wasn’t necessarily his rule, but something both Navarre and Cat felt strongly about. Cat had her own traumas and fears associated with being bitten, but she’d seemed to push past most of those issues with Navarre’s help. That didn’t mean she’d approve of Rollin allowing himself to become vulnerable and exposed, his life at the mercy of someone else.

  Navarre’s objections also came from a personal perspective. He’d always cautioned Rollin against offering his neck to a female. Rollin had close ties to the royal family, and as such, there was a true danger of being trapped into a marriage with a permanent mating mark.

  Cat’s reasoning stemmed from her past tangles with demons
, and though Rollin had seen the shredded damage a demon’s teeth were capable of rendering, he’d never feared being bitten. Her words of caution had no real bearing on his current situation. And at this point, Navarre’s concerns were also a non-issue for several reasons. The woman sleeping inside his home wasn’t from Balinese, which made it highly unlikely she would even be able to guess at his connection to the royal family. Rollin knocked softly, and the door cracked open. Maeryn peeked out, her hair mussed from sleep, and her eyebrows drawn together as she looked up at him. Her sleep-puffed eyes searched him for injury.

  “What’s going on?” she asked softly.

  “Don’t ask,” he begged. “Please, don’t ask. Just help.”

  “Anything.” She nodded, eager to help, as he’d suspected.

  “I need you to go buy a gown,” he said, his words tumbling out in a rush.

  Maeryn only blinked at him.

  “I promise I’ll tell you why eventually, but I can’t get into it right now.” Rollin clasped his hands together, pleading with his little sister. “Please, Maeryn, go get one.”

  “You can have one of mine,” she offered, hiking a thumb toward her room.

  “No, that won’t work. She’s taller than you, and…” Rollin fidgeted a moment, searching for the best word. “Grown.”

  Maeryn stomped her foot. “You think I’m not grown?”

  Damn it, he’d screwed up. Here he’d been trying not to insult the woman and instead he’d insulted Maeryn’s sixteen-year-old ego.

  “Come on, Maeryn. I’m trying here.” He rubbed his hand over his short hair. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Then what?” She narrowed her eyes on him, waiting to scrutinize the words coming from his mouth.

  “I don’t know…curvy? Is that the right way to say it?”

  She studied him silently. Too long for his liking. “Why doesn’t she have a dress? Or any other clothes?”

  “Remember me asking you not to ask? Please, just trust me. This is her old gown so, you know, you get the right size.” He handed Maeryn the muddy, mangled polka dot gown, still adorned with leaves and twigs.

  “Rollin! What happened?” Maeryn snatched it from him, sticking her finger clear through a tear in the gown, then gaped at him. “Are you telling me she’s naked?”

  “No questions,” he said sternly. If Maeryn found out the woman might have been chased to Balinese by a demon, she’d be a complete wreck. “Listen, I’ve got to get back.”

  She nodded, a sudden mischievous twinkle in her eye. “I’m sure you do.”

  “Get a gown. I owe you one,” he said, then turned on his heels and marched away.

  “I want the whole story,” she whisper-shouted down the corridor as he walked away. “Details!”

  He shook his head, refusing to look back. It would only encourage her. Maeryn was the most sympathetic person he’d ever known. She’d come through, with or without an explanation.

  As Rollin neared the end of the corridor, he slowed. Someone was up ahead, out of sight. He’d heard a slight rustle of fabric, a shift of a shoe across the floor. He stepped from the corridor, the figure leaning on the railing overlooking the lake now visible.

  “You’re early,” Navarre said, his long hair falling around his shoulders.

  Rollin remembered a time when he distrusted the relationship between Navarre and Cat. He’d been young then, fearful the change might rip apart their little family. It hadn’t, and over the years he’d come to respect Navarre for myriad reasons, one of those being his perceptive nature.

  “I didn’t come for coffee,” Rollin said honestly.

  “You called Maeryn?”

  “I needed her help.” Rollin cleared his throat. “And I need to talk to you.”

  Navarre’s eyebrows lifted in curiosity. “Is this about the woman?”

  “I figured Soren told you,” Rollin said, then took a centering breath. He’d been prepared for this, but hadn’t anticipated feeling defensive over a woman he barely knew. Correction. Didn’t know. Which was exactly why he needed to speak with Navarre.

  “What do you need from me?”

  “This woman is… I don’t know. Something is off. I need to distance myself from you and Cat, just to be safe.”

  “Why separate yourself? Is she dangerous?”

  Rollin shifted his gaze over the lake as he truly considered the question, then shook his head. “I don’t think so, but she’s lying about something. If she thinks I’m connected to the royal family, I’ll never get any answers.”

  “So you brought her into your home to find these answers?” Navarre asked.

  “I need time with her to figure out if her story is true,” he said, hoping Navarre would accept the partial truth.

  “If you believe this is the best course of action, I think we can be accommodating,” Navarre said, and although he was agreeing with him, Rollin couldn’t help but be aware of his calculating gaze. Questioning his judgment?

  “I want to be certain, that’s all. I’m not taking any chances with my family, especially with your child soon to arrive.” Rollin pushed away from the railing, ready to end this conversation before he had to defend himself further, or Navarre’s questions became personal. “Can you tell Cat why I won’t be coming by for coffee?”

  Navarre nodded. “She’ll understand.”

  “No, she won’t.” Rollin had taken several steps away from Navarre before he turned back. “Oh, and I need a big favor.”

  “Of course,” Navarre said, not even bothering to ask what was needed.

  “Invite this woman to sit at your table as a guest for last meal.” He probably should have formed the request to the lord of the city in the form of a question, but it was already said.

  “And here I thought you wanted distance between us,” Navarre said, a measured note of surprise in his voice.

  “I need to see if she has her eye on the royal family. I’ll have Soren post me in the dining hall and I can watch her from a distance.” Rollin hesitated. She’d purposefully chosen him over Ivan, which was truly the only reason for him to suspect her goal might be to connect herself with the royal family. He understood why this was a concern, but unlike Ivan and Cat, he didn’t think everything was out to get him. Though in all fairness, a healthy amount of demons did have a bone to pick with Cat. He could confirm or eliminate the theory in one meal, but only with Navarre’s help.

  “I’ll arrange an invitation,” he said, but Rollin lingered, prompting Navarre to ask, “Anything else?”

  “Yeah. I need you to buy her a home.”

  Navarre’s eyebrows lifted, the only outward appearance giving away his surprise. “A home. You want me to play the generous lord?”

  Rollin barely kept his eye roll in check. “You are a generous lord. I just want to see if she takes the bait.”

  “Rollin,” Navarre cautioned. “Women can be dangerous creatures.”

  Rollin let out a soft laugh, shook his head, and walked away. Navarre had never attempted to parent him directly, but he often threw out these little statements. Indirect guidance. At first he’d resented these reminders of his youth and inexperience, but he’d soon grown to realize this was part of Navarre’s personality. He flat out cared about people.

  Before Navarre had come into his life, and his family’s, Cat was not the only adult in their lives. Soren and Faith had practically been surrogate parents, caring for his younger siblings while he and Dulcina were in school, or helping out while Cat worked. Though Soren was the closest thing they’d had to a father figure, he’d acted more like a steadfast uncle, which made it easier for Rollin to function together with him as captain and Guardian.

  Right now his captain needed an update. Soren’s office, originally created for the sole purpose of briefing Guardians, now doubled as the captain’s office. Devlin Savard had first p
ut a desk in this very room, though he’d rarely used it, but Soren had seen the benefits of being accessible and was often found here.

  Rollin knocked on the open door as he leaned into the room. Soren glanced at him, then held up his first finger. A few more seconds of attention focused on the paper before him and he flipped it over. Done.

  “Hey. How are you holding up?” Soren asked.

  Rollin entered the room and leaned against one of the many desks facing Soren. “Good. I’m good.”

  For a moment Soren didn’t say anything, sitting back in his chair and watching him silently. “I didn’t tell Navarre you fed the woman. He wouldn’t be happy, and Cat… Well, I don’t think it matters that her knife belt doesn’t fit around her belly at the moment. She’d go after the poor woman with something.”

  “I appreciate that,” he said, and he meant it. “I hadn’t planned to feed her at all, but her feet wouldn’t stop bleeding. I understand the reasons Navarre would prefer I avoid feeding, and Cat’s reasons are even clearer, but I didn’t feel as if feeding a frightened, depleted female was a risk. They’ve both been through a lot, but I don’t see things the same way they do. Letting Cat’s paranoia and Navarre’s ‘what if’ scenarios stop me from saving a female in need is unacceptable.”

  “I can’t say that I expected anything less from you.”

  “Are you going to tell them?”

  “I should, but no harm was done. Right?” Soren waited, and when Rollin nodded, he continued. “Good. The woman is doing well, and more importantly, you’re not marked. I think we can ignore that particular detail in the night’s events. Was there something else?”

  Rollin rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, hating that he hesitated. Asking favors was not something he was used to doing, with anyone. “Yeah, I’m going to need a flexible work schedule for a while.”

  “That’s not like you to back out of work. Any particular reason why?” Soren reached over his desk, found a spiral-bound planner, and flipped a few pages ahead.