by Jen Colly
“Why are you using that? I thought Briona put the schedule on the computer for you.”
Soren lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “She did, but I can’t seem to make it work right and wow does she get angry when I yell at her tech. I figure if I don’t use it, we’re both happy.”
“Good luck with that,” Rollin said, as he headed toward the door. “You do know she can see when you log into the program from her computer, right? Which also means she can see that you don’t log in at all.”
“No,” Soren said, a look of both amazement and horror settling over his features.
“Yeah.” Rollin glanced at the clock. “Hey, I need to get back. Navarre will explain the rest.”
“I’ll take you off the schedule, but let me know if anything changes. Wait, the rest?” Soren called after him, but Rollin had already slipped out the door, acting as if he hadn’t caught the question. The night had just begun, Rollin had yet to shower, and already he was tired of explaining himself.
Rollin hurried back home, taking the elevator instead of the stairs to save time. This anxiousness building inside him wasn’t surprising. He’d considered how the woman might feel waking up to find she’d been abandoned in a stranger’s home.
The elevator doors opened, dropping him off on his floor. Tonight felt different in so many ways, and not only due to his lack of sleep, begging favors, or running around the city at an earlier hour than most woke. This was the first night he’d taken off since he’d become a Guardian. Not having a destination, a set schedule, left him feeling as though he was continuously forgetting something.
After unlocking his door, Rollin stepped inside, and stopped short at the sight greeting him. His initial surprise quickly slipped into annoyance. Jovan lounged sideways on his worn leather chair beside the couch, feet hanging over the edge. His brother had been inside his home for who knew how long while the woman slept beyond his closed bedroom door. Not to mention Jovan would have had to take his Spirit form to sneak beyond the locked door and into his home. Taking a deep, calming breath, he purposefully chose to ignore his brother’s home invasion.
Clearly Jovan had just come from a fight. The deep purple bruise on his cheek would heal fast, as would his puffy eye and scraped knuckles, but that wasn’t the point. These fights shouldn’t happen in the first place.
Pushing down a healthy amount of frustration, Rollin redirected his focus from Jovan’s uninvited presence to a subject no less volatile. Jovan’s damaged state.
Chapter 8
Balinese
Bette bolted upright from bed, adrenaline shooting through her, preparing her body to run, to fight. To survive. The threat of danger was imminent. She could feel the crushing reality in her bones. But what had…
A man’s voice came from the next room, resonant but muffled. She hadn’t caught his words, but it made little difference. She’d lost the safety of her home, and soon she would lose her freedom, and possibly her life. Sheer desperation had her scanning the room in a frantic search for a place to hide, an object to fight back with, anything.
The soft glow of a strange lamp instantly threw her into a state of confusion. Blue and green paint dripped down the large round shade, the colors overlapping and coating most of the formerly white shade. A painted lampshade? This wasn’t her lamp. Why on earth would someone paint a lampshade?
This wasn’t her home. Bette reined in her panic, made a genuine effort to slow her breathing, and listened intently for that deep voice she’d heard. He spoke again, strength and confidence in that booming voice. Suddenly she remembered her big, strong Guardian carrying her into his home. At least she assumed that’s where he’d taken her.
A second voice filtered through the closed door, and though the words were muted, his tone was cocky. Two men?
Nibbling on her lip nervously, Bette stared at the door. A driving need to confirm that the man with the deep, steady voice was in fact her Guardian overcame her.
Bette slipped out of the bed, her feet landing on a lumpy rug, the fabric sticking out at odd angles, loose pieces poked up between her toes. She looked down past her bare legs to find strips of fabric haphazardly tied together to make a small rug covering the thin carpet.
Wait…bare legs? Her dress was gone. She’d slept in her corset and panties. A quick glance around confirmed the dress she’d worn was no longer in this room. With a small shrug of indifference, Bette unhooked the back of her corset and lifted it before her, inspecting the undergarment as she sat half naked on the bed. “What good are you now? He’s already seen you.”
With a sigh, she tossed the corset onto the bed, then tugged the bed sheet out from under the heavy blanket. Strategically wrapping the sheet around her, she tiptoed to the door, pressing her ear close to eavesdrop. Both men seemed agitated. Over what? Her?
“What happened to you last night?” the man with the deeper voice asked, and Bette’s shoulders sagged in relief. Whatever their grievance, it was with each other, and didn’t concern her. “You said you’d stand guard with me.”
“Nothing happened. I didn’t feel like listening to you drone on again,” said the other man flippantly.
“That’s great, you know? I’m trying to help, and you disappear on me. Sometimes literally.” Bette could hear the frustration he kept in check when he spoke, and the more she heard his voice, the more certain she was that this was indeed her Guardian.
Bette pressed her ear tighter against the door, and when the second man responded, he sounded completely unconcerned. “I would’ve been in your way.”
“Ivan was my only company. So, thanks for that.”
“Ouch.” The second man had the decency to sound sympathetic, although it only lasted for several fleeting seconds. “Now I’m really glad I didn’t go.”
“We need to talk about your fighting.” Her Guardian sounded stern, as if he was parenting this other man, but that couldn’t be. Then he said clearly, “Someone’s going to get hurt.”
Bette couldn’t take the suspense any longer. Cracking the bedroom door open, she peered out into the sitting room. It was her Guardian, impressively large, his arms crossed over his chest in an intimidating gesture that seemed completely lost on the younger man draped carelessly across a burgundy leather chair.
“Bruises heal, and I’ve never lost.”
The youthful arrogance of the man’s words would anger most, whether they were friend or parent, but not her Guardian. Calm and steady, he responded, “I wasn’t talking about you. If Maeryn sees you with a swollen eye and a bruised face, what do you think that’s going to do to her?”
“It won’t happen,” the young man in the chair said, his face suddenly rigid. “She’s never seen me after a fight.”
Bette straightened, the topic of their argument suddenly clear. Her Guardian was attempting to protect the emotional state of a female who must be closely connected to both of them.
“What happens when she does see you like this, Jovan?”
Jovan glowered at him. “I can’t protect her from everything.”
“No,” her Guardian agreed. “But you can damn well protect her from your self-destruction.”
Jovan jumped up and out of the chair, his ruffle-spiked hair never moving an inch as he locked his hands together behind his neck. He growled, a low rumble he bit back, then clamped his jaw shut and spoke through gritted teeth, “Why does she have to be so damned breakable?”
“Because she’s broken, Jovan,” he said softly. “If she finds out you’ve been fighting, or that Gian, her friend, goes home bloodied from your fists—”
“I know!” Jovan snapped, his temper getting the best of him, but he pulled it together, seeming almost remorseful as he repeated the words. “I know.”
Leaning her head against the door frame, Bette was completely absorbed. Other than a fleeting exchange here and there with Delmor when he brough
t her food once a month, she’d seen no one, overheard no conversations other than the ones floating around in her own head. To witness two men in a heated exchange, both fully capable of physically damaging the other, but neither willing to take the conversation that far, was riveting.
She drank in their tones, the cadence of their voices, absorbed their mannerisms. Learned them. This Jovan was torn between protecting this female and living his life how he deemed fit. Because he had an internal struggle over this, she could see clearly he was a good man underneath all his bluster. And her Guardian? With every word, each gesture, she could see the care and concern he had for Jovan, as well as the female they spoke of.
“You need to stop fighting,” her Guardian said adamantly. “For her.”
Jovan turned to face him, ready to continue the argument, but his gaze slid over to her. His demeanor changed as he looked at her, a wall instantly put up to guard himself. And though he didn’t look away from her, to her Guardian, he said, “I can’t do this now.”
“Stay and talk to me. I know for a fact you have nothing better to do.”
“No, but you do.” Jovan nodded toward the bedroom where she remained mostly hidden behind the door.
Her Guardian froze, and she could have sworn he grew taller as he turned to face her. Bette held her breath as his eyes landed on her, waited for him to give her some form of encouragement. He didn’t. He only stared.
“Come on out,” Jovan coaxed with a sly grin. “Contrary to rumor, I don’t bite unless you ask nicely.”
Without taking his eyes from hers, her Guardian punched Jovan in the shoulder. She smiled shyly at him as she emerged from his bedroom with sleep-tousled hair and the sheet from his bed wrapped around her. Surprisingly, her lack of attire gave her confidence. Bette imagined she looked much like a rumpled, well-loved goddess gliding toward them. She must be close to the mark because her Guardian had yet to find his tongue.
Gallantly placing a quick kiss to the back of her hand, the younger man introduced himself. “Jovan Nicolen.”
“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Jovan Nicolen,” she said, her voice still raspy from a much-needed sleep.
“You’re not familiar to me, and I would never forget such a lovely face.” Jovan somehow managed to make his inquiry sound flattering, but she recognized the statement as a subtle interrogation.
Bette smiled, the corners of her lips twitching in amusement. She may not be recently practiced in the art of sly aristocratic conversation, but it flooded back to her like any survival instinct. “I’m visiting.”
“I do hope you enjoy your stay here, beauty. Feel free to enjoy my brother as well,” Jovan said with a wink.
She gasped at his blunt words, but recovered quickly with a throaty laugh, turning on a sultry charm she hadn’t realized she possessed. Though she said the words to Jovan, her gaze shifted to her Guardian. “If I may be honest, I’ve enjoyed him very much already.”
“Ha! You just laid it all out there. Oh, we’re keeping you. Nicely done, brother,” Jovan said, clapping her big Guardian hard on the shoulder, the blow barely budging him.
From the corner of her eye she saw Jovan send them a single wave and walk out the door backward, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him, not when her Guardian was intently focused on her.
She smiled at him then, and his gaze dropped to her lips. No one had ever looked at her the way he did now. Desire was certainly in the mix, but it wasn’t that alone. She shivered. That look on his face was consuming, like he was remembering every second of her bite vividly. Oh, this man, with his quiet strength and his searing gaze made her teeth itch to bite him again, and not for sustenance. She would never have to feign attraction to him.
Bette took a small step closer. Her movement brought him back to the present and he cleared his throat, finally finding his voice. “How are you?”
“Lovely. You’ve healed nicely.” Bette stepped right up to him, sheet trailing behind her, until she stood so close she had to tip her head back to look up at him. Reaching out, she stroked the side of his neck, precisely where she’d bitten. With a shy little smile, she dropped her hand and readjusted her grip on the sheet. “I’ve been introduced to your brother, but it’s your name I ought to know.”
“Rollin,” he answered, but somewhat automatically, as if he’d slipped back into his wandering thoughts. “And you?”
“Please, call me Bette.” Bette tentatively placed her hand on his chest, and within the span of the heartbeat she felt beating beneath her palm, he covered her delicate hand with his, held it to him. “Rollin?”
Her hand was completely engulfed by his, and when she gazed back up at him, her lips parted on a soft gasp. He was in need of a different form of communication. Bette could read the desire in his eyes, the longing for reconnection. He intended to kiss her, and while she would accept him, she was surprised to find she anticipated his touch.
* * * *
A knock at the door broke the current sizzling between them. Rollin took a step back, the reality of what he’d been about to do hitting him hard. A few more seconds and he would have crushed her soft lips beneath his, kissed her until she put her hands on him, letting go of his sheet to confirm his suspicions that she wore next to nothing. But Rollin didn’t act on impulse. He took the time to think through possibilities, to calculate scenarios and outcomes. He was cautious, taking care to plan every move he made, but not with her.
Again the light rap on his door echoed through his quiet home. This time it was Bette who took a step back. Clarity had returned to her, too, but along with something else. Her fear. Bette backed away from him, eyes fixed on the door as she clutched the sheet to her so tightly her knuckles turned white.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Rollin said, but he wasn’t quick enough. Her feet tangled in the sheet, and when she teetered, Rollin caught her, his hands firmly gripping her shoulders. He set her upright and gave her arms a reassuring squeeze. “Nothing to be afraid of. I’m expecting someone.”
Her sudden fear bothered him more than he cared to admit. At the moment, she looked like she would run through the wall to escape whatever was on the other side of his door. Funny how his brother’s presence hadn’t flummoxed her, and she seemed exceedingly comfortable with Rollin, but a knock on the door brought every fear and paranoia crashing back down on her.
“I asked a friend to bring you some clothes. I’m sure that’s just her,” he said, but she looked less than convinced. When Bette finally nodded slowly, he turned and went to the door, but that look on her face made him want to reassure her. “I’ll be right back. You’re safe here.”
Rollin slipped out the door, coming face to face with Maeryn. He quickly closed the door behind him, preventing his nosy sister from peeking inside.
“Your bizarre request, as promised,” Maeryn said, handing over a dress draped in a protective plastic. “I came through, so who is she?”
“Her name is Bette,” he whispered, reaching back to grab the doorknob so he could make a quick exit.
Maeryn smacked his arm. Hard. In a harsh, scolding whisper, she said, “Really, Rollin. How could you? Her name and her dress size? That’s all you know?”
“I’m not… Maeryn I didn’t…” Rollin stopped before his fumbling got him into more trouble. “She came to the gates last night and she needed help.”
“You rescued her?” Her eyes brightened instantly. Rollin shook his head, putting a quick stop to Maeryn’s fairytale love stories.
“Securing her safety was easy. Finding her clothing was difficult,” Rollin said, lifting the dress. “You are the one rescuing her, I promise.”
Maeryn beamed. “So I did.”
Footsteps at the end of the quiet corridor drew their attention. Ivan walked toward them. Good. He was hoping for some answers regarding the woman in his home.
“I’ll see you for last meal,
” she muttered, her smile faltering as she tried to make an exit.
Rollin caught her arm and whispered, “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t care for Ivan,” she whispered. “There’s a darkness in him.”
How could Maeryn be at ease with the obvious black chasm in Jovan, but flinch around Ivan? “I don’t see it.”
“You wouldn’t.” Maeryn glanced down the hall to make certain Ivan wasn’t too close. “It’s the way he looks at women. Predatory.”
That explained a lot. If Ivan had this effect on women, no wonder Bette had reached for him instead. He hugged Maeryn and kissed her on the top of her head. “Go on. I’ll see you soon.”
With a quick smile, Maeryn hurried away.
Rollin walked toward Ivan, feeling the need to meet him halfway. “Find anything?”
“Nice dress.” Ivan raised an eyebrow at the dress in Rollin’s arms, then glanced behind him at the door to his home.
Rollin scowled, not caring for Ivan’s obvious train of thought. Still, he didn’t see the predator so apparent to Maeryn. Sometimes he wondered if his sister was too fragile to see good in anyone but her family, but that didn’t mean he would dismiss her fears, or Bette’s gut reaction to Ivan.
“Are you here for a reason?” Rollin asked, impatience sneaking into his tone.
Thumbs hooked into his jean pockets, Ivan laughed silently, then said, “No demon.”
“You didn’t find it?”
“It didn’t exist. No tracks other than hers. She walked in heels from beyond the road headed our way. She tossed the shoes and started running once she was inside the forest. I don’t know what game she’s playing, but I’m glad she’s your problem.”
“Are you sure there were no second set of tracks? If not behind her, then maybe off to the side?”
“I know demons, boy, better than you ever will,” Ivan said, sending him a droll stare. “She either got spooked or she made the whole thing up.”
Rollin nodded. It was easy to forget Ivan had once been a Stalker, walking the world above with the sole purpose of eliminating demons. If he was as good as Stalkers were reported to be, then it was safe to say his conclusion was accurate, and that meant he needed to find out why Bette had come to Balinese.