by Jen Colly
“I don’t understand,” he said, her attention returning to him as his words tumbled through her mind.
Oh, dear. She’d spoken aloud again. How to distract a man… Bette grinned mischievously, quirked an eyebrow, and said, “I’ll answer your questions, if you answer mine.”
“All right. I don’t mind playing along. Ladies first.”
“Lovely.” Clasping her hands together, she leaned forward over the counter, and without a trace of embarrassment, she asked, “Who removed my gown?”
“I did,” he answered. Though she’d known this to be true, Bette gasped in surprise. He shrugged one shoulder as if it was no big deal, but his cheeks flushed slightly. “What city are you from?”
Bette met his steady gaze, determined to be as open as she could within this deception. “Valenna.”
“Why leave your city? Do you seek sanctuary from crimes?”
“No. Oh, no.” She smiled brilliantly at him, and when confusion crossed his features, she added, “It’s my turn.”
He conceded with a short nod.
“Do explain the painted lampshade on your dresser.”
Rollin grinned. A big, genuine grin that spread across his face and stayed there. “Oriana made that for me in school when she was…maybe six. I still can’t get that girl to create for the sake of creation. She’d rather inflict her style on unsuspecting objects.”
“The rug in your room,” she said with sudden understanding.
He nodded deeply. “This year’s masterpiece. Somehow she tied and interlocked scrap fabric together.”
Rollin went on about that rug and all the time Oriana spent finding this perfect blue fabric with tiny gold stars and crescent moons. Bette hung on his every word, savoring the simplicity of conversation and the sound of a voice in the air other than her own.
Propping her chin on her hand, fully absorbed in his tale, she asked, “And who is Oriana?”
“A friend,” he answered, but didn’t elaborate.
Whoever this girl was, she was special to Rollin. Her question had made him instantly guarded. Neither seemed to know how to proceed. He’d given more than he’d wanted to, that much was clear, so Bette pointed to him. “It’s your turn.”
“I can’t seem to think of a good one.” His gaze fell back to his mug, back to whatever needed mulling over. Suddenly he snapped out of it, grabbed both mugs and dumped them in the sink, then said, “It’ll have to wait anyway. You need something better to wear. Are you ready?”
Bette nodded and followed him to the door, but when he reached for the knob panic rose from the pit of her stomach to choke out her words. She lunged for him, grabbed hold of his arm, and did everything in her meager power to stop him from opening the door. The idea of leaving the safety of Rollin’s home and actually doing it were apparently two drastically different things in her psyche. Anxiety ruled her, and she dug her fingers into Rollin’s arm in desperation.
He moved with her, allowing her to pull him back toward the couch. His hand covered hers, the heated contact almost as soothing as his voice. “Are you okay? We don’t have to go anywhere if you don’t want to.”
She didn’t have an explanation. It wasn’t rational. “I want to go, but I…”
“Stay right here,” he said, and she released his arm so he could move freely. “I’m only going to open the door.”
As he stepped toward the door she reached for him, afraid he would leave her. True to his word, he only opened the door. Clasping her hands together beneath her chin, she stepped back, uncertain of what waited on the other side. Only a solid wall of brick came into view. A variety of oranges and reds in no particular pattern bound together with mortar. Bits of brick flakes lay on the sealed cement floor where it met the wall. To his credit, he didn’t drag her out the door or try to convince her it was all in her head, that she had nothing to fear.
Rollin leaned against the doorjamb, one foot in and one foot out of his home. He seemed so relaxed, so unconcerned with what waited beyond that she almost believed he had some guarantee. Maybe he did.
He suddenly stuck his head out into the hall and waved at some unknown person, a friendly smile on his face. Bette remained still, watching him intently.
Crossing his arms over his chest, Rollin turned his gaze to her. “You missed it, you know?”
“Missed what?” she asked, relieved to find she still had a voice.
“The city.” He smiled, and that grin of his was devastating, warm and inviting. Rollin pointed his thumb toward the hallway. “Granted, it’s not very pretty outside my door, but the first few floors are fairly spectacular.”
“I’ve never been here before,” she admitted, then suddenly realized she’d never actually been given any form of confirmation. “I am in Balinese, correct?”
“You are,” he said.
“I meant to come here,” she said, more to herself than to him. “And I did.”
“Yes. You did,” Rollin said. “Why come all this way and not even take a single step into the hall? Seems like a wasted trip.”
Again she eyed the open door warily. She’d desired her freedom for years, and now that she’d obtained the impossible, she was afraid she wouldn’t remember how to function outside of confinement.
“No reason we have to go anywhere. We can stand right here in the doorway facing each other.” When she hesitated, he whispered as if imparting a secret plan. “I’ll watch your back, and you watch mine.”
Bette took her bottom lip between her teeth and inched a step closer. “I wouldn’t be any help. What if…”
“I trust you to warn me if something suspicious happens behind me,” he said.
“You do?” she asked softly.
He nodded without hesitation. Oh, this man. So confident and controlled. Had anything ever not gone his way? Couldn’t he see the possibilities of danger outside his door? His gaze on her was steady, encouraging, and she considered for a moment that his surety might well be misplaced. Did male pride keep him from seeing reality? Or was his reality truly that much different from what she’d lived these past years?
Slowly, Bette made her way to him. Her curiosity eventually got the better of her and she worked up the courage to face Rollin in the doorway, pressing her back against the doorjamb.
The tranquil silence of the hall helped ease the tension knotting her stomach. Every few seconds Rollin would glance down the hall, doing as he promised, though for the most part, he watched her.
Cautiously, she leaned out to look down the hall and keep her part of the bargain, and was immediately assailed by an overabundance of orange brick. A woman walked toward them, her arms loaded down with bags, and Bette gasped.
“Do you see someone?” he asked, not turning his head to look for himself. He trusted her.
“A woman,” she said, her voice hushed. “There’s a woman behind you.”
“Should I kill her?” he asked, slipping a knife at his waist halfway from its sheath.
Bette lunged for his hand, pushing with all her might to return the knife to its home. Aghast at his suggestion, she opened her mouth to scold him good, but when she caught the small smile in his eyes, she realized he only teased her.
“Oh, you,” she said, smacking his wrist before returning to her spot.
Glancing out into the hall again, she kept an eye on the woman. A large paper bag in each hand and several more hanging on her arms, the woman struggled to keep the bags from slipping. The woman tripped, then righted herself under the weight of the bags. Bette tipped her head, studying the female.
“I doubt you’ll have to intervene,” Bette said. “She’s well on the way to killing herself.”
“What?” Rollin turned to see what was happening and let out a frustrated, but somewhat quiet growl, then muttered, “Damn it, Madolynda.”
He raced up the hall to Madolynda
and scooped most of the bags from the small woman’s hands. Bette could do nothing but stare as he disappeared into the woman’s home with his arms full of groceries. Rollin couldn’t have been out of sight for more than thirty full seconds, but she felt each one drag on as she scanned the hall in both directions, waiting for him to reappear.
“If those boys of yours are going to eat that much food, then they need to carry it home. They’re not your sweet, helpless babies anymore,” Rollin said as he backed out of Madolynda’s home. He shut her door, then strode back to her with a smile on his face. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to desert you, but I see you lived.”
“I did, thank you.” She looked up at him, awed to find herself still at ease with such an imposing man. “That woman is the only other person I’ve seen. Is it normally this quiet?”
He settled back into his former position facing her. “Depends on the time. When I leave for work it’s quiet, but if you find yourself in this hall when school is about to start, you’ll get plowed over by about a dozen eight-year-old kids running late.”
Bette’s gaze went straight to the hall, desperately hoping to see children. Her child might grow up here, run through these halls, chase friends on the way to school. A sweet little girl with her smile? A rambunctious boy with his father’s hulking size and strength? Hope, bright and joyous, brought visions of a good future.
“Bette?”
“I want to trust you,” she said, the thought spilling past her lips before she could stop the words. Her previous experiences with men and city corridors warred with her very real longing to be under the protection of this kindhearted, colossal man.
Rollin held out his hand. “Then trust me.”
Chapter 10
Balinese
Bette slipped her hand into his, peering up at him with wide, inquisitive eyes. This was a leap of faith for her, he could see that clearly, and as he led her out the door, she walked close to his side, as if just touching him was a guarantee of protection. In fact, she didn’t seem to have a need for personal space, though he could hardly complain.
“No one, demon or vampire, would dare harm you under my protection,” he said.
“Really?” she asked, her eyes bright and hopeful.
A man could get used to that trusting, tender gaze of hers. “Promise.”
“I like promises,” she said with a shy smile, stroking his arm and smoothing out the sleeve she’d wrinkled under her fearful grip.
That familiar phrase hit Rollin. Did she even realize she’d said those same words to him once before? She’d been semi-conscious at the time, so possibly not. Of course, the other end of this revelation was that he made promises more often than he’d realized. He’d have to be more cautious.
She didn’t speak as they walked, and though her nerves seemed to have settled, she remained alert, flinching at the common sounds of his corridor that no longer caught his attention.
He led her down several corridors, turning left and right without conscious thought, not bothering to explain the route to her. Balinese had an odd structural set up. After centuries of being expanded and deepened, adding corridors, staggering the levels to distribute the weight, Balinese was the sort of city one just had to learn.
Keenly observant though she was, Bette had no interest in the city. When not lost in her thoughts, she rarely looked away from him, as if he were a curiosity she couldn’t quite appease. Through the entire length of one corridor, she watched her thumb sliding over his arm, then out of the blue gazed up at him as if he were her personal hero. Both did a funny number on his stomach, but it was the way she read him like a damn book that left him feeling bare.
The sadness she’d recognized in him came from a very real place. This was the first time he’d missed having coffee with Cat. When Cat had first taken charge of him and the other four orphaned children, she would sit with him before she began her day. Sometimes they would talk, other times they sat in silence. He’d needed that. Not attention or conversation, but the opportunity. Eventually they’d added coffee to the routine. Over the years, having coffee had become code for their time to be themselves without acting like parents to the others. Maintaining that connection with her since he’d moved out had been vital to him, keeping him grounded.
But then Bette had called him the moral compass. What if it was the other way around? He who kept his family grounded? He hadn’t thought about it in that sense before, but maybe it was true. At times, it seemed he put more time into shepherding his siblings than he did safeguarding the citizens of Balinese. To have his efforts recognized was…gratifying.
Truth be told, Rollin was the one who had convinced Cat to stop drinking coffee and to stop carrying around more than a single weapon. Oh, Navarre would have eventually convinced her to do all those things, but the first priority had been convincing Cat to relinquish her position as High Justice.
How had Bette pegged him so accurately? She didn’t know him, had no idea what he’d been through, couldn’t possibly guess that he’d been a surrogate parent for the last ten years.
When she once again turned her focus to her hand resting on his forearm, he watched her lips twitch, fighting a smile. He led her into the elevator, and as the doors slid together, Bette relaxed at his side. Her shoulders dropped and he actually felt the tension leave her.
“After racing through the forest near dawn, I wouldn’t think a walk through the corridors would be as adventurous.”
“Yes, well, I’d rather not see that forest again.” Bette gave his forearm a subtle squeeze. “No more adventures for me, thank you.”
“With so much of the world to see, how can you be sure?” Rollin teased, hitting the button for the second floor.
Bette laughed. “Oh, my young Guardian, I don’t need to see all of the world to know it’s not for me.”
He smiled, but his heart wasn’t in it. She must have caught the slight change because she was suddenly serious, her hand on his biceps as she gazed up at him. “Am I wrong?”
“No. I’m young.” He cleared his throat, preparing for the truth, and the scrutiny that always followed. “Twenty-two.”
“But you don’t feel young,” she said, a simple statement rather than a question. Her words surprised him, but her hand settling over his sternum momentarily stopped his breath. “Not in your heart.”
He looked into those beautiful eyes of hers and shook his head. “Never have.”
“Good. I wouldn’t know what to do with youth.” she said, her smile genuine. Brilliant. And then her gaze drifted to his lips. “However, I know exactly what to do with a man.”
Rollin didn’t stop to think through his actions. Cupping her head, he brought her fully to him. Head tilted back and eyes closed, she waited for his kiss. So willing. How had she brought him to this point? For the second time?
Her insinuation had tripped a sudden need in him, and he’d almost acted impulsively. His gaze fixed on her parted, waiting lips. Hands on his waist, she curled her fingers, taking hold of his shirt and tugging him closer as she balanced on her tiptoes to meet him halfway. Rollin had barely stopped himself from following through, from tasting the kiss she clearly offered, but if raw instinct had brought him this far…
The elevator doors slid open and Rollin dropped his hand. “We should go.”
Bette blinked in confusion at his words. As she took his arm once again, he got the distinct impression she was disappointed in his lack of follow through. He couldn’t start something with this woman, not when he knew so little about her, about her intentions in the city where his family lived. Several pieces of the puzzle didn’t fit together, and he couldn’t take the chance he might lose sight of what was important. Fitting together the truths, weeding out the lies, and finding out for certain what her purpose was in coming to Balinese.
The hustle and bustle of the second floor was in full swing, and as they stepped f
rom the elevator, two men nearly clipped them. A frightened cry escaped Bette just as she latched onto him, throwing her arms around his waist and squeezing tight.
“It was only a couple Guardians,” Rollin said. He tried to look her in the eye, but she’d pressed her face against his ribs. “They’re probably on their way to help someone.”
“I’m sorry, I hadn’t meant to…” Bette reluctantly released him, though her hands still trembled.
“I don’t mind.” Rollin tucked her hand back under his arm.
Her startled response had been genuine, as was her desperate need for protection. That would normally make sense after what she claimed she’d been through. Bette was anything but normal. Rollin was fairly certain she was an aristocrat. Her mannerisms were refined. Not only proper, but practiced. Ingrained. She exuded confidence, wisdom, but to be brought to fear by the passing of Guardians didn’t make sense. Especially now that there hadn’t been any demons in the forest.
They rounded the corner, the corridor here wide, and she gasped again. His first instinct was to reach out and shield her, but she pulled him forward, into a corridor lovingly named the Boulevard.
This long, wide corridor featured shop after shop nestled between large Romanesque pillars connecting overhead with detailed reliefs squeezed into the small, almost triangular panels near the ceiling.
Rollin nearly smiled. Bette was tugging him toward his intended destination, the glass teardrops in the window front glinting in the light as they neared. The Allix.
“Rollin!” Allix called, as they crossed the threshold of her shop.
She floated toward them, no doubt wearing one of her own creations. The black, Victorian-inspired gown had been redesigned with a sleek look, the black collar high and tied off with a satin bow on her right side. White ruffled lace filled the gap between the collar and her neck, setting off the fact that her lustrous black curls were piled high on her head.
“We need your help, Allix,” Rollin said.
Arms wide, white lace hanging from her wrists, Allix captured him in a friendly embrace. “Never, my darling, did I expect to see you here.”