Sheltered

by Jen Colly

  “Why?”

  “I can’t stay.” She answered the voice that hadn’t come from inside her head. Or maybe it had. How quickly she’d reverted to talking to herself. Perhaps this time her sanity was gone for good. She shouldn’t have to remind herself why she was leaving when she still felt the grief of losing Rollin. “You know you can’t stay. I can’t stay. I can’t…”

  “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

  “I’ll always be alone,” Bette said, her whispered voice shaky. She sat tall and brushed the tears off her cheek, holding up her hand and inspecting the glistening drops. “Tears. I hoped I’d never see you again.”

  “What about me?” A deep voice said loudly from behind her. The voice sounded real. So much like Rollin. “Did you ever want to see me again?”

  “I see you every time I close my eyes,” she whispered, tipping her face up to the night sky.

  “Bette,” Rollin said, a commanding edge to his tone. “Turn around.”

  She could never refuse Rollin, and it seemed she couldn’t deny this hallucination of him either. Bette glanced over her shoulder, a small gasp escaping when she saw her Guardian. Perhaps her slipping mind would help her in the end. With Rollin’s apparition here at her side, she might finally have the courage to leave.

  Rollin shifted his stance in the center of the narrow path, and a twig snapped underfoot. Illusions can’t break branches.

  “Rollin?” she asked tentatively. “Are you really here?”

  “I’m here,” he said, but he didn’t come closer. “You’re not leaving the city. You’re leaving me. Why?”

  “You’re not mine,” Bette said, pressing her hand against her stomach in an effort to steady her voice, strengthen her resolve. “And I’m not yours. You know I’m not. We’re not fated.”

  “Like hell we’re not,” Rollin said, coming toward her, but when she shook her head, he stopped. “Any chance of happiness with whoever my fated mate might be is already ruined. She could be the next female I walk past, but it wouldn’t matter, because I won’t be looking. Bette, fated or not, I am yours.”

  “I used you.”

  His head jerked back like he’d been smacked. The blatant truth stung, and after a moment, he asked, “What am I to you?”

  “My escape from death,” she said, looking up at him through watery eyes.

  “Death? Then Valenna does hunt you. You needed protection.”

  “No.” She shook her head, looking down at her hands to avoid his penetrating gaze. “I came to Balinese because the sun is calling me home.”

  “Balinese cannot save you from the sun,” he said, and when he paused she could sense his gaze on her. “You show no signs of the sun’s hold on you, no tremors, no sleeplessness.”

  “I did. The need to embrace the bright and blinding light of the sun was great, and there were times I found myself with my hand on the doorknob, already on my way above.” She stared at her fingers, caught in the memories of the days and nights before she’d run from Valenna.

  “Is that why you’re here? Does it call you now?”

  “Not exactly.” He needed an explanation, she understood that, but in her current frazzled state she was having a difficult time reading him. She couldn’t tell if he was looking for a reason to hate her, or hoping to understand her logic. “Only one thought gave me hope. A child. My child. I’d intended to seduce the first Guardian I encountered. If I could convince him to give me his mark, I could conceive.”

  “You wanted to trap a man into mating you. How could you consider doing that after what you’ve been through?”

  “I wanted to live, to hold my child in my arms. I’d hoped to care for my mate by the time the child was old enough for the call of the sun to return.” Bette cringed at hearing her plan spoken out loud. “I’m sorry. I was close to death, and not in my right mind. Everything sounded so reasonable, logical, in my head.”

  He’d shifted deeply into thought again, and with each passing second, she expected him to turn and walk away, but he didn’t. “You could have chosen Ivan,” he said, the realization seeming to suddenly hit him.

  She looked up, completely confused by the unfamiliar name. “Ivan?”

  “The other Guardian standing post with me that night.” Rollin crossed his arms over his chest, his intense gaze studying her every move, soaking in every word. He was making a decision about her. She could sense it. This was the Guardian in him coming out. “Ivan would have taken you in.”

  “No,” she said, staring off at some distant, non-existent point, remembering the way that man had looked at her. “He frightened me.”

  “And me?”

  “I only had a handful of hours until the sun rose for the day, and your eyes were kind. Reassuring. I needed that.” Bette hated the ugly fact that Rollin had been a spur of the moment choice between two men. “I can’t change the circumstances that brought me to you, and please know that everything I did tell you was true, every moment we shared was honest, but… Understand that I came to care for you.”

  “Were you not supposed to?”

  “I didn’t think it was possible. I’d hoped, but…”

  The silence that lingered between them was painful, the beginning of the end. Rollin said nothing, his gaze on the ground, his arms crossed over his chest as if he guarded himself. It was better this way, good that he’d followed her. It had been difficult to leave knowing he would forever wonder what had happened to her, if she’d ever truly cared for him. She didn’t want to do that to him.

  Rollin cleared his throat, the sound making her jump. “So now you’re leaving, without a child to ensure you have the will to live, without giving yourself the chance to fall in love.”

  “I want—” Bette clamped her mouth shut. What she wanted wouldn’t help anything in this moment. “It’s best if I leave.”

  Rollin flinched at her words. He was hurting. She’d hurt him. God, this was killing her.

  “Why not stay and have those things with me?”

  She opened her mouth to answer, paused for the briefest moment, then said, “I’m not your fated mate.”

  Rollin snapped to attention, suddenly intent as he took a short step toward her. “Maybe so, but that’s not why you’re leaving. Out with it.”

  She wanted to stand and face him fully, but her legs didn’t have the strength. “You’ve been named the heir to Balinese. I didn’t know you were the heir. I swear I didn’t. Rollin, I’m so sorry.”

  “Funny, but that would be the reason any other woman would stay.”

  She shook her head sharply, several strands of her hair sticking to her damp cheeks. “If I stayed with you, then every time you looked at me you’d wonder if I wheedled my way into your life just to sit at your side as Lady of Balinese. That was never my intention, and I can tell you that time and again, but you will never know the truth.”

  “You forget how well I know you,” Rollin said, his confidence in his words absolute. “I can see when you’re lying. When you’re telling the truth. And I’m well aware you didn’t know I was heir before tonight. I believe you.”

  “Rollin, you can’t just say you believe me and go back to the way we were,” she insisted.

  “Why not? All that’s changed is now I have the truth.” She wanted to stop him right there, but he wasn’t backing down. Rollin pointed to her and announced, “You love me, Bette. I know you do, because if you didn’t, you wouldn’t be up here putting me and the city I love before yourself.”

  “But I…”

  “No, I’m not done. You never pushed for me to mark you, not once. When we were together, that was not your goal, and you are not with child. Nothing unforgivable passed between us.”

  “But everything has changed. I don’t need a child to crave life, not anymore,” she said, a sob escaping before she could rein it back. “I need you.”
>
  “You have me, Bette. I’m here.” He took her face in his hands, brushing the tears off her cheeks with his thumbs. “How is that not fate?”

  “How can you even look at me after I’ve lied to you?”

  “You’re a bad liar, Bette. I think I caught most of them as they passed your lips. I just didn’t know why you had to bend the truth until now.” When she finally looked up at Rollin, he said, “I’m not letting you go. I love you.”

  Her breath left her in a rush, caught off guard by his confession. This was it, that moment she’d never thought to have in her long life, the only thing worth living for. Love. Rollin.

  Bette launched herself at him, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him tight. He grunted on impact, then his deep laugh rumbled through the trees, through her.

  “This mean you’re not letting go either?” he asked.

  “Are you certain this is what you want?” Bette pulled away, needing to see his face when he answered.

  “Come home, Bette,” he said, looking up at her with an adoration that made her melt. “Come home with me.”

  “When you look at me that way, you save me all over again,” she said, the short whiskers of his cheeks abrading her palms as she took his face in her hands. “I do love you, Rollin. You are, and will always be, my Guardian.”

  Epilogue

  Paris

  The Stalker Lord leaned against a building inside an alleyway, arms crossed over his chest, waiting. Listening. A young vampire had entered his Paris tonight, and he wanted to find out why.

  He was comfortable here in the darkness between the streetlamps. He’d found, over his long life, that keeping to the shadows and gleaning information provided more truth than direct questioning, just as it had tonight.

  An observational guess placed the vampire as a grown man, but it was impossible to deny the glimpses of youthful inexperience. He’d either never been above ground, or perhaps to Paris, or maybe he was particularly young.

  The sword strapped to his waist was high quality and he carried it with confidence, suggesting he could use the weapon. And by the way he was mapping the city he clearly had yet to understand, it would seem he hunted someone. The question was, had he brought the sword for protection, or execution?

  Cormac Fadden took the subject of execution most seriously. This was his domain. His Stalkers were brilliant at eliminating demon threats with stealth and accuracy, following his orders without question. But occasionally some young hotshot with grand ideas ventured into his world, refusing to play by the rules. Rogue Stalkers weren’t as rare as most thought, but as long as they followed his rules, he didn’t require them to report to him. In general, Cormac left them alone. There was a certain advantage to demons believing some Stalkers had gone rogue. A healthy stock of rogues did have its downfall, however, and he’d had to put down a few misguided Stalkers who thought to eradicate the demon species with extreme prejudice.

  Eliminating demons was not the purpose of his Stalkers. Their primary job was to shield the human race from the existence of vampires and demons. In truth, this secrecy kept all three species alive and thriving. If keeping their existence a secret meant the death of a vampire, demon, or even human, then so be it. A life or two sacrificed to protect tens of thousands around the world, including women and children, was well worthwhile.

  Footsteps approached, and Cormac slid effortlessly into Spirit. After all these years, maneuvering his Spirit had become more instinctual, and not as much intentional.

  As the young vampire turned to face the source of the sound, a solitary form passed by Cormac, and glancing into the alley, he could see clearly the face of a female beneath the hooded cloak she wore. A sly smile crossed her lips, and she continued without a second glance back. Had she sensed him there?

  He hadn’t recognized her beneath that cloak, but the smile she directed at him suggested otherwise. Studying her as she walked away, he searched for identifying markers. A flurry of soft, padded steps hurried after her, the large black feline shadow trailing after her. He did know her. Her movements were off, slower and more cautious, but then she snapped her fingers.

  The woman and the panther. She’d been a rogue, her faithful pet always within striking distance. They’d been the most capable and dangerous pair he’d come across. When she’d first arrived in Paris, he’d spent weeks watching her, amazed at the skill she’d possessed at such a young age. Never once had he needed to guide her, or intervene. She was shrewd, vigilant, and lethal.

  When she’d walked into his world years ago, she hadn’t had a name. Now she was Cat Casteel, the Lady of Balinese, and for her to have returned to his Paris was an abnormality he didn’t trust.

  The young man faced her. No fear. Not even a guarded stance. If anything, he was itching for this challenge. Interesting.

  “Jovan,” Cat said curtly as she and the panther stopped before him.

  Ah. This was Jovan Nicolen, third heir to Balinese. The title had recently been announced, but Cormac had connections, knowledge beyond what any normal vampire could ever gain. Then again, Cormac was far from normal.

  Jovan’s eyes settled on her stomach, brows creasing a quick second before he asked, “Did you…”

  “Her name is Josette.”

  He nodded. “Good. That’s good.”

  “Why are you here?

  “You know why. Rollin let that demon go. I can’t forgive like him. I’m not him.” Head bent, Jovan scratched his fingers through his hair roughly, then with a finite intensity, said, “I need to find Dulcina.”

  Her stance changed so swiftly the panther noticed, swinging his large head around, jaw hanging open as he searched the night. There was a coldness in her eyes, a warrior calm the Stalker Lord hadn’t seen in her since before Navarre had come into her life. She stood before Jovan now, not as the Lady of Balinese, or even as his mother, but as Cat.

  Quick as striking snake, Cat took Jovan’s jaw in her hand and held it firmly, making it perfectly clear she would say her piece and he would hear every word.

  “Dulcina is different than you and I. She hates because they are demon. We hate because of what they did to us, what they took from us. You and I, we are blinded by that hate. When we’re blind, we lose our way. If you’re not careful, this hate will lead you to your grave.”

  “It festers inside me.” Jovan thumped his chest, and even from a distance Cormac could hear the pain in the young man’s voice. “If I stay, this hate will burn through me, and anyone else who gets too close.”

  “Maeryn,” Cat said with a sudden realization. “Is this even about the demon?”

  Jovan didn’t fight her hold, standing like a man and answering for his actions, his choices. “You’re right. I’m blind. I can’t even see through this rage to figure out who I am. If I stay, I’ll hurt her.”

  “She’s hurting now,” Cat said.

  “It’ll be far worse if I stay. I have to get out while I can.” Still trapped in her grip, Jovan looked her in the eye, and in a guarded tone, asked, “You here to drag me back?”

  “No. Believe it or not, I understand you more than anyone else ever could.” Cat released his chin, but stroked his cheek lovingly, the touch of a mother saying goodbye. “Nothing would make me more proud than to know you’ve killed every last one, but use your head. You’re in their world.” And just as suddenly as she had appeared, she was gone. The flick of the panther’s tail the only signal to mark the direction she’d fled. Jovan shook his head, an apparent smile of disbelief curling his lips for one brief moment. Then he walked away, a renewed confidence in his step.

  Cormac watched the boy until he vanished around the corner. He was well aware that Cat had trained her foster children, and Dulcina was a fine example. With any luck, Jovan will prove as resourceful.

  “Another royal to cosset?” Rafe asked, his thick Spanish accent curling his
disgruntled words. Words belonging to a man he couldn’t see.

  Cormac dropped out of his Spirit, resuming his position against the alley wall. He didn’t bother to look around for his assassin. Chances were, Rafe didn’t want to be seen. For two men who loathed interacting with others, they accomplished a great deal together. The Spaniard was the closest thing Cormac had to a friend, if only because their relationship was based on trust.

  Not much amused Cormac, but once in a while he wondered what someone would think listening in on a conversation between he and Rafe. The Spaniard’s rolling words opposite a Scotsman’s heavy brogue.

  “Aye. The count sets at three royals,” Cormac said, making an effort to curb his naturally loud voice. “Pray he’s as capable as Dulcina.”

  Rafe slipped out of his Spirit form, hands in his pockets, his ridiculously long black coat swept behind his forearms. The black buttons lining both sides of his coat glinted in the streetlight, as did the silver phoenix belt buckle. Between the coat, his curling dark hair, and that calculating stare, it was no wonder those who caught a rare glimpse of him called him the Wraith.

  “Three?” Rafe asked. “Another to join the wayward heirs of Balinese?”

  “He’s been under our noses for o’er a decade. Maybe two.” Cormac shrugged. “Time bleeds together.”

  “He’s survived this long,” Rafe said as he glanced around the corner. “Why bother?”

  “Now he’s go’ a price on his head.”

  “Verdad?” Rafe’s eyebrow twitched in interest as he fell into his native tongue, and while Cormac didn’t always know what was said, he was surprisingly good at guessing.

  “Do no’ even consider it,” Cormac said, but Rafe wasn’t serious. “You work for me.”

  “For now,” Rafe said with an easy shrug. Flipping his coat back with an excessive amount of flare to reveal the deadly blade beneath, he asked, “In whose shadow do I walk?”