by Susan Illene
Light dawned in Tormod’s eyes. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“With vampires, one can never be too careful.”
Chapter 11
Cori
It had been one of those days, as if having her truck vandalized the night before wasn’t bad enough. First, a demanding client came into the shop wanting a tattoo in a place it wouldn’t fit. He was followed by a woman who became irate over the fee Cori quoted for the design she wanted. That woman stormed out, claiming she’d go elsewhere. Once Cori finally settled down with an actual customer, it turned out he suffered from hemophilia, which he failed to report. That had been a nightmare. With the man’s blood running freely from his leg and onto her chair, she’d had to make a quick call to 911 to get him help while putting pressure with her other hand to stem the flow. He’d claimed he took precautions, but apparently not enough. Why couldn’t clients admit when they had health problems that could affect their getting a tattoo?
Cori glanced at the clock. It was a few minutes past four, and her next appointment should have arrived already. Considering this was a first-time client, there was a good chance he might not show up at all. It annoyed her that she’d just turned down a potential customer half an hour ago. Cori could have been working on that guy instead and getting paid, but people didn’t care about that when they decided not to come in or at least cancel their appointment.
While she waited to see if the client would arrive late, she wiped down the counters and swept the floors. Asher came in while she cleaned, nodding as he headed toward his booth. He had his headphones on, so she didn’t try talking to him. Music got him into the zone to start work. Cori’s cell phone rang as she swept some grit into a dust pan. She hurried to finish what she was doing and grabbed the phone, finding Melena’s name on the screen.
“What’s up?” she said.
Melena didn’t bother with a greeting. “I need you to come to my office.”
“Now?”
A pause. “The sooner the better if we want to take care of your stalker problem.”
Cori checked the time again, noting her client was now twenty minutes late. He wasn’t coming, and she didn’t have another appointment until six. “Alright, but we have to make it quick.”
“No problem. Do you have a ride?”
She’d almost forgotten her truck was in the shop. “Asher will let me borrow his car.”
“Okay. See you soon.”
***
Patrick was waiting for Cori outside when she arrived downtown. The middle-aged man stood in front of the building where the Department of Homeland Security headquartered their supernatural branch for Fairbanks. She parked the car and hurried across the street toward him. Leave it to Melena to put a lookout on her just in case Griff decided to stage an attack during the day through a human minion.
“Cori,” he said, standing there with his hands in his pockets.
She stopped in front of him. “Patrick.”
He was Emily’s biological father who the teenager just met for the first time earlier in the year. After they reunited, he’d chosen to stay in Fairbanks to get to know his daughter better. Melena and Lucas had been skeptical of him at first, but he’d proven his loyalty, so Mel had offered him a job at DHS. He was a sensor as well, which made him useful for tracking down sups and dispelling harmful magic. Sometimes things got rather hectic, and Melena couldn’t do it all.
Cori still had some reservations about Patrick, but so far he’d proven decent and reliable. These days it was just hard to trust anyone who showed up out of nowhere with a past that was difficult to trace. Emily’s father had made an art out of living off the grid, but to be fair, he’d done it to avoid supernaturals—most of whom still hated sensors and wanted them dead. If not for all the tough groundwork Melena had laid in Fairbanks, it wouldn’t be safe for him in Alaska, either.
“How have you been?” Patrick asked as they made their way toward the building entrance.
The man couldn’t have appeared more average and unassuming if he’d tried. He was about forty years old with a lean build, short brown hair, fair skin, and a freshly shaven face. Today he wore a drab gray suit that did nothing to help fill his lean stature, and the fabric color made his sensor-blue eyes appear dull instead of bright like they were on Melena and Emily. It didn’t require someone with sharp observation skills to figure out this guy hadn’t gotten out much in his life.
Cori gave him a curt smile. “Doing okay.”
“I hope you didn’t have any problems getting here.” He opened the door and gestured for her to go inside. At least he had manners—she’d give him that.
She entered the dim corridor. “I can handle myself.”
The Department of Homeland Security branch didn’t occupy the whole building, so she had to make her way down the hall past a coffee shop, a lawyer’s practice, and a small marketing agency. It was surprisingly quiet, and her boots echoed against the tiles with every step.
When supernaturals first came out, there was a line of irate humans stretching from the DHS door all the way out to the street. People were quick to register complaints about suspicious neighbors and demand protection from the paranormal races. Though Fairbanks had always been a haven with a higher population of sups than most places, one would have thought half the citizens were werewolves, witches, or vampires based on all the sightings and reports. In reality, it was somewhere around five percent—if one counted all the recent arrivals.
“I’m sure you are capable.” Patrick followed her down the corridor. “But a vampire isn’t someone you want to underestimate.”
She glanced back at him and smiled. “Nothing a little C-4 can’t handle.”
His eyes widened. “You don’t intend to…” he began, then paused. “You do realize where you are, and that we don’t condone civilians using explosives for unlawful activities?”
“It’s called sarcasm, Patrick. You should try it sometime,” she replied. Sensors could tell lies from truth, but they had some trouble discerning the difference if someone was joking. His daughter definitely didn’t get her sense of humor from him.
They entered the office and passed by a harried secretary who barely glanced up from her computer screen as she rapidly clacked away at the keyboard. Patrick stopped to talk to the woman, but Cori continued past the desk and down a long hallway toward the private offices. She didn’t need help finding her way around since she’d been there before.
Melena sat at her desk talking on the phone. It was quite a contrast to see the sensor in an official setting compared to how she appeared at home or while battling supernaturals. Melena typically wore jeans and t-shirts, but since she’d begun working at the DHS office, she’d given way to pantsuits while on the job. Right now, she had on a navy blue outfit with a white silk shirt underneath the jacket, and her auburn hair was pulled back into a tight braid. She looked cool, calm, and professional as one might expect of a government agent.
Cori shut the door and took a seat. Melena wasn’t saying much from her end of the call, but the serious expression on her face said it was important.
“It sounds like the situation is contained for now, but let me know if you need any more help.” A minute later, Mel hung up the phone and turned her gaze toward Cori. Lines of stress creased her forehead. “Sorry about that. I meant to meet you outside, but that wasn’t a call I could put off.”
“Anything I should worry about?” Cori asked.
Melena shook her head. “Not really. Other DHS branches call me when they need advice about how to handle something. That was just a situation between two witch covens in Dallas who let their rivalry spill out onto the streets. A few humans got their skin turned blue but nothing serious.”
“So what do you need from me?” Cori didn’t want to take any longer than necessary since they both had other work to do.
The sensor glanced at her computer. “I did some searching and think I’ve found an address for Griff’s father, Martin.” She
spun the screen around. “Does this look familiar?”
Cori leaned forward and scanned the listing. “Yeah, it does.” She clenched her fists. “I should have known Martin wouldn’t have moved. He lives like he’s poorer than dirt, but that man has a crazy amount of money stashed away from when he worked in the oil business. I think he enjoys hoarding his wealth rather than spending it.”
“I don’t suppose you’re up for a road trip?” Melena lifted a brow. “From what I’ve gathered so far, it looks like Griff’s mother is still alive and living there as well.”
Cori tensed, memories of living in that place for the first few months of her marriage flooding her mind. The last time she had been there the house had been falling apart, and Martin had spent nearly every waking moment yelling at his wife. Things couldn’t have gotten any better since then. “Sorry, but I won’t go back there.”
“That bad?”
“Worse—trust me,” Cori said, letting a shudder run through her. She’d become a much stronger woman over the years, but there were some things she still didn’t want to face if she could avoid it. “Like father, like son.”
Melena gave her a sympathetic look. “That’s fine. I can work things out from my end and let you know how it goes.”
“Thanks, Mel. I hate to bother you with this at all…” Cori began.
“Don’t.” The sensor put up a hand. “We both know you’ve helped me out of a few jams since we met, and you’ve never asked for anything in return. This is the least I can do.”
Cori nodded, feeling a little awkward. “Do you need anything else from me?”
“Nope.” Melena stood and gave her a hug. “Just be careful out there, okay?”
“I will, and let me know how it goes with Martin.”
“Absolutely, but do me a favor,” Mel said as Cori started to leave. “Don’t go outside by yourself after dark until we’ve got this situation resolved and don’t let your guard down during the day.”
“I’ll be careful—don’t worry,” she promised, and fled the office.
If Cori could have avoided it, she wouldn’t have told anyone about her problem. For the first time in years, she felt vulnerable and weak. But somehow, she had to get over it. Griff would not win this time even with vampirism on his side. She’d become smarter and stronger, and she’d gained a few powerful friends. All they needed to do was track her ex-husband down, chop off his head, and burn the remains for good measure. It couldn’t be that difficult, right?
Chapter 12
Bartol
He paced his living room, waiting for Tormod to arrive. Lucas had stopped by first thing in the morning to see Bartol. The nephilim had been in a rush to get to the nerou compound, but he’d had some information to impart first. They’d verified the address for Griff’s parents and needed someone to go to the house and speak with them. Melena had already driven by the place last night and didn’t sense any vampires in the area, but the couple could still know something about their son or at least have a semi-recent picture of him. Lucas claimed he and his brother’s schedules were too busy at the moment to handle it.
Bartol doubted their excuse, but he only hesitated a moment before agreeing. He wanted to meet the man who’d created the monster harassing Cori. And since it could prove a useful training tool, they’d decided Tormod would come along as well after the nerou finished his morning exercises. That had been almost four hours ago.
Bartol was surprised by how much he itched to leave his home, especially so he could meet a human he didn’t know. For the past few months, he’d wanted nothing more than to live a solitary existence far from people. Nothing had interested him beyond basic necessities until now.
But the idea of Cori being in danger set off a strange primal instinct to protect her in every way he could. Even before his stint in Purgatory, he could not remember a time when he felt this way about any woman. What was it about her that made him care? He couldn’t possibly have any feelings for her since they fought more than they got along. Bartol had even managed to avoid kissing her again despite her best efforts to coerce him. Having said that, he did appreciate the soft woman underneath the hard exterior, and he hated to see fear in her eyes. Those brief flashes he’d caught of her feeling vulnerable were enough to wrench his gut.
Griff had done that to her, and because of that, the man needed to be stopped by any means necessary. Only after he was gone could Bartol go back to living his secluded life and get away from Cori’s constant flirting. What did that woman see in him anyway?
Tormod flashed into the living room.
“Are you ready?” Bartol asked.
The nerou nodded. He’d donned a pair of jeans and a gray t-shirt for their day’s activities, and he’d left his shaggy hair unkempt. Tormod had a way of making himself seem small and insignificant despite the fact he stood over six feet tall and had a muscular build. The young man was already powerful, but one day he’d grow strong enough that few—if any—would be able to stop him.
“Lucas showed me a map of where we’re supposed to go,” Tormod informed him.
Likely the same one he’d shown Bartol. “Good. Then you can flash there without my help.”
The nerou grinned. “This is going to be fun.”
“As long as you follow the rules.” Bartol glared at him until he stopped smiling and ducked his head.
“Lucas told me,” Tormod said, voice somber this time. “I’m not supposed to do anything without your permission.”
“Exactly.”
After giving him a few more instructions, Bartol flashed away. The house where Martin—Griff’s father—lived wasn’t too far and only took a moment to reach. Bartol made himself invisible to humans so that no one would note his arrival, certain Tormod would do the same. It was always best to observe a place unobtrusively first before approaching it.
Martin Landry lived in a small one-story home. It had gray siding that had rotted away in several sections, a roof with black trash bags stapled down in a couple of spots, and a one-car garage with a large dent in the door. Random junk also filled the yard, including rusted metal springs, flat tires stacked on top of each other, and a barbecue grill lying on its side. Tall grass grew around the debris as if it was doing its best to hide the mess. Lucas had mentioned the place was a dump, but this was worse than Bartol could have imagined.
A beat-up red truck was parked in front of the garage. Mud caked the sides and the front fender hung crooked, but all the tires were inflated and the windshield wasn’t too filthy, so it probably still ran. One thing was for certain, the man who lived here clearly didn’t care about appearances or cleanliness. How had Cori married into such a family?
All of this ran through Bartol’s mind during the first few seconds of his arrival before Tormod appeared next to him. The nerou’s eyes rounded on the home. It was in a neighborhood, but the houses along this particular street sat on lots of land that were at least half an acre in size or larger. Most were spaced far apart with trees and brush dividing them, which gave a certain semblance of privacy for the residents.
“Does someone actually live there?” Tormod asked, drawing his brows together. Because he was part sensor, he could pick up on supernaturals within a short distance, but he could not detect humans unless they were very close and emitting strong emotions.
“It appears so.”
The nerou shook his head. “I suppose there are all kinds of humans in the world.”
“It would be boring if there weren’t.” At least, that was how Bartol used to think when he still enjoyed socializing and traveling.
“True,” Tormod agreed.
Since the nerou didn’t mention sensing a vampire anywhere nearby, Bartol assumed Griff wasn’t inside. Martin, a human man in his sixties, would hardly present a challenge to two immortals. The wife probably wouldn’t be a problem at all.
Bartol made his body visible again and waited for Tormod to do the same. “Let’s go.”
They approached the
house, moving in confident strides. Bartol’s gaze caught on a small window where the curtain had been pulled back. Someone was already aware of their presence, but he didn’t think the person was a man. Despite the darkened interior, he thought he caught the pale face of a woman staring at them.
“She’s scared,” Tormod whispered.
Bartol hurried up the front steps. “But is she scared of us?”
“No idea.”
He knocked on the door. Not more than a moment passed before a frail woman in her late fifties with white-blond hair answered the door. Tormod had been right about her. No one could miss the apprehension in this woman’s reddened and puffy eyes, or the way she hunched over slightly as if she expected to be hit at any moment. She wore a white short-sleeve blouse with frayed lace at the edges and black stretch pants. Bartol noted bruises on her upper arms that could have easily matched a man’s fingerprints. Some might think the suffering he’d endured in Purgatory would make him less sympathetic to another’s pain, but if anything, it only made him more sensitive to it.
He ground his jaw and forced himself to push down the rage tightening his muscles. The last thing he wanted was to scare this woman even further. “Is Martin Landry here?”
“Yes.” She gave a hesitant glance over her shoulder. “My husband has, uh, just laid down for a nap. What is this about?”
“Are you his wife?” Bartol asked.
She nodded. The weariness of too many years of being married to a cruel man must have weighed on her thin shoulders. It was written all over her face and in the way she held herself. Bartol wished he could take her somewhere safe right then.
“We’re looking for your son,” Tormod said, his tone easy and gentle. He had to know what the woman was feeling with his abilities, but his sensitivity came as a surprise.
Her brows creased. “Which one?”
“Griff,” Bartol answered.