by Susan Illene
She lifted her head, giving him a hurt and accusing look. “Why would you go through my stuff?”
“I was curious,” he admitted, coming closer. There was surprise in his expression, as if this was not the response he’d expected.
Her gaze fell on the portrait again. She hadn’t looked at it in years, even when she’d moved into the cabin. It was the last one she’d painted of Faith before her little girl died. There was a reason Cori didn’t keep photos of her daughter out in the open and stored most of them at her mother’s place. Seeing them sent her into a dark place every time.
Tears glazed her eyes as memories of Faith flooded her. Her knees buckled, and she started to fall into the broken shards of her coffee mug. Bartol caught her just before she reached the floor and swept her into his arms. She dazedly recalled that this was the second time in two days he’d done that. As she rested her head on his shoulder, she noted his body was tense but that he still kept her as close as possible. He headed for the couch and gently laid her down across it.
“I’m sorry,” he said, lifting her head to put a pillow under it. “I had no idea you’d react that way about your daughter.”
Cori squeezed her eyes shut. “I can’t talk about her. It’s too painful.”
She’d thought confessing everything to Melena had made things better, but she’d been wrong. It only started the healing process and then Griff had stalled it with his continued attacks on her. Maybe she’d never get over it. At least, not enough to reminisce about her daughter without feeling like she was falling apart.
“How did you know that was a portrait of my daughter?” Cori asked, staring up at him. He seemed even taller with her lying down on the couch.
Bartol cleared his throat. “Your mother called yesterday. I told her you were sick and that I was taking care of you. She went on to interrogate me to see if I would be a proper suitor for you. In the midst of that, she mentioned your daughter and how you lost her.”
“Great.” Cori rubbed her forehead. Of course, her mother would spill the beans on her past to a stranger without thinking and give him the third degree. “If she liked you, I’m never going to hear the end of it. She’s determined to get me married off again no matter how many times I tell her it’s never happening.”
Bartol chuckled. “That is the impression I had as well.”
Cori dreaded this next question, but she had to ask. “Did my mom like you?”
“I’m afraid she may have despite my best efforts to dissuade her.” Bartol took a seat on her coffee table. “Melena did not make matters any better when I handed her the phone. She extolled virtues about me that I did not even know I possessed.”
“I’m going to kill her,” Cori swore.
“Melena or your mother?”
She had to think about that for a moment. “Both.”
“I suggest you wait a couple of days until you’re feeling better first,” Bartol suggested, a smile playing at his lips.
“Yeah, you’re probably right. I sure as hell screwed it up the first time I tried offing someone.” Cori covered her face with her hands. “For so long, I regretted what I did to Griff, but now I wish I’d gotten it right. How screwed up is that?” She let out a heavy breath and dropped her arms to her sides.
“I believe most of us wish you’d finished him before, so you are not alone.”
“But maybe I made him into the monster he is now.” And if she had, she had no one to blame except herself.
Bartol gave her a censorious look. “Can you honestly say he wasn’t a monster before?”
“No,” she admitted, memories of his violent temper coming to mind.
When Griff got angry, he lost all reason. He’d enjoyed taking all his frustrations out on her and making her think everything was all her fault. By the time she left him, she’d learned to hide her pain—physically and emotionally—or else he would only hit her harder. Griff’s only saving grace was that he never hurt their daughter. In fact, he wouldn’t even touch Cori if Faith was around or awake to see it. He held back his most violent outbursts for when it was just the two of them. When their daughter was around, he doted on her, buying her toys and taking her to the park to play often. That was part of what had kept Cori with him for so long.
“He killed her, didn’t he?” Bartol asked.
Her throat swelled, and it was all she could do to respond. “Yes, though not intentionally. He’d been drinking, and the roads were bad because of a snowstorm.”
“He shouldn’t have been driving at all, but especially not with a young girl in the vehicle.”
“No, he shouldn’t have, but that’s not what made me try to kill him.” Cori took a shaky breath. “It was his lack of remorse after the fact.” Then she went on to tell Bartol how she found Griff that night.
The nephilim stared out the window, silent. She wondered what he was thinking. Did he see her as a cold, ruthless killer or a mother who’d lost her mind after seeing her dead baby girl? She’d tried making excuses for herself over the years. It would have been easier if she could justify her actions, but she never could fully convince herself. In the end, she’d made a choice, and she had to live with the consequences even as they came back to haunt her now.
“Griff sounds no better than Kerbasi,” Bartol finally said.
As much as Cori wanted to hate the guardian, he was at least trying to become better. Griff, on the other hand, had taken his second chance at life and used it to get revenge. Still, she and Bartol had more in common than she’d realized until now. Both of them had been beaten and broken by men who enjoyed seeing their pain. She just didn’t have to suffer for as long as the man next to her had, or live with scars everyone could see, but she did lose the most precious thing in the world to her—Faith. Cori would have suffered anything to get her daughter back.
Bartol’s cell phone rang. He checked the screen and gave her an apologetic look. “Just a moment.”
While he went outside to talk on the phone, she pulled herself together. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d allowed herself to fall apart in front of a man. With Bartol, it was becoming easier with each passing day to let her guard down. Cori needed to get a grip on herself and stop leaning on him for support. He was immortal. For his own sake, he needed to keep his distance from her because she would die someday—probably sooner rather than later. She wouldn’t have minded sleeping with him a time or two, but now she feared she could actually get attached to him. Neither of them could afford that.
Cori stood, her gaze catching on the broken coffee mug near the kitchen doorway. She wasn’t about to leave that mess, especially since she wanted more coffee. Heading to the hall closet, she grabbed a broom and dustpan to clean it up. She had to take care since some of the shards nearly made it to the living room couch, and she still didn’t have any shoes on. After finishing, she dampened a washcloth and scrubbed her feet.
Bartol came back inside and joined her in the kitchen. “That was Melena.”
“What did she say?” Cori asked, rinsing out the washcloth.
“The sensor informed me that they found a young vampire who looks like Griff, but she isn’t sure it’s him,” Bartol said, watching her reaction closely. “She believes it would be better for you to see the vampire for yourself.”
Cori stilled. “Why don’t they think the vampire is him?”
“According to Melena, he was only made five or six months ago.”
She mulled that over. Was it possible Griff had survived her attack without becoming a vampire, and he was turned later? With the wounds she’d left him, she couldn’t imagine how, but stranger things had happened.
Cori shut off the water and set the washcloth aside. “Give me a few minutes to put my shoes on and then we can go.”
“Not yet.” Bartol shook his head. “The vampire is very young. He won’t wake for at least five or six more hours, and if we want to talk to him, it would be best to go when he is conscious.”
“You can
’t force him awake?”
“We could,” Bartol said, crossing his arms. “But a new vampire forcibly woken at this time of day will be feral. It’s a self-defense mechanism because the only reason they should arise when the sun is high is to defend themselves. They can’t think clearly until closer to sunset.”
“I can still go over there to look at him and see if it’s Griff. We can wait around for him to wake up after that,” Cori argued. More than anything, she wanted to believe this nightmare was over and that they’d finally captured her ex-husband. She needed to see for herself.
Bartol’s expression hardened. “You need a little more rest.”
“I told you I’m fine!”
“The vampire is being held at Derrick’s house.” He took a step closer to her. “Until I’m satisfied you’re strong enough, I’m not letting you into a house full of vampires, werewolves, and anything else that might be staying there currently.”
She blanched. “They brought him to Derrick’s?”
“There are dungeon cells in the basement there with chains to hold him and no windows that would let sunlight inside. Melena and Lucas felt it was the best choice, especially since this is still Derrick’s territory, and he’s been cooperating with us.”
Cori supposed that much made sense. “I don’t see what difference a few hours is going to make with my health.”
“For one thing,” he said, heading to her refrigerator. “You haven’t eaten in almost two days, and you are nowhere near full strength yet.” Bartol jerked the door open and started grabbing random food items to put on the counter.
“What are you doing?” she asked, aghast. The pile continued to grow until it could almost feed an army.
“If you will not prepare a meal for yourself, then I will do it.”
He was determined to make her eat and since he was her transportation out of here, he wasn’t leaving her many choices. She stomped closer and crowded him until he stepped away from the fridge. “You don’t even know how to cook most of this!”
“Then save me from it,” he said, a determined glint in his eyes
Cori had no doubt he’d cook if she didn’t. It was sort of endearing that he’d do anything to make certain she ate if not for the fact she wanted to get to Derrick’s and see if the prisoner there was Griff. “Fine. I’ll cook.”
Bartol’s shoulders relaxed. “Good. Let me know if you need any help.”
As he started to leave the kitchen, she called him back. “You’re not getting off that easy. No one learns to cook without getting their hands dirty, so get back in here and watch what I do.”
His face morphed into a martyred expression. Good. If they couldn’t leave yet, then he could be as miserable as her. Cori started sorting through the items he’d pulled from the fridge, keeping the eggs, cheese, and a few other items out while returning the rest. For the vegetables, she put them aside and pulled out a chopping board and knife.
“Start dicing these,” she ordered. “I assume in the last eighteen hundred years you at least picked up that skill.”
“Yes,” he growled, and without her having to tell him, he washed the tomatoes first. As he began chopping, Bartol glanced over at her. “There is one other thing you should know.”
“What’s that?”
He kept his gaze down on the cutting board. “Your truck is ready. We’ll stop by and pick it up on the way to Derrick’s.”
Cori wanted to have her own transportation again more than anything, but she knew damn well he’d only brought it up as another delay tactic. He’d keep her away from that house for as long as possible—likely to give Melena time to interrogate the vampire first. But something told her it was about more than that. Could it have been that he was worried about how she’d handle whoever was locked in that basement? Had she opened up too much to him today, and now he saw her as weak? Cori had a lot to think about as she and Bartol prepared a late breakfast for themselves.
Chapter 18
Cori
From what Cori understood, every major city in the world had a supernatural master who governed all the rest of the non-humans in that territory. It was their job to keep control of their people and protect them from outside threats. The race of the leader varied, depending on who had been tough enough to fight their way to the top. It was almost never nephilim because, according to Melena, they weren’t wired for long-term leadership. They didn’t want the responsibility or to be tied to one place for long. They lived wherever they wanted and answered to no one except the angels—that last part reluctantly.
Because vampires were the other most long-lived race, they were the most common masters. It took longer for them to become strong, usually many centuries, but once they were powerful, few could defeat them. Werewolves often took control of cities no other race wanted. The last ruler of Fairbanks had been a twelve-hundred-year-old vampire named Nik, but in a twist of fate that ended in a beautiful and kind fairy dying, he’d lost his seat to Derrick—an alpha werewolf. Unlike all other werewolves, though, Derrick wasn’t mortal. Tormod’s father had made him powerful and immortal with his half-demon/half-angel blood. Cori didn’t know what kind of deal was worked out to make that happen, but she had to admit Derrick had done a decent job of running the city since taking over despite having a questionable background. He’d do anything to protect his territory and everyone in it, including humans.
She felt a certain sense of satisfaction as she pulled her truck up to the heavy wrought-iron gate that led to the master’s house. The whole place, including the surrounding land, was encircled by two-foot thick stone walls. Normally, the only humans allowed entry inside were those used to feed the vampires who lived there. Cori was the rare exception because she was friends with Melena, and she’d helped supernaturals out of some rather major binds in the past. They sort of treated her as an honorary “sup.”
Guards walked up to the doors on either side of her truck, so she rolled down the windows. The passenger side window had been stuck before, but thankfully Ned had fixed that problem while repairing the rest of the vehicle. Her truck ran so well now that she didn’t think she’d have problems with it for a long time, which was a relief since she’d paid a large chunk of her meager savings to get it back to working order.
A man peered closely at her face—probably a werewolf since the sun wouldn’t set for another hour. “Name?”
“Cori Marsh,” she answered.
He glanced at an iPad he was carrying. She caught a glimpse of the screen where there was a picture of her and a short bio. Too bad she couldn’t quite make out what it said. Probably something like “crazy human woman who is friends with the sensor, Melena Sanders.” The paragraph was a little longer than that, but she figured that could be the gist of it.
On the other side, another guard questioned her passenger. “Name?”
“Go fuck yourself,” Bartol replied.
Wow, he was in a cheery mood. She’d thought he was moody with her, but it appeared he was even less cordial around strangers. Cori had known he didn’t like to talk to them or be near them, yet this was worse than normal. He must not have liked that the werewolf had gotten too close to his face.
“Sorry, sir, but the master requires we confirm your identity before you can be allowed inside,” the guard said, a hint of fear shining in his gaze. Derrick got rid of any weaklings in his pack, but even the strongest werewolf knew they couldn’t take on a nephilim.
Bartol glared at the man. “Do I look like I’m in the mood to be questioned? You know damn well who I am.”
He rarely said curse words around Cori, which had made her think he didn’t say them at all. Now she wondered if he hadn’t just been acting old-fashioned in her presence. Bartol had certainly forgotten his manners now that a werewolf had made the mistake of angering him.
“But the master…”
“Expects me,” Bartol interrupted. “And if you don’t open the gate in the next ten seconds, I will rip it off its hinges, and we wil
l drive through whether you like it or not.”
“There’s a spell on the place, Bartol. Even you can’t bust through uninvited,” Cori pointed out. Melena had told her all about the time Kerbasi had attempted to break the magical barrier around the mansion, and how he got burned in the process. The guardian was more than twice Bartol’s age and power, so no way was the nephilim getting through by sheer might.
A female voice came through the guard’s radio. “Stand down and let them through. How many times have I told you not to piss off our nephilim visitors?”
Cori recognized the voice as Kariann. She was a six-hundred-year-old vampire who worked on Derrick’s security team, just as she had for Nik before him. The woman was strong and not someone you wanted to make angry. With it still being daylight, she was probably holed up in the room with all the video surveillance equipment.
“My apologies,” the guard said and hurried toward a small building with the controls for the gate. It opened a moment later, which opened the magical barrier as well, and Cori started up the long drive toward the main house.
She glanced over at Bartol. “You’re as bad as Melena about harassing the guards.”
“They annoy me.”
“Everything annoys you,” she replied. “I think you’re only riding in the truck with me because you want to annoy me as well. It’s like a vicious circle or something.”
“It is not safe for you to drive alone,” he replied, keeping his gaze ahead.
She pulled into the parking area next to the two-story house. It was a huge place with beige siding, a gabled roof, and metal shutters that could shut out the sunlight during the day in rooms the vampires inhabited. She noted most of them were closed at the moment, though even the youngest vamps would be stirring by now.
Cori and Bartol got out of the truck and began the trek to the front door. Cori estimated there must have been dozens of bedrooms inside. There were two wings branching out from the main entrance, plus the central common area. Derrick had built onto the place since taking over, but he’d tried to keep the basic style of the house the same. It was designed as a refuge for supernaturals who weren’t ready to function in society, or who preferred living away from humans. Most of the guards and staff lived on the premises, as well as willing human blood donors for the vampires.