by Opal Carew
Chapter Four
“I am in need of a grigorio.”
The voice, husky and feminine, made Gabriel’s libido jump up and beg her to do him, even through the pounding hangover.
But her use of the word grigorio rang all his warning bells, even through the headache from the combination of ritual and the amount of alcohol he’d consumed over the past few days. Add in the fact that he’d only just gotten to sleep a half hour ago, and he’d actually thought about ignoring the damn door. But the knocking had been too loud and he didn’t want to attract the neighbors’ attention.
Who the hell was this woman who knew what a grigorio was?
Eyes narrowed, he checked out his visitor from head to toe, though there wasn’t much to see. Baggy jeans, good running sneakers and a gray hooded sweatshirt that concealed her face and most of the rest of her. She had something to hide. Hell, didn’t they all?
She couldn’t hide the fact that she was strega, though. Her purple aura pulsed around her, tinged with neon green. Stress. She was tiny, no taller than five-three, but he’d been deceived by size before. And was smarter for it.
Crossing his arms over his chest, trying to ignore the ice pick digging into his temples, he leaned against the doorjamb, paint flaking to the ground in a snowfall.
“What the hell’s a grigorio? Some new sex act? Since when do hookers go door to door?”
She didn’t flinch but her body stiffened. “I was told you would help.”
He snorted. “Help what? And by who?”
“Celeste.”
Holy fuck.
He had to work at keeping his expression blank. Celeste was one of the cursed streghe. She’d disappeared more than twenty years ago and no one had seen her since.
Still…”I don’t know anyone named Celeste—”
“She said all is done in time.”
Fucking hell. She had the correct code words. Was this the female who’d called Phil to speak to him earlier this week? How the hell had she known his call name and how had she gotten his address?
And what did she know about the grigori?
“What’s your name?” He flicked an impatient hand toward her hood. “And take that down. I don’t deal with people I can’t see.”
After a split-second hesitation, her hands emerged from the front pocket of the sweatshirt. Slim and pale, they trembled slightly. Not as calm as she pretended.
His eyes narrowed as the hood fell, revealing dark, rumpled waves that disappeared into the sweatshirt. With her head bowed, he still couldn’t see her face.
Annoyed, he placed a rough finger under her chin to tilt her head back. And pulled back as if burned.
Shit. Arus coursed through her like water in a fast-moving stream. And her face…she looked familiar. She wasn’t one of the cursed streghe. He’d memorized all their faces as part of his training. Still…
“Who the hell are you?”
She lifted her pointed chin and flashed flat brown eyes at him. Colored contacts. What the hell?
The woman’s long black lashes snapped down and her pink tongue emerged to lick full lips. “I need a grigorio. I was told you would help. I have… There are complications.”
No shit. “Honey, there’re always complications and you still didn’t tell me your name.”
Her lashes flickered again and her lips quivered. Vaffanculo, he really didn’t want to have to deal with a weeper. Not that it would’ve swayed him. He actually had more respect for her when, after a few seconds, her mouth firmed and she looked him straight in the eyes.
“I have a child. We need your protection.”
Oh, fuck no. Pushing away from the doorjamb, he backed through the door, ready to close it in her face. “I don’t do kids, babe. Whoever Celeste is, she wasted your time.”
He caught a quick glimpse of the shock in her eyes before her arm shot out to grip his forearm for one brief second before letting go. “Please.” Her voice sounded strangled, as if she didn’t use that word much. “My…child needs protection. If you really are a grigorio, you have to help. He’s grigori, too.”
Holy shit. How the hell had she gotten her hands on a grigori child? He knew every grigorio in the Americas. Had one of them been stupid enough to father a child without knowing?
Someone had screwed up big time. But even though he had a sworn duty to protect this kid, there was no fucking way he could.
He stepped back, his heart as cold as winter ice and his expression probably the same, if the look on her face was any indication.
She took a step away from him, her heel catching on a crack. She reached for the wall to steady herself but missed and his reflexes kicked in. He grabbed her arm before she hit the sidewalk.
A small body streaked from the darkness of the doorway to the girl’s side and a pair of dark eyes flashed up to his.
Fuck. His heart froze and the cold extended through his veins.
The woman’s mouth parted but no words emerged.
“Figlio di puttana.” Gabriel realized he was about to crush the bones in her arm and released her.
This time she did fall on her ass.
Gabriel barely noticed, his gaze locked on the child. He could have been Nino’s twin. Nino, who’d been only nine when that bastard Dario had killed him.
“How old is he?” His voice menaced like the low growl of a Harley.
The woman rose, dusting off her ass, then gathered the wide-eyed child to her side and dropped a light kiss on his midnight-black hair.
“Six.”
He cursed again, this time in Romanian and nasty enough to strip paint from the side of a building.
In a flash, the woman’s expression went blank, but the boiling-hot look in her eyes told him he’d crossed a line. She’d translated.
“I don’t appreciate your language, Mr. Brown.” Her frigid tone made his balls try to crawl back into his body. “You’re right. We’ll find someone else.”
Wrapping the boy’s small hand in hers, she turned and picked their way down the broken sidewalk to a muddy green Dodge two-door on the next block.
She never looked back. The boy did, just once, pinning him in place.
Air rasping in his throat, Gabriel drew in a huge breath. Then he cursed in three languages, one long dead, and slammed the door.
* * *
Hands trembling, Shea got Leo in the back seat, made sure he fastened his seatbelt then kissed his dark head before locking and closing the door.
Walking to the driver’s side, she made sure to check their surroundings, look for danger. Fear settled into her stomach, making her slightly nauseous.
In the car, her hands started to shake like leaves in a hurricane. It took four tries to get the key in the ignition and two twists for the car to start.
When the engine caught, she winced as the sound shattered the pre-dawn silence in this rundown neighborhood south of Penn Street. Potholes lined streets littered with trash. The air hung stale in mid-July, smelling like Leo’s sneakers when he wore them without socks.
Gods-damn son-of-a-bitch. That mother-fucking bastard.
Tears threatened to fall but she bit her tongue until they retreated. Couldn’t let Leo see them. Didn’t want to scare him more than he already was.
Damn, she’d been so stupid. But what the hell had she expected? That the man she’d watched drown in alcohol the past three nights would turn out to be their savior? What kind of imbecile was she?
How had she screwed up so badly? That ceffo knew what they looked like now. They’d have to leave Reading. Whoever had killed their parents and was looking for Leo was close. She could feel them, like a malevolent shadow creeping closer.
She would not let those fiends get Leo. But she was so tired of being alone, of being Leo’s sole protector. Icy talons of fear gripped her stomach.
What now?
Leo, bless him, sat in the back seat, staring out the window at the early morning shadows. How much of the conversation had he heard? Had he underst
ood what that man had said?
That alcohol-soaked bastard was a disgrace to all grigori, men of unquestionable dignity. The asshole wasn’t supposed to turn them down.
They needed to get out the city. Needed to go far away. Needed—
Wait, deep breath. One thing at a time. First, they needed to get back to the apartment. Taking a deep breath, Shea put the car in gear then pulled a wide u-turn. Pink tinged the edges of the horizon. They’d go back to the apartment, get some sleep. Then she’d have to—
She slammed on the brakes as Mr. Brown stepped into the street half a block in front of them, a muscle-bound gorilla in worn jeans and a black T-shirt that stretched over his massive chest. He looked pissed off.
Join the club, buddy.
Why the hell had she been so attracted to him earlier tonight? Must have been the euphoria spell.
She’d either have to go around him or through him. Grigori had superior strength, which made them extremely hard to kill. Right now, she’d love to test that fact by introducing him to the bumper of her car. At sixty miles an hour.
“Thinks he’s Superman,” she muttered under her breath. “Arrogant ceffo.”
She slid a quick look over her shoulder at Leo, now staring out the front window. She really had to watch her language or the kid would be swearing like a sailor before his next birthday. If he were still alive.
No, none of that.
Her foot twitched on the gas pedal then she pushed it to the floor.
Mr. Brown just stood there, arms across his chest as if he played chicken with cars all the time. Maybe he did.
At the last second, she flipped the steering wheel to the left, feeling the car want to slide. She kept her foot on the gas and passed within inches of him. A hard grin pulled at the corners of her mouth. Her father hadn’t taught her how to drive their old Jeep through the forest for nothing.
In the rearview, she found Leo, his eyes so wide she could have drowned in them. Then she looked through the back window. Mr. Brown still stood in the middle of the street, hands now on his hips.
“Don’t worry, sweetie, he’s still in one piece.” Lucky bastard. “We don’t need him anyway.”
She didn’t add “because he’s an asshole who turned us away.” Leo probably knew understood exactly what had happened back there.
Glancing into the rearview again as she navigated out of this armpit of the city, she tried to gauge Leo’s response from his expression. It was like trying to scry in a muddy creek. Did he realize that she was all he had and, if she couldn’t protect him, he could end up like their parents or worse?
Okay, deep breath.
“Leo, you okay?”
He met her gaze in the rearview and nodded.
He was fine. For now.
But what about later?
* * *
Gabriel stood in the middle of the road for a good two minutes, staring after them.
The girl was gutsy. Terrified, but not wanting to show it. Willing to stand up to him, and, by the Gods, he could be a scary son-of-a-bitch.
The kid… Vaffanculo. The kid was so damn young.
What connection did they have to Celeste?
The sharp blast of a car horn tore through his thoughts and he sidestepped the cherry-red vintage Mustang bearing down on him, passing close enough for him to feel the engine’s heat.
Someone in the car shouted something foul in Spanish and a hand emerged from the window to give him the finger. Stupid kids.
With a wave of his hand, Gabriel directed a quick spell and a small stream of power at the car’s metal bumper, loosening the bolts that held it to the frame. That bumper would fall off in a couple of blocks. His affinity for metal wouldn’t have done a damn thing to a newer car with a fiberglass bumper. Guess it was his lucky night.
Then again, not really.
His concentration shot, he walked back to the deceptively dilapidated building that had been in his father’s family since the late 1800s. He closed the door behind him and set the state-of-the-art security system as well as binding the protection wards again. In the kitchen, he picked up the rotary phone hanging on the wall and dialed.
“Crimson Moon Productions. Please hold.”
He heard a click then silence. Thank the Gods, no Phil and no Muzak. The last time he’d called, some idiot had decided New Age elevator tunes were appropriate hold music.
“Hello?” The voice on the other end was husky with sleep and wariness. Good for her.
“Serena. It’s me.”
A soft sigh escaped the woman on the other end of the phone line. “Hello, sweetheart. Is everything alright?”
“Yeah. Had some visitors tonight.”
She paused. “Nothing serious, I hope.”
“No. A young woman and a boy. Said Celeste sent them.”
She gasped. “Oh sweet Goddess. Who was she?”
“I don’t have any idea. But she knew what to say.”
“Describe her.”
He paused, taking time to choose his words. “Long, dark hair. Five-three. Had a kid with her. Said he was six. Didn’t get names.”
“But they mentioned Celeste?”
“Yeah.”
Serena fell silent and Gabriel knew what was coming. It’s what he should’ve done in the first place, if he wasn’t such a screwed-up ass.
“Do you think you could—”
“I’ll bring them up to you.”
He hesitated a split second too long to hang up and heard her say, “Gabriel?”
“Yeah?”
Another pause, this time on her end.
“Will you bring them? Will you come yourself?”
He heard the longing in those words and ruthlessly squashed the small flare of warmth it lit in him. He didn’t have time for it.
“Yeah, when I find them.”
He heard the smile in her voice. “Good. It’s been too long.”
“Goodbye, Serena.”
“Goodnight, sweetheart.”
He depressed the cut-off then lifted his finger to dial again.
* * *
Serena set the phone in the hook, letting one hand linger on the silver handset while the other clutched the iron key hanging from the leather thong around her neck.
Her heart pounded furiously, making it hard to breathe.
She’d last seen Celeste twenty-five years ago. A year after that, her best friend had disappeared off the face of the earth.
And a year ago, Celeste had died.
Serena vividly recalled the night she’d woken from sleep, screaming in agony, knowing Celeste was gone. The psychic tie that bound their boschetta was strong. A death among them felt like death for all.
Serena still missed her with a nagging ache.
Which made the appearance of this girl and her child such a mystery.
Why would they approach Gabriel with Celeste’s name as a calling card? Who was this girl and how had she known Celeste? Why did she have a grigori child and why had she specifically asked for Gabriel?
What had happened to Celeste?
Now there are only nine.
There had been thirteen at first, thirteen women with a sacred duty to the Etruscan Goddess Menrva to protect her most precious treasure. Today, the remaining nine were scattered around the world, living in fear for their lives, under assumed names. Or hiding in luxurious holes.
Because that bastard Fabrizio Paganelli had screwed them six ways to Sunday. Cursed them to this never-ending life, removed them from the natural order of life. Condemned them to wait hundreds of years for the rebirth of their blood-bound mates.
And set his son Dario on them like a rabid dog.
Rage rose like a storm-fed creek, boiled in her chest like the old friend it was until the force of it nearly buckled the floor beneath her feet. Five hundred years she and her fellow streghe had lived—cursed by a distraught father over the death of his beloved son.
With the floorboards still shaking beneath her, she released a scr
eam that would have leveled trees in the forest if the house wasn’t warded to deny the passage of sound. She screamed until she was hoarse, arus swirling around her, threatening to suck everything in the room into a vortex.
Damn it, she didn’t want to have to buy new furniture. Not again. With a final sob, she fell into a heap on the floor, trying to catch her breath.
“Idiot,” she chided herself. “You need to get a grip.”
It was time to get off her ass and break this damn curse.
Her first attempt had failed nearly thirty years ago, when she’d made herself a whore for one night to seduce her most hated enemy.
She’d debased herself because the Goddess Menrva had promised, despite Fabrizio’s curse forbidding the streghe to ever bear another female, that one of the thirteen would indeed have a daughter who would end the curse.
The Goddess Menrva had sent a vision to the boschetta’s seer, Dafne, just before her death. Dafne hadn’t cried or screamed or begged for mercy when the villagers the streghe had cared for all of their lives had tied her to the stake at Fabrizio’s urging.
Instead, she’d lifted her face to the sky and closed her eyes. And when the flames licked at her feet, Dafne had looked straight at Serena and said, “Do not despair. The Goddess has promised there will be a daughter. Menrva has not abandoned us completely.”
Then Dafne had thankfully passed out before the flames consumed her.
Burning flesh of any kind still made Serena nauseous.
Rising from the floor, she dusted off her skirt and bowed her head. She wrapped her hand around the key again and fed just a bit of arus into it until she felt it return to its natural state. An iron nail.
“Great Goddess Menrva, She who guides us with her wisdom and entrusts us with Her most sacred possession,” she said. “I’m holding You to that promise. Please don’t let us down.”
Chapter Five
The alarm rang at four p.m.