Dison: Immortal Forsaken Series #2 (Paranormal Romance Novella)

by Verika Sloane

  He gave a nod of greeting to the three-man Irish band playing classic tunes in the corner.

  Peter, a lanky redhead with a toothy grin, heartily shook his hand. “I owe you a pint, Stephen! It worked.”

  “You took my advice concerning the girl?”

  Katherine came over to wipe down the table. “And what advice was that I’d like to know.”

  “To ignore her,” Peter exclaimed with pride.

  Katherine straightened, mouth agape, and hands on her hips. “Say again?”

  Peter nodded quickly. “Stephen said I was giving Maggie too much attention in the first place, and that she expected it by now, and that’s why she wouldn’t see me as more than a friend. But that by ignoring her, acting indifferent, she would come to me. He was bloody right!”

  “You were cool, not cold, right?” Dison asked, taking a seat and resting his forearm on the table.

  “Right, right. Now she’s fussin’ about, poutin’, and bringing me baskets of fruit and cups of soup because she thinks I’m coming down with something.” He laughed, and slapped his knee.

  Katherine lightly whipped her rag on Peter’s shoulder. “You shouldn’t play games with a girl’s heart.”

  “She’s been playing with mine for years!”

  “And you shouldn’t encourage such behavior,” Katherine chastised Dison. “Women liked to be chased. Once that’s over, men tend to ignore us.”

  “You only think we do,” a farmer, Ralph, grumbled as he and his twin brother, Arlo, ambled over. They were sardonic, hard-working men, and wore identical overalls every night. He’d gotten to know them all in the past week. Good, simple folks who cared not about wealth or status, unlike everyone else in his life.

  Dison smiled, sliding over to make room. “How are you two tonight?”

  “A day older,” Arlo said, coughing, wheezing, then downed half his ale. “Ready to marry? I’ve got a daughter who ye might fancy.”

  “She’s already got a beau!” his twin brother protested.

  “Who’s nowhere near the smarts and class of Stephen,” Arlo retorted, to which his brother relented with a grunt and a shrug.

  Dison chuckled. “Thank you for thinking of me, but marriage is the last thing on my mind these days.”

  Just then, one the farmer’s young sons came running up. “There’s some brutes outside showing Stephen’s picture, asking if we know him. Are ye in trouble?”

  His smile slowly faded. All eyes turned on him, questions in their eyes. Surely, one of them would give him up. He couldn’t blame them. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been truthful and I should’ve left the inn days ago. Now my problems have caught up with me.”

  “We all have shite we’re avoiding,” Jack gruffed, cupping his tankard with both hands. “Hurt someone, Stephen?”

  “No. But I’m being blamed for someone getting hurt. So in part, yes, I’m responsible.” He started to rise, but Ralph grabbed his forearm.

  “Whatever you did, we’re not going to hand you over like sacrificial livestock. Right, boys?” He looked around the table and everyone nodded. “We’ll stand up and hide you, and then you get around to a closet or something of the like.”

  Dison couldn’t believe it. Gratitude swelled his throat. They gave him looks of understanding, then all rose casually from the benches. He strode to the hallway and turned a corner.

  New, obnoxious voices punctuated the room as the men walked in. Dison peeked around to get a glance. There were five of them, all of average size, except one that seemed to be leading them, who had a beard was at least a head taller than the rest.

  He grabbed some peanuts from a bowl and glared at the band. They immediately stopped playing. “Hullo folks, the name’s Jeremiah. We’re looking for someone. Was told he was headed this way.” He held up the photo. “Have you seen him? My height. Blue eyes. Dark blonde hair. Well-spoken. Heavy in the wallet. He would stand out, especially in this kind of dump.”

  “No one here matches that description and I know every face,” Harold declared from behind the bar.

  Dison held his breath. No one said a word.

  “Okay boys, check around, open every door,” Jeremiah ordered.

  Dison grabbed the door to the hall closet and stealthily swung inside. The space was narrow but deep, with nothing to hide behind except two mops and a broom. He grabbed one of the mops and began untwisting the handle from the base for an improvised weapon.

  Katherine’s voice shrilled through the thin walls. “Oh! Shame on you and your muddy boots! Do you have to trail your filthy selves on my floors without thought?”

  Her steps were scampering past the heavy footfalls and Dison braced himself for exposure. The door whipped open. She smiled at him, then grabbed one of the brooms and slammed the door. “Mind yourselves! I’ll just have to clean up behind you.”

  “What’s in there?” a masculine voice asked.

  “This! Have you seen one before?”

  “Settle down, woman…” he muttered.

  Dison sagged in relief.

  He could make a run for the back exit, but no, that would leave everyone alone with these gangsters-for-hire. By vampire law, human business owners who catered to his kind couldn’t be harmed, but there were other ways to hurt them. They would tear their beloved inn apart or threaten them.

  He noticed a small beam of light from the wall. A makeshift peephole. It had a perfect view of the tavern.

  After a few minutes and a few slamming doors, he heard the males venturing back.

  “He’s been here all right,” said one of them. “Found a passport in one of the rooms.”

  Shit. He looked out the peephole to watch. Good thing he had his backup passport in his pocket.

  Jeremiah finished his ale and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “I knew you were lying old man,” he said to Harold.

  “He was here, but he left,” the innkeeper said, obviously trying to get Jeremiah and his crew to do the same.

  “Really? Well we’ll just stick around for a bit and wait for our boss’s call. Nobody is allowed to leave, so make yourselves comfortable.”

  He and his crew took seats and demanded drinks. The tension in the tavern doubled.

  What the hell could he do trapped in here?

  Just then, the inn’s front door swooshed open.

  “Hullo!” said a feminine voice. “Oh, I could murder a hot drink right now.”

  All heads turned. Dison’s eyes widened.

  Rebekah?

  To his dumbfounded shock, it was, without a doubt, her.

  He hung his head and cursed, then lifted his stunned gaze for another good look.

  She was ever luminous with her white-blonde hair trimmed to her chin, high cheekbones, and glowing presence. Her beauty was timeless as was her style. She was the kind of female who made a male mad like a fanatic, weak like an infant, and plead for more.

  They had met in their teen years, before either of them had gone through their maturation age, living in the same underworld neighborhood, two poor pürbloods drawn to each other from the very second they met. He’d wanted to give her the moon, but could barely afford shoes. That constant distinction had always bothered Dison. As they grew up, he became obsessed with elevating his name and fattening his bank account, but Rebekah had no such ambition, and urged him to let it go. But he couldn’t.

  The more he pursued his goals, the more she withdrew, and they’d painfully drifted apart. Now and then, he’d hear her name in high society circles, about her traveling the world, searching for stolen or missing art, and making deals for some of the most sought-after artists. Every single time his parents or their old friends casually mentioned her, it was a wretched night of drinking and trying to forget her again.

  But now, she was here.

  He traced his gaze from her trendy knee-high boots to the snug skirt hugging her shapely hips to her shiny, bluntly cut mane. Always so polished and put together. During their countless times in bed, he used to love mussing he
r perfectly brushed hair, smearing her red lipstick with his thumb before taking her mouth in his.

  She once confessed only he could make her do the one thing she said she’d never do: beg. A half smile moved his lips, remembering their time together. Then his smile faded, realizing she’d just walked into a storm.

  She looked around the tense group of patrons. “Is this a party? Someone’s birthday? Allow me to buy a round.”

  Jeremiah stood. “Hey. We’re looking for Dison Huxford. Know him?”

  “Huxford from Hertfordshire? Cheeky fellow with a limp and a pet hedgehog?”

  Obviously not keen on her cheery disposition, he frowned. “No.”

  “Then. No!” she beamed, blithely ignoring the taut situation around her, taking off her coat.

  “Until we find him, no one leaves,” he warned.

  What the bloody hell is she doing here? He closed his eyes and inhaled, disbelieving the scene unfolding in front of him. The Rebekah he knew was sharp, intelligent, and observant. She could see through things others could not, whether it deciphering a painting on the wall or words unspoken in banal conversation. He’d been constantly impressed by her awareness. For her to blithely ignore the irregularity of the mood in the room had to be on purpose.

  “This is not a coincidence,” he murmured.

  Jeremiah looked her up and down, and Dison’s fingertips dug in the wall, his teeth descending. One gesture, one suggestive touch, one leery look from Jeremiah and he would make it his goal to see the man’s throat was in his grasp.

  While Peter, Ralph, and Arlo talked uncomfortably amongst themselves, Rebekah ordered a cup of hot spiced apple cider. She looked around the room, tapping her foot, seemingly impatient. “I need to use the loo,” she announced. “Do you gentlemen mind?”

  Jeremiah shooed at her and mumbled something.

  Katherine directed her. “Around the corner, to the right.”

  That would put her right in his way. Did Rebekah sense him like she used to?

  Heart thundering, Dison cracked open the door, disbelieving he was about to actually reach out and touch her again. An inkling that his fate was somehow latched to his niggled in the back of his mind.

  She turned right and he grabbed her, hauling her in.

  Her audible proved surprise, but not fright. She grasped his forearms, hazel eyes bright with relief. “By the gods. Dison.”

  He quietly closed the door. Damn me, she smells good. Still bathed in that perfumed soap she had custom made from Paris. Magnolia, rose, vanilla-something.

  It ignited memories, emotions, and an ache he had mercifully excised out of his being. He yanked the string to switch on the lightbulb. “What are you doing here?” he said in a hushed voice.

  Her expression changed to wry consternation. “Good to see you, too. It’s been a long time.”

  He cleared his throat. “How did you find me?”

  “How is not important; what is important is making sure no one else knows you’re here. There’s a contract on you. Rumor has it now you ran because you were in collusion with the Jacobys and that they’re hiding you.”

  “That’s a lie,” he clipped.

  “I know,” she said softly.

  The sincerity and conviction in her voice soothed a small part of him, knowing he had someone else on his side. “I don’t know how the hell you got mixed up in this, but you shouldn’t be. If those men out there find out you know me—”

  “Those halfwits don’t know anything. You and I haven’t come near each other in years.”

  Well. Not true. He’d come close to her, several times, she just didn’t know it. Once, he’d tracked her in Florence, and watched her laughing with a woman in café late at night. The second time was a coincidence, in New York. He’d been there with one of the royals for a business deal, and had seen her through the window of an art gallery. The last and most recent time he came near her was in Dublin, but he could never bring himself to approach her.

  He always saw her, but she never saw him, which confirmed—every time—that their connection hadn’t been as strong for her as it was for him, which crushed him to the point of knee-buckling despair. When they had been together, he could be one of a hundred people in the room, and she would spot him immediately. She often told him his sensa called to her. But those times he was mere feet away from her, she hadn’t even turned her head.

  So why hadn’t he at least said hello?

  Pride, mostly. He simply liked seeing her and reminding himself of who he once was.

  He shook his head, desperate for an explanation. “I don’t know why you’re here or how, but I want you to go. I can take care of myself.”

  She sighed. “Don’t be stubborn.”

  “I’ve managed to live a long time without much assistance, thank you. I knew exactly what I was doing when I got involved with the royals. The only one I want to be responsible for is me.”

  This didn’t deter her whatsoever. She glanced over his shoulder. “Harold never fixed that bullet hole? Well, at least you’ll be able to see what’s going on. Anyway, I’m not asking you to take responsibility for my welfare. I’ve also been just fine on my own. What you can’t do is guarantee a way out. I can. You need me.”

  “I need no one. Least of all an ex-lover who specializes in art recovery.”

  She lifted one shoulder, nonplussed. “I recover many things.”

  “Including corrupted financial advisors?”

  “You’re hardly corrupt. Playing mediator and accountant for the royal wicked is nothing compared to what others have done for them. I think, deep down, you will always do the right thing. You’re redeemable…in my eyes,” she added.

  “I don’t care what I am in your eyes,” he blurted, gut clenching at the hurt in her gaze.

  Could he find redemption with her? Gods help him, he longed to. But it was a fool’s wish. He had to pay the consequences. How did she know so much about his life? Had she been spying on him? Had Coury been forwarding information to her? Well, he didn’t have time to find out. He snatched her wrist with one hand and the doorknob with the other. “Go before they get suspicious and come looking for you.”

  She dug in her heels and resisted his hold. “Wait. I…I know Coury.”

  He froze. “How?”

  “I don’t have time to explain. But don’t push me away. If you want answers, you’ll have to wait. Whatever you do, don’t try to leave. They have people casing the perimeter and unless you have a fighter jet on standby, they’ll catch you. I have a plan in place for us—”

  “Us? I was supposed to meet Coury, not you. I don’t know what the hell is going on, but I’m going to beat him senseless for roping you into this. I can’t believe he would involve you.”

  She searched his gaze. “Why not?”

  Because he knows how much you mean to me. The one and only time Coury got personal in a letter, he’d asked if Dison had any regrets, and Dison admitted Rebekah was his biggest, most haunting regret. If he could go back, he would’ve never let her go, but then again, she would’ve been tainted by this life, so it had been for the best. “He should’ve known better, that’s why. Doesn’t make sense.”

  “It will. I promise.”

  He caught her hand. “Rebekah…”

  Her hand turned in his and squeezed. “Even the smartest man can be vulnerable when circumstances collide. Whether or not you want help from me right now, you’re getting it. If I was a man here to bail you out of trouble, you wouldn’t hesitate.”

  “No, you’re not a man, goddammit. You’re Rebekah. You’re…you were…” My everything. A growl low in his throat sounded his frustration, and fear, that he was going to be complicit in sending her back out into potential peril. If anything happened to her, he wouldn’t survive it.

  “I’m asking you to trust me,” she whispered as she drew close. He stiffened, lungs hot, as if her nearness singed the air he breathed. “I’ll prove to you that you can,” she added, her sensa winding around hi
m, filling the empty coffers of his energy. He wanted to reject it, but couldn’t, breathing it in, grateful, invigorated. Aroused.

  She hesitated, then brushed her mouth along his, unlocking years of want.

  Powerless to back away, he slid his hands across her jaw and captured her lips. Rebekah whimpered, melted into him, and the world dissolved. His pulse raced and lust fired at every cell as he twined his tongue with hers, ravenous for more.

  She matched his passion with her own, clutching his shirt and bringing her knee up to his hip. It was as if time had never been a thing between them, tasting yesterday, reviving an electric bond he’d found in no one since. Was this his second chance?

  She sucked on his bottom lip softly, licked his upper lip with her tongue, teasing him. He groaned, losing control and rationale, pushing her against the wall. He forced her mouth to open wide so he could delve his tongue in deep, steal her breath, the way she stole his, pressing his body hard into hers. To punish her, in a way, for doing this to him.

  His canines grew. He craved her blood, her body, wanted both on his tongue and cock so badly he grew feverish and crazed. With a violent snarl, he tore his mouth away. What was he doing?

  “Where’d that bitch go?” one of the hoodlums called.

  Dison broke away, out of breath. “Go,” he hoarsely commanded.

  She breathed heavily for a few moments, and touched a shaky hand to her mouth. “Stay in here, no matter what.”

  “How are you going to get rid of them?”

  She didn’t respond, grasping the knob, leaving the closet and taking his heart with her.

  Four

  Dison scrubbed a hand down his face, lust humming in his blood. Got to keep my wits or else I’ll get us both killed. He rested his hands on the wall and looked out the peephole.

  Rebekah perched on a stool and made conversation with a visibly tense Katherine. The woman relaxed after a few minutes of speaking to her, the opposite effect of what Rebekah had done to him in this closet.

  Just when he thought he would crazy in this forsaken closet, a newcomer pushed through the door, breaking the anxious tavern room with his bumbling presence. A rotund, flushed man with a thick, red beard.