Destined for Dreams

by Susan Illene

  They entered the foyer and a butler greeted them, dressed as if he’d come straight from an English manor house. Cori had met him before. He was almost a foot shorter than her with solid black skin, a bald head, and pointed ears. There was no name for him because he was a fae crossbreed of some sort, but Bartol had once told her he guessed the man might be a mix between a sluagh and a troll. Based on the strength of his moss green aura, he had to be around fifty or sixty years old, but with his ageless skin, he didn’t appear to be more than thirty.

  “If you’ll follow me, the master is waiting for you in his office,” the fae said with a slight Irish accent.

  They were led to a set of stairs and up to the second floor where they followed a long hallway before stopping at a thick wooden door on the right. It was closed. The butler knocked once, waited for permission to enter, and then opened the way for Cori and Lucas.

  They found Derrick sitting behind his desk, frowning at a sheet of cream-colored stationery in his hands. The alpha was a large man who could have passed for a woodcutter in another era, but since taking control of Fairbanks, he’d cleaned up his look to something a little more professional. Instead of jeans and flannels or t-shirts like he used to wear, he now went with casual dress attire while doing official work. Today that included slacks and a button-up shirt. His face was clean shaven, and he’d pulled his long, brown hair into a low ponytail at the back of his neck. There were lines of exhaustion on his weathered face that made him look like he was pushing forty. Few in Alaska could boast much of a tan during the winter, but he’d managed to maintain a light one. Maybe that came from his mortal years of living in the southern United States.

  He looked up, directing his gaze beyond them. “That will be all, Jeb. Thank you.”

  The butler shut the door.

  “Have we caught you at a bad time?” Lucas asked, gesturing at the stationary.

  Derrick grunted. “You couldn’t have come at a better time.” Derrick set the sheet face down on the desk. “If I have to stare at this letter much longer, I might just rip it apart.”

  Cori frowned. “What is it?”

  “The master of Anchorage wants to work out a treaty with us.” He clenched his fists. “Of course, she’s askin’ for more than she’s willin’ to give.”

  “I thought she only allows vampires to live there, except for a few select witches,” Cori said, having heard the restrictions on the largest city in Alaska more than once.

  “She’s willin’ to reconsider that—to a small extent.”

  Derrick gestured at them to take the seats in front of him. The room was divided between his massive desk—piled with paperwork and a laptop—and a more comfortable sitting area with leather chairs and a small couch. The whole space was masculine yet cozy with its wall of bookshelves and two windows covered with thick burgundy curtains. The faint scent of cigar smoke tinged the air, adding to the atmosphere.

  Lucas settled in his seat. “What does Genevieve want specifically?”

  “She wants me to send some of my wolves whenever she’s got human troubles. It’s gettin’ harder to guard against the mortals during the day since she ain’t got nothin’ except magic spells to keep the riffraff out while she and her people are sleepin’.” Derrick curled his lips. “She finally figured out witches aren’t gonna be enough to guard her highness.”

  Cori had never met the master of Anchorage, but Melena had once while at a supernatural party in New Orleans. Genevieve had propositioned her, wanting a sensor in her city. Of course, Melena turned her down.

  “If you’d like me to help in any way,” Lucas offered, “let me know.”

  Derrick nodded. “I might take you up on that, but for now I’m thinkin’ we should get to the real reason you came here. Tell me again, what’s the problem?”

  Cori was certain he knew by the look in his brown eyes, but he wanted her to spell it out anyway. “Well, I, uh…” She cleared her throat. “I may have developed a special ability since Mel gave me her blood.”

  He dipped his chin. “What kind of ability?”

  “Sometimes, lately, I sort of instill some weird properties into my tattoos—like immunity to compulsion or making it where a werewolf can shift during the day.” Cori shrugged. “It doesn’t happen every time, but there have been enough cases that people have started noticing it’s only when I’m the one who did the work.”

  “Do you think you’re the cause?”

  Cori rubbed her face. “I wish I wasn’t, but it’s kind of hard to ignore the pattern.”

  The werewolf was silent a moment. “I’m gonna tell you now I’ve been gettin’ complaints about you.”

  “Like what?”

  “My vampires have run into at least three different humans in the last month that they couldn’t compel. I know one of them confronted you directly, but there’s been more. Also got one who claims he’s half starved because he can’t stand drinking blood anymore.”

  “Is he really starved?” she asked.

  “No,” Derrick admitted. “But a human diet is makin’ him weaker.”

  Cori was relieved he probably wasn’t going to die, so she wouldn’t have that death on her conscience. “Did everyone who was affected have fresh tattoos from my shop?”

  “I haven’t been able to verify that.”

  “Until you can,” Lucas said, voice brusque. “I suggest they stop accusing Cori as being the problem. You know as well as I that the witches have been selling potions that can make people immune to compulsion. This problem didn’t just start a few weeks ago, considering they’ve been for sale online for months.”

  Derrick stiffened. He and Lucas might be allies, but they weren’t friends, especially since the alpha used to want Melena for himself. It wouldn’t take much to put them at odds with each other. Lucas tolerated the alpha because he was the best leader for Fairbanks and its constant cycle of supernatural problems, but the nephilim would probably kill the werewolf if push came to shove. Cori was reasonably certain, though, they wouldn’t fight because of her.

  “I considered the potions myself.” Derrick worked his jaw. “The problem is we know for a fact Cori is the cause in at least one case, which she was confronted about last week.”

  She felt the heat of his gaze and did her best to hold it despite the overwhelming power she saw there. “I won’t lie. That one probably was me.”

  “And that’s what is gonna make my job harder if you want me to fight for you.”

  “You haven’t mentioned the werewolf,” Lucas pointed out. “I would assume being able to shift during the day could be a good thing for your kind.

  Derrick sat back in his seat. “It appears that way, but until we know if this change might affect him in some other way, I’ve forbidden all supernaturals from visiting her shop.”

  He’d done what?

  Rage colored Cori’s vision as she leaped to her feet. “Without even talking to me first? Do you have any idea how much trouble this is causing me, or how it’s affecting my work? I’ve already been through enough shit lately without losing my business as well.”

  “I’ll do whatever it takes to protect my people. If you’d been anyone else, I would have shut down your shop immediately, so be glad you’re still open at all.” The alpha glared at her. “Now sit down.”

  “Fuck you.”

  Cori was so mad she couldn’t see straight. What the hell did he mean by saying if she’d been anyone else she’d have lost her shop? Now she could understand why Lucas barely tolerated the werewolf, considering she was ready to throw a chair at the man. She didn’t care that he could probably take her down in a heartbeat.

  Lucas cleared his throat. “Perhaps we can come to some sort of compromise.”

  “Until we know more about what she’s doin’ with her tattoos, I can’t let any of my people near her shop. It’s my job to look after them, and I ain’t compromisin’ that.”

  “How do you propose we study the problem so we can find a resolution?” Luc
as asked, lifting a brow.

  The alpha took a moment to mull that over. “There are some humans I know of—victims who could use immunity to compulsion. Cori could do small tattoos for them, and if she’s successful, I’ll pay her for it. Those can be test cases to see how well she does.”

  That wasn’t…unreasonable. “You’d do that?”

  “If you’d have been patient,” he said, glaring up at her. “We might have gotten to this point sooner.”

  She took a deep breath and sat down. “How do we test the tattoos?”

  “We’ll have someone like myself or Lucas attempt compulsion on them to see exactly how strong the immunity is that you gave them. That’s the first step, and then we’ll go from there once we have a scale to go by.”

  She frowned. “You can compel?”

  A werewolf—no matter how old or powerful—shouldn’t have been able to do that.

  “Ever since Yerik changed me I can,” Derrick replied.

  Cori supposed if she could develop new talents, so could he, especially since he’d gotten a mixture of angel and demon blood to boost him. The world was full of surprises lately.

  “We should also have her avoid giving that ability to other humans,” Lucas suggested. “From what I understand, it’s not something she does to everyone, so there is some mental component that causes her to give immunity to certain individuals. If she can prove she is able to be selective, new terms can be worked out.”

  “That’s true,” Cori agreed. It would be good if she could figure out how to control the ability, and she had some ideas on how to do it if she could practice.

  “Alright, I’ll go along with that.” Derrick laid his hands on the desk. “And if the human trials work, I might consider movin’ on to one of the supernatural races next. Many of my wolves would like to shift during the day if there ain’t any side effects.”

  “Has the one guy had any problems yet?” Cori asked.

  “Not that we’ve seen, but we need to wait until the full moon has passed to be sure.”

  That wouldn’t be until this Saturday.

  “Please let me know,” she said.

  He dipped his chin. “I will.”

  Lucas spoke up, “When would you like to start the human tests? I might bring a nerou along to watch and assist since this would be a good learning experience.”

  Cori wondered who he might bring, considering Tormod was out of the country with Bartol. Other than Micah’s daughter, Olivia, most of the others were strangers to her.

  “I’ve got no problem with that.” Derrick checked the calendar on his desk. “Let’s go with late Monday afternoon after the holiday and full moon. I’ll have more time to put into it then.”

  It was Wednesday now, so she’d have to wait longer than expected to resolve this, but her shop was closed until then anyway. “Monday afternoon is great.”

  “Good. We’ll meet at four in the afternoon—be ready to do several tattoos.” The alpha stood up. “In the meantime, I’ll look forward to Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow.”

  She forced herself to paste a smile on her face as she stood as well. “You’re coming, too?”

  “I’m not helpin’ you just because you’ve got powerful friends and a nephilim mate.” A slight smile spread across Derrick’s lips. “I’m making sure you never turn me away for a meal.”

  Cori should have known he had an ulterior motive.

  Chapter 10

  Bartol

  He slid on the heavy down jacket he’d brought with him for the trip, zipping it up tightly. The morning was more than a little cold, and the heating in his quarters—one of several small rooms inside the same trailer—left something to be desired. Other than a twin size bed covered with sheets and a couple of woolen blankets, there was just a metal wall locker in the corner where he put his bag and hung his clothes. If Zoe had wanted to entice Bartol and the others to stay longer, she should have considered providing better accommodations. This was only a few steps above his cell in Purgatory, though at least the roof didn’t leak here.

  Bartol missed his comfortable cabin already, and if he was honest with himself, Cori as well. Emptiness filled him with her so far away. It was all he could do to ignore that feeling since leaving Alaska so that he could get on with his mission.

  A knock sounded at his door. Bartol opened it to find Tormod and Caius waiting for him at the bottom of the steps. They were staying in the other two trailer rooms, each with its own entrance. The wind was blowing particularly hard, and both men were shivering. Being immortal meant one couldn’t suffer from cold weather injuries, but that did not make them unaware of freezing temperatures. Just as humans, some of them handled it better than others, and everyone felt it to some degree.

  “Ready?” Caius asked.

  They’d decided to walk together to the dining facility for breakfast. The previous evening they’d missed dinner and had to settle for reheated leftover soup. It hadn’t been pleasant, particularly since some of the contents in their bowls were not quite identifiable. They’d agreed not to make that mistake again and to partake of their food at the start of meal time. Hopefully, it would be fresher with more varieties to choose from than before.

  “Yes,” Bartol said, pulling a wool hat over his head to keep his hair from flying about in the wind. He turned and shut the door before joining them.

  Tormod glanced over. “So, uh, I thought eating in Purgatory was bad, but last night was a hell of a lot worse. At our compound, we eat way better than this.”

  “Breakfast is the best meal,” Caius promised.

  “What’s the difference?” Bartol asked.

  “They rotate the cooks for each meal so different nerou can practice their culinary skills, but the best men and women prepare breakfast.” He shook his head. “I don’t know why the others haven’t improved by now, but I’m afraid they haven’t had the best teachers, either. One time they served steak for dinner, and the options were close to raw or burned with no in between. It was dreadful.”

  Tormod made a disgusted face.

  Bartol considered the few nephilim assigned to the compound other than Zoe. He couldn’t recall that any of them were known for cooking, though he wasn’t particularly close to them. “They should hire an outside source to assist in the problem.”

  “Easier said than done.” They crossed a small field where about a dozen nerou performed their morning exercise routines—push-ups and sit-ups at the moment. “They’d need permission from the archangel in charge, and he isn’t as amenable as Remiel. From the way Zoe explains it, she can hardly get any funding for the place at all.”

  “None of the nephilim here are poor. Why don’t they spend their own money?” Bartol asked. They’d all been so desperate to get their sons and daughters out of Purgatory that one would think they wouldn’t mind parting with some of their funds to help their offspring adjust to the new world.

  Caius sighed. “They already do—most of this place was paid for by them—but they’re hardly going to bankrupt themselves. Maintaining these training compounds and keeping them supplied costs a lot more than you’d think. The security measures alone are expensive.”

  “Remiel brought angels with him to put magical protections on the place in Alaska,” Bartol said.

  “The archangel here left it for the trainers to handle.” Caius led them up the dining facility steps. “This one only shows up to punish anyone who breaks his long list of rules.”

  “He’s clearly never had Melena or Cori go after him before then.”

  Tormod chuckled. “He wouldn’t know what hit him.”

  Caius stopped at the door, grasping the handle. “It’s only for a few more months, and then they’ll be going out into the world as enforcers. I suppose it’s a moot point now.”

  They entered the building. From what Bartol could tell, it had been hastily constructed using mostly two-by-fours and plywood. Only the roof had reasonably decent materials, but the walls lacked proper insulation, and the win
dows rattled against the wind. The entire structure, including the kitchen at the back, wasn’t any more than four hundred square feet. With the ovens and stoves going, it wasn’t as cold as when they’d stopped by the night before, but it wasn’t as warm as it should have been, either.

  Each of them grabbed a tray and joined the line for breakfast. There were only a few nerou ahead of them, each with ravenous expressions on their faces. They must have been half starving from the previous two meals. Bartol was grateful they kept their gazes on the hot food and didn’t pay any attention to him. He kept expecting someone to gasp in horror over his scars at any moment like what always happened when he went about strangers. Instead, their appetites were all that appeared to matter to them, which was almost more upsetting.

  “When I talk to Remiel next, I will speak to him about this,” Bartol swore.

  The nerou were innocents who had been deprived of a chance to grow up on Earth. Soon, they would be charged with the difficult task of being supernatural enforcers, but they had limited time left to learn how to live in the modern world before they’d be out on their own. They could hardly do it with a start like this.

  Caius accepted a large spoonful of eggs onto his tray. “I wish you luck with that.”

  “I will do my best.” Bartol might not have any children of his own—and never would—but that didn’t mean he couldn’t sympathize with the nerou’s plight. Many of their parents were long dead, and they had no one with a backbone to stand up for them.

  As they went along the line, each of them received eggs, bacon, bread, and fruit. It wasn’t a large meal, but it was well rounded and smelled reasonably good. He thought about Cori and what she could teach the nerou if she had a few days here. She could help them to dramatically improve. But it wasn’t her job, and they needed someone who could dedicate their full time and energy into helping the place.