by Carol Oates
Emma sniffled and scrutinized my face, shoving her hand back into her pocket. Noticing the tension in my body, Amanda threaded her hand through the crook of my arm and placed her other hand against my chest. The move would normally calm me but did nothing now. My heart drummed against her palm.
Emma sighed deeply, her narrow shoulders heaving up into her hair and dropping again. “All I know is that while I was away something changed for my brother. He’s not the same person he was, and I know” —her inflection on the word dared me to disagree with her— “it has something to do with your sister.”
Shit! What exactly did that mean? How had he changed? I really hoped she meant he’d found religion.
“He denies everything, of course. Johnny says they are just friends. I talked with my brother when they were together—”
“They were never really a couple,” Amanda added, bouncing on the balls of her feet to keep warm. “I thought they should have been, but Triona had intimacy issues.”
Emma’s open mouth snapped shut. She squinted at Amanda as though trying to figure out if she was being helpful or not.
“Okay…well I happen to know he was crazy about her. Then nothing. Explain that?”
“People break up every day,” I said.
“Really? Does that also explain why he looks like a different person too?”
Before I could make things worse, Amanda took over. “You’re right. We should leave. Everyone needs a few hours to cool down. Right?” She looked up to me. Her eyes narrowed, waiting for my agreement. I nodded.
“We’re going to head back to our hotel.” Amanda took out a card and handed it to Emma who twirled it in her slender fingers. “We will be back tomorrow.” Then she tugged on my arm to get me to move.
“Hey,” Emma called from behind us.
We both turned to see she was frowning again, seeming far older and graver than moments before.
“She’s safe with my brother, you know. He’ll protect her.” Emma smiled weakly. I wasn’t sure what prompted her last reassurance, and I got the sense from Emma’s tone and the trace of hesitancy before she stepped back that she didn’t entirely understand why either.
I nodded, acknowledging her effort to ease our minds. One human had no chance of defending Triona against Zeal. And Triona would have less chance of defending herself if she was looking out for two humans. My feet refused to move further. I had to stay and keep watch. Unless…I needed to talk to Samuel—rationally my suspicion wasn’t possible. Amanda tugged on my arm again, and I looked down to her worried face.
“Come on,” she encouraged. “We are only drawing more attention to the place. We’ll be back tomorrow.”
I slipped my arm around her shoulder and pulled her close, kissing the top of her hair and breathing deep. I allowed her scent to fill my lungs and ease my body as she pulled me away.
Chapter 5
London Is Cold
“ARE YOU SURE?” I asked.
“No, I’ve told you. If John was a Guardian, between our records and the ones you produced, he would show up somewhere,” Samuel responded with the same assurance yet again.
His answer didn’t settle the matter.
“We have a plane on standby and can be there in the morning if you need us to be?” he said kindly, stating his offer as a question and shifting the decision to my shoulders.
This stuff was making me old before my time. It was easy to forget I had yet to reach twenty with all this weight bearing down on me. I wanted it over, and I wanted to get back to the life I had planned with Amanda, where she went back to school, and I worked with Lewis. Wasn’t that what we were meant to be doing—living a normal life, being something to hold up as a shining example of normality to both Guardian and human? So far, our relationship lacked normal.
“I have a thought,” Eila added to the conference line.
“Well don’t keep it to yourself. Inquiring minds and all that,” I said in a lighthearted tone, although the conversation felt anything but benign. I didn’t want everyone to guess the level of my concern. I carried the royal bloodline, which made it my job to be the one to carry the burden of worry. With Triona out of action and Caleb not around, it all came down to me. A deep-rooted desire to prove myself gnawed at me like a constant itch. I couldn’t afford to look weak, not now or ever.
Amanda glanced up from arranging food on the dining table in our open plan hotel room. Room service had delivered our food moments before. My mouth watered at the aromas of tomato soup and steak wafting through the room. I had turned the thermostat up to full blast as soon as we arrived back, and still I couldn’t get the heat into my body. London weather sucked.
I flopped down onto the deep, olive green couch separating the lounge from the bed area in the sumptuous, modern room. Sumptuous wasn’t a conscious decision. Amanda selected the hotel for its proximity to John’s home. After a long journey and hours spent standing in the cold night air, I welcomed a little five-star comfort. An artificial fire blazed behind a protective glass wall, and I propped my socked feet up on the coffee table, arching my back. My spine creaked in protest at the tension riddling my muscles.
“A transfer of power,” Eila said, drawing me back to the conversation.
“Is that even possible?”
“Everything is possible until proven otherwise.”
“Well that’s very philosophical, but I’d love some real answers. The longer Caleb is gone, the less chance there is my sister will ever see him again.” I let out a hard breath and leaned my head back.
Amanda looked up from the table suddenly and moved across the room to stand behind me, ruffling my hair. Her nails scratched across my scalp, sending warmth and shivers vibrating over my skin.
“Ben,” Samuel began, “we are all in the dark here. So much of our history is lost, and so much of what we do know isn’t definitive.”
“Basically you’re guessing,” I groaned.
Amanda sat close beside me and scooped her feet up onto the seat, pressing her head to mine in an effort to hear the conversation. I pulled the phone away from my ear and hit the speaker button.
“Have you heard any word on Caleb?” Amanda asked. She placed one of the throw cushions across her lap and picked at the stitching on the corner.
There was silence apart from the quiet shuffling of someone moving about. I opened my mouth to ask again, but Amanda stopped me with a finger over my lips. She shook her head and mouthed that I should hush. So we waited.
Seconds extended into minutes before Samuel spoke again. His voice cracked with grief. “We have it on good authority Zeal orchestrated the attack. Beyond that, nothing—”
The quiver in his tone combined with an instant’s hesitation before he said “nothing” raised my suspicion.
“Say what you have to. Triona will want to know everything,” I reminded him.
Samuel sucked in a deep breath before he spoke. “Our information is that Zeal is looking for something—as yet unidentified—that he believes we possess, and he’ll go to any length to retrieve it.”
Amanda flinched, as though backing away from a nasty smell. He didn’t say the words, but I knew Zeal had no issue with killing for what he wanted. All sorts of thoughts rushed through my head. Triona could have been killed. It could have been Amanda and me. Lastly, I thought of Caleb. My stomach dropped, the way it sometimes did when traveling over the crest of a steep hill at high speed. “Is it reliable?”
“I believe so.”
“I’m sorry,” I said honestly. I didn’t intend to give up on Caleb, but the situation appeared bleaker by the moment.
“You should be on your guard, Ben. Stay safe.”
I took his last stilted words to be an end to the conversation. “We’ll be in touch,” I assured him.
I ended the call with more reluctance than I understood but shrugged it off and wrapped Amanda in my arms.
“The food is getting cold,” she whispered sadly against my neck. Her warm breath rais
ed goose pimples on my flesh.
My stomach growled despite the churning acid. “I have to go back to John’s and try again.”
“I know,” she murmured, snuggling into my side. I felt her jaw widening to a yawn. She tried to stifle the sound, but it came out as a yelp.
It didn’t matter if Triona refused to see me. I’d have to make her—for her safety and for my peace of mind. I smoothed down the top of Amanda’s hair and kissed her head. Then I shifted her aside and leaned down to pull my boots back on over my thick socks.
“He’ll come after us too,” she said, stoking her palm the length of my spine. Her tone was flat. It wasn’t a question. We both recognized Triona had made a mistake allowing Zeal to walk away from Tara. None of this would be over for any of us until he was gone.
I stood up and grabbed my jacket from where I’d tossed it on an armchair nearby. I didn’t need to ask Amanda to come with me. Guilt nudged at my mind as I watched her sit on the bed to zip up her knee high boots over her jeans. She had to be tired and hungry, but she didn’t complain. She knew I couldn’t leave her here unprotected. I simply wouldn’t have been able to function.
“Ready.” She smiled, tugging a bobble hat over her ears. She bounced on the balls of her feet and clapped her hands in anticipation of the cold night awaiting her outside the hotel.
I leaned down and pressed my lips to hers lightly, unable to resist but unwilling to tempt myself further. I burned for her in every way a guy my age should. I wanted to take Amanda and disappear from all this anguish and fear. Instead, I forced those feelings down and opened the door.
Amanda gasped. Her eyes widened at the sight of Triona approaching our door. She looked terrible. Her red hair had been bunched up in a messy heap at the top of her head, and tears streamed from her swollen, bloodshot eyes. Her skin seemed as if dappled with pink paint by a child, blotchy and shining under the hallway light. Her jacket wasn’t her own—a khaki parka meant for someone much larger flapped around her knees as she picked up pace. She went from walking to a blur of spun copper and khaki slamming into my chest. The force knocked me back a couple of inches before her arms engulfed my neck.
I recovered quickly and hugged her back. Her heart beat like a jackhammer about to burst through her ribcage, and her body trembled viciously. I locked my arms around her in a useless effort to hold her steady. Over her head, I saw Amanda watching us, her small hands covering her mouth, her eyes slick with tears.
My fear ratcheted up a notch. This time it was solely for my sister. I remembered seeing my sister in this state once before. The loss of her mate again threatened to rip her apart. Frankly, I wasn’t sure how she had managed to function for this long without crashing.
I didn’t think about what to do next. I scooped my arm beneath Triona’s knees and swung her up. She seemed tiny and frail, no more intimidating than a baby.
Amanda held the door open, and I carried Triona through. There was nothing for us to do now but hope she would keep breathing until the worst of the pain passed.
Chapter 6
A War on Two Fronts
I HAD NO IDEA of the time when I woke up on the couch with my legs dangling over the armrest. The room was dark, although I could see well enough to distinguish shapes. I stretched my arms and legs, every muscle aching. The couch hadn’t been made for a six-foot-five man to sleep on.
Triona wanted to get her own room. Amanda wanted to get a larger suite with a second bedroom. Somehow, neither happened. I scrunched my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to clear the fog from my brain and adapt better to the dimness. I reached over to the coffee table and groped for my phone. It was already past four in the afternoon. We’d slept most of the day, not surprising since we’d been up most of the night and we were still on Camden time. There were no missed calls and only two texts—one from Lewis reminding me to call home and keep them updated. The other came from Samuel. It contained two words: “No news.”
I yawned and swung my legs around, knocking an empty cup and saucer from the edge of the table.
“Shit,” I muttered as I scrambled to catch it. It slipped from my fingers and landed with a clatter of porcelain on porcelain.
“Shush,” Amanda scolded.
I looked over my shoulder in time to see her pull a pillow across her face. Beside her on the giant bed, Triona slept soundly.
I had plugged myself into my iPod and had pretended to sleep. At some point I must have dozed off. A few weeks into my marriage, I was on the couch and my wife was sharing a bed with my sister. This wasn’t the honeymoon in Europe I’d imagined.
As for John Hamilton…he remembered everything. Another human tangled up in our mess. Triona had returned his memories the same way she had taken them—with a kiss. Afterward he had told her to leave. I was equal parts pissed at him for turning her out and relieved he did.
Once she had calmed down enough to talk, she claimed she had no choice regarding his memories. Triona reiterated what Emma had said about John being different now. She felt responsible and put it down to her doing something wrong when she gave him new memories to replace the ones she took. She had hoped to reverse whatever happened. It didn’t work. Maybe Eila’s suspicions were right and Triona had inadvertently passed a little magic his way.
John didn’t do well before with the knowledge of what we were. The guilt of his anguish had been torture for Triona. In the end, taking his memories had been for his benefit. I worried about the way this latest development would affect him…and us.
I leaned forward, scrubbing my hands over my face and into my hair. I needed a shower and food. I craved food. Dinner from the previous night lay discarded under silver coveres on the dining table. After I clicked the switch on one of the smaller lamps, I stood up and stretched again before tentatively lifting one of the domes. Cream had congealed over the sliced potatoes, and the steak resembled a slab of dark leather. I covered it up and grabbed the room service menu.
After ordering a selection of dishes, presuming the girls would eventually wake up famished, I went to grab a shower. Amanda and Triona had risen by the time the food arrived.
Freshly showered and fed, we grabbed a black cab back to John’s house. Triona wasn’t hopeful he’d be receptive to listening. However, I didn’t plan on giving him an option.
I noticed a tiny camera above the door before it swung open and wondered if John was security conscious or paranoid.
Emma greeted us, smiling widely. Her clenched teeth appeared startlingly white against blood red lips. Her coat and boots from the night before had concealed her size. Without them, and dressed head to toe in black jeans and a turtleneck, she was tiny.
“Oh joy, it’s you people again,” she chirped.
I got the distinct impression she didn’t quite mean it.
“We need to speak to him,” Triona stated with a clear, decisive tone, ignoring Emma’s sarcasm.
I was confident Emma would realize we were serious. She seemed like a quick study. As I suspected, she stepped aside and swept her arm inward.
“Well, by all means, come on in.”
I caught Amanda’s grin out of the corner of my eye. She bit her lip, probably in an attempt not to encourage Emma. I got the sense Hamilton junior didn’t require much encouragement. Curiosity burned in Emma’s eyes. Despite her efforts at dry humor, she wanted to know the cause of our visit.
Inside, the interior held few surprises. At least what I could see of it in the long narrow hallway. White walls and polished stone floors the color of sand gave it misleading breadth. With the four of us packed in, there wasn’t much room to maneuver. A staircase midway down cut off half the width, and the three doors remained closed. As we moved forward, space under the stairs opened to reveal two high-back box chairs, dark and worn with age, in the otherwise sparsely decorated hallway.
Behind them was a rail to more steps, with smooth, pin top balusters. We followed Emma down into the basement.
The tight, twisting s
tairwell led into a huge open-plan living space with a living room area at one end and a kitchen. A dining area took up the other end toward the back of the house. A soccer game played on a large flat screen in front of a deep, sage green corner couch. The voices of excited commentators filled my ears. Several books and newspapers were scattered over a low coffee table. A discarded iPod with music still coming from the small ear buds lay on the smoked-glass dining table alongside an archery magazine.
John sat with his back to us on a high stool at a granite-topped breakfast bar. An assortment of well-used pots and pans dangled from a pan rack above his head. The sleek off-white kitchen units ran the length of the wall behind it, with a chrome and black range midway.
His fingers tightened around a bottle of beer on the counter, and I thought he might pick it up. Instead, he released his grip and a sighed deeply. His shoulders lifted, and he tilted his head one way and then the other, stretching his neck. I had met this guy once, but even seeing him from behind, this wasn’t the same person. He slipped off the seat and turned.
Amanda let out a shocked squeak.
“You’re looking well.” I smirked.
John Hamilton 2.0 pressed his lips together in a flat line and forced air out through his nose. He adjusted the waistband of his jeans as pink deepened over his cheeks, seeming uncomfortable with the close scrutiny.
I estimated he’d packed on at least thirty pounds to his six-foot-plus frame since the last time I had seen him. All muscle judging by the definition visible through the fabric of his blue shirt. Despite the weight, his sharp bone structure seemed more defined, and his troubled brown eyes gleamed with a hint of amber. Even his hair hinted of change. Traces of golden highlights threaded though the blond. John wasn’t exactly ugly before, but this guy was a god in the making. It was enough for me to pause and wonder how far the changes extended.