by Loni Lynne
Draylon wasn't sure that Nonni would be okay, but he helped her to stand and got her to at least sit in her rocking chair then placed a quilt around her frail body.
"Get her some water." Draylon glanced around to see the two men still standing there like naked sentries. "And damn it, would you two put some clothes on."
"I've got the water. Go get dressed," Marilyn commanded the naked twins. She leveled them a look, and her voice growled low as they tried to defy her.
Both men appeared to understand her tone. Looking at each other, they went to do her bidding. Draylon watched until they left—so did Marilyn, her eyes never leaving their retreat. Her nose twitched and her lip curled around the edges. Or was that his imagination?
Finally, she turned and pumped out a dipper of water from the hand pump fountain at the sink. Bringing it over to Nonni, she sat at the woman's feet, holding the dipper out to her as an offering.
Nonni's hands trembled as they reached out. Draylon worried about this new side to the old witch. He'd never seen her so shaken. Something passed between the older and younger woman, as if they were reading each other's thoughts. Then he saw it—whatever it was. Marilyn's intense stare, her eyes, turned emerald green, the rims around their fiery irises black as night. The change was only momentary and then, gone as if he'd imagined it all. He was not one to imagine anything—not when he himself was a mere creature of fantasies and folklore.
When Nonni had her fill of the water she sat back in her chair, weariness pinching her weathered features. She closed her eyes and chanted in tongues. A language he'd never witnessed her speak. It sounded ancient—like a prayer perhaps, and then she became quiet and a soft snore erupted.
Marilyn lowered the dipper and smiled. "Nonni is something else."
So are you, Draylon thought to himself. But he wasn't sure what.
Chapter Three
The room was small but tidy. The rustic wooden bed and large armoire were the main pieces of furniture and they took up most of the room. No television or any other electronics and only an oil lamp on a small bedside table gave her enough light to prepare for bed.
Glancing around, Marilyn removed her clothing and folded them. She changed into her oversized Baltimore Raven's football jersey, the only good thing she'd gotten out of her last relationship, and crawled into bed.
The half-medallion weighed heavy against her breastbone where it laid, the silver chain tangled in her hair. She didn't feel safe taking it off in the company of strangers. She rubbed the jagged edges and traced the detailed relief of the wolf's head. She knew the image intimately by touch as well as sight. The open jaws of the mighty wolf swallowing the serpentine tail of a missing beast.
It was one of the reasons she was here in Romania, to find the missing piece. On her twenty-first birthday she'd received a package from a friend of her father's. There'd been no name, no return address, just a letter explaining this had been an ancient Dacian artifact that her father had found, and he wished for her to have it when she turned twenty-one. She was to keep it a secret from everyone, but it would protect her and be the answer to her heritage.
Why would her father want her to have it? According to her mother, her father never accepted the fact she was his. Her father had accused her mother of being unfaithful because he was infertile. He'd never be able to have children. He'd left her mother claiming he'd divorce her when he returned from his trip to Romania…but he never returned.
And now she'd been sent this piece of Dacian history from a stranger who claimed her father wanted her to have it. This from a man who claimed she couldn't be his daughter? Maybe he'd had a change of heart at the last minute and never had the chance to apologize to her mother before he went missing. Or maybe he was still out there somewhere, hiding. But from her research into the Hoia Forest where he'd disappeared…it wasn't uncommon. People who ventured in sometimes never returned. The place held a paranormal aura that scientists were still baffled over.
Her interest in her heritage, the medallion and Romanian history in general led her to contact one of the top history/archeological professors in the country, Aiden Vamier. Her interest and the paper she'd done on Ancient Dacia and what background she knew had piqued the man's interest, and he'd offered her a chance to spend this semester, finishing her Master's Degree, learning at his side.
She never expected any of this to happen. What was it with exploding vampire-like creatures, wolves that morphed into naked men and Draylon Conier? She had to be in some crazy drug induced dream from the medications Jon gave her for her recent pains and sleep issues. The muscle aches, cramps and dizzy spells she suffered were too much to deal with. She'd talked to her mother about her conditions, and she'd suggested going to see Doc Johnston for an examination.
Yawning, Marilyn rolled to her side. She knew she should sleep. It was bad enough this was a dream. She didn't want to sleep within a dream and not know the difference between reality and fantasy. The press of the heavy bronze jagged edge digging into the side of her breast irritated her. Finally giving in, she slipped the chained emblem off and wrapped the necklace around the palm of her hand, lacing it through her fingers. No one would be able to take her medallion without waking her up. She wouldn't lose the only connection she had to her heritage.
Sunlight dappled across her face. Focusing on her surroundings, Marilyn's eyes tried to open but felt heavy, her lashes matted and crusted. Turning her head from side to side, prisms of light and pain shot behind her lids.
"Rest. Rest easy, zmeoaică."
"Thirsty…" Marilyn mumbled.
Cool water dribbled past her parched lips. Nothing ever tasted so good.
"You've been on a long journey, my friend," the kind voice whispered. "I knew you would come eventually. But your journey is not over."
A door creaked open and the bed weighted down. Wet snouts burrowed beneath her hands. She rubbed their noses.
"Get those two mutts off the bed, Nonni. They don't need to be up there."
The heavy male voice sounded familiar. If only she could remember …
"They are fine, Draylon. They are not hurting anyone—except you."
There was silence but Marilyn picked up on troubled thoughts. Not hers but someone else's.
"How is she, Nonni?"
"Her fever broke this morning. But she is still weak."
Nonni. She'd heard the name recently…yes? She couldn't remember and thinking caused her head to pound. She inhaled the spicy musk to calm the thumping. It reminded her of something…no, someone.
"All right, all right—" the woman stated with exasperation, "Therron, Kurren…shoo! Go sleep by the fire."
The weight by her side shifted and was replaced by a different weight. A hand brushed a strand of hair out of her face. A finger swept along her cheek.
"Are you sure she is going to be okay?"
"Yes. She's young and healthy—just adjusting to…things, Draylon."
Ah, Draylon! Yes, she remembered the name.
"But she's been sick for two days. It can't be jet lag. There is no fever with jet lag. Something is not right, Nonni. I'm calling Rick."
"No!"
The outburst from Nonni brought her awake, peeling her burning eyelids open. She watched as the old woman and the young man dressed in black stared holes in the other.
"He wouldn't know what to do with her. She's a woman. Besides, if you think Therron and Kurren are an issue, what do you suppose putting her in the wolves' den would do? No, she must be kept safe…and away from others."
"What do you purpose then? Keep her here?"
"No, she won't be safe here for long. Vamier would find her. You know what you must do. Follow your natural instincts."
Marilyn couldn't make out his mumbled words. She was so tired and weak. What was wrong with her? She heard the door open and close and sensed that Draylon had left. Nonni returned to her side and smiled a toothless grin do
wn at her.
"He is so old but so young, too. But you will show him the way."
What was she talking about? She spoke in English but what she said didn't make sense to her. She raised her hand only to have it drop across her chest. Chest…hand…her medallion! Panic set in.
Nonni gentled her. "It is safe within your belongings, my child." A cool cloth fell across her heated forehead. "You must have a care with it, though. It must not fall into the wrong hands. Keep it on you at all times when you leave. Keep it close to your heart, and it will lead you home."
More nonsense and riddles. Her brain wasn't equipped with enough neurons to figure out what she said. She sensed her brain working, keeping her inner organs alive. But using it for thinking or focus drained her completely.
"Rest…rest, zmeoaică. You will be home soon."
Follow my natural instincts? The one thing about the old woman was she talked in riddles and Draylon didn't always have time to figure them out. If he could just have someone tell him what he had to do, he'd do it. Someone like Rick. Rick always gave it to him straight. He knew where he stood with his old friend.
Rick Delvante had saved his life many years ago. During a battle in which his family had been destroyed, Rick had found him and nursed him back to health. He owed the man and promised to find a way to pay him back. But the man never accepted his offers over the centuries…not until three days ago when he sent him to intercept Marilyn Reddlin and keep her from getting to Aiden Vamier.
What was it about this young woman? Why after centuries of strife, wars and issues Draylon could've taken care of for Rick, why was it now—and with this woman?
Okay, she was the daughter of the most influential executives at Livedel, Rick Delvante's medical research facility. He'd heard about Diane Reddlin. No wonder Marilyn had issues. If she had Diane for a mother, it was a wonder the girl could think for herself. He'd heard the woman ate testicles for a mid-morning snack and washed them down with the blood of every man she'd bested behind the desk. Rumor had it she even had the United States Senate and half the Representatives by the gonads. She ate, breathed and pissed power but because of her, Livedel was the dominant international industry it had become in the past couple of decades.
Rick needed him to keep Marilyn from Romania. She needed to go home then. She'd refused him, wouldn't follow his command, verbal or telepathic. Something told him she still wouldn't listen to him. But right now, she was weak and vulnerable. With Vamier's goons hunting her down she wouldn't be safe. His instincts told him she needed to get back home, away from the immediate danger. That is what Rick wanted. Draylon knew what he had to do.
"What do you mean she's gone?" Aiden Vamier bellowed from behind his ornate desk.
Gerlich smirked. All he could think of was, "Another One Bites the Dust" as Trevor faced the music. What a putz! The idiot couldn't handle a simple female and bring her in?
"My lord, we had every one of the sentries out, but we were intercepted."
"Intercepted by whom? No one is capable of getting in our way."
Fool. Who do you think? Gerlich didn't need to put two and two together. He knew Aiden didn't either but still, playing dumb didn't make him a great leader. The man lived in a different world. He only saw what he wanted. He never looked to a bigger picture.
"Draylon Conier, my lord."
Aiden rubbed his smooth shaven face. The man was older than Moses by a decade or two, but he still looked like the fresh faced punk who had changed his world with a sword and ego.
"What does my brother's 'pet' want with the girl?" He stopped rubbing his face and stood to stalk down the three steps from his grand "office."
Vamier believed in power…the higher, the fewer. He thought having a desk, a dining table, a bed, a castle, higher than anyone else made him more powerful. He was no better than the Wizard of Oz, only here everyone paid attention to the "man behind the curtain."
"I…I…don't know, my lord," Trevor stuttered.
Gerlich stood at attention, wishing he could see better peripherally without losing his militant bearing. He lived for moments like this.
"You mean to tell me twenty of you were stationed at various posts waiting for her at the airport and not a single one of your sentries nabbed her. Was Draylon alone, or did he have those mangy wolves with him?"
"He was…alone, my lord." Trevor's voice quaked.
The inevitable is upon you, shit for brains. Suck up your last breath while you can.
"Alone." Aiden paced back and forth in front of them, his head down, his hands clasped behind his back.
The deadly calm signaled the approaching storm. Gerlich had seen it too many times.
"I don't think I understand. Did he take every one of my troops out by himself? Was there some sort of mass command of destruction he used? What?"
"No, my lord…it was the girl. She was untouchable."
Their leader stopped in front of Trevor, the blue vein popping out of his forehead, contrasting with his golden hair. His nostrils flared with disapproval. "I want to question the rest of your personnel."
"There…there is no one left, my lord. Devon and I are the only remaining. We were only injured in a car accident, the rest were either killed by Draylon or…"
"…or?"
"Or they turned to ash upon touching Ms. Reddlin, my lord."
Gerlich sobered. What? His shock had him almost lose his military bearing…almost. But the look on Aiden's face was frightening. He hadn't seen such a look in a man's eye since he had been with the SS back in Germany during World War II. It was evil and hungry, hungry for power just out of his grasp, and he'd be willing to sell his soul to Hades to get it.
The man smiled and took Trevor's face between his palms in a slap. "Trevor, Trevor, Trevor…that is such wonderful news. Good job."
Gerlich prepared himself but loved the sound of a fellow unit leader gasping his last breath as he tried to scream. Such a messy thing, but it brought him closer to the power he wanted for himself.
The thud of Trevor's lifeless remains echoed through the cavernous room. Still, Gerlich stood at attention until he was addressed. Aiden came into his frontal view, his lips and lower jaw coated with the red/black blood of his former unit leader.
"You are now in command Gerlich."
"My lord," he hailed in response, clicking his heels together.
"You Nazi boys always had a spark to you."
Aiden took out a pristine white handkerchief from his Armani suit pocket and dabbed at the blood on his face.
"I want you to prepare the other unit leaders to go into the battle fields for more recruits."
"Yes, my lord. Will that be all?"
"Then return to the United States and oversee the work being done at the blood banks. You are now in charge over there."
"Do you wish me to do anything about Ms. Reddlin, my lord?"
Aiden sighed, his breath rasping in and out through his nose. "No, not just yet. I'll let you know when I change your tasks."
"Yes, my lord."
"Oh and Gerlich, have someone dispose of Trevor's remains and clean up the pool of blood. It stains the marble floor if it sits too long."
"Of course, my lord, right away." He clicked his heels and turned about face to do his master's bidding. What Aiden didn't see was the determined smile on Gerlich's face. He had grand intentions to move up the chain of command and take over…everything.
Diane Reddlin had been pushed far enough. She hadn't heard from her daughter since their phone connection had been cut over two days ago. Having exhausted all of her diplomatic connections in every country, and even insisting the president send out Navy SEALs to search for her daughter—even though she had no idea where to send them—she was at her wits end.
She hadn't been home in days. There were too many memories and reminders. It was worse than losing Richard all those years ago. At least she'd had Marilyn to raise and
protect. Now she was alone.
Rubbing her gritty eyes, her mascara smeared on the backs of her knuckles, she looked over at the emergency phone again. She didn't want to have to rely on him. Rick Delvante may be her boss, but she had carte blanche to run the show as she saw fit. As long as profits were made, new contracts arranged and everyone remained happy, he never questioned her abilities to run his operation.
Though she'd never met the man, he had his finger on every pulse point of the business. He knew everything that went on. Sometimes she felt as if he had spies keeping an eye out for him. It amazed her when he would call her up out of the blue before she'd gotten recent reports out to him, already informed on the situations.
Biting her lip, she set her shoulders. This wasn't about business, this was about her daughter. He had informed her, years ago, that if she ever needed anything, for her or her daughter that all she had to do was call him on this phone. She'd never had to do so. But she was at her last hope.
"Yes, how may I help you?"
She hadn't even dialed. This was his private phone she'd picked up but it was a woman's voice. His wife maybe?
"Um…yes." She took a steadying breath. "I'm looking for Mr. Rick Delvante."
"Of course, Ms. Reddlin—I'll put you right through."
Okay, personal receptionist.
"Diane? What's wrong? You've never called this phone."
"I've never had to, sir." She could feel the sharp edge of emotion trying to battle its way up her throat. "I'm desperate though, and I don't know what else to do."
It was true. She'd never needed to rely on anyone, and now she had to rely on the one man who had made her what she was today.
"That's why I told you to use this number whenever you had an issue concerning you or Marilyn."
There was no doubt the man knew everyone's name. He was after all, Rick Delvante.
"So how may I help you?"