Hope For More (Trinity Book 3)

by Devin Fontaine

  Maybe Garrett looked like a meathead. A tough guy with a low IQ, what with his scarred, calloused hands, wary eyes, and bulging muscles, but Garrett was far from stupid. He heard every word Hope said, face in shirt or not. In response, he maneuvered Hope until he could use his hand to tilt her head until he was staring into her eyes. She found the hard, fierce look on Garrett’s face shocking. Normally, all Hope saw from her brother was kindness, love, and compassion.

  “Don’t you dare let that bastard win.” Garrett’s lips curled into an unfamiliar, and kind of scary, sneer. “He’ll—”

  “It.”

  Garrett huffed. “Fine. It will do this again to someone else. I know you and you’re strong.” Fingers pressed into Hope’s chin, preventing her from looking away. “You always have been. Me and you, we’re fighters.”

  She listened, awestruck by the rare, soul-bearing moment from her emotionally closed-off brother. Tears blurred her vision. God she loved him. So, so much. Garrett was the only person in the entire world who stood by Hope when their parents died, and he hadn’t left her side since. It was only because Garrett stepped up—jumping headfirst into adulthood and his role of parent at the tender age of eighteen, agreeing to raise his baby sister—that Hope didn’t end up on the streets doing god knows what. Garrett had been a kid at the time. No doubt he was scared. But her brother never backed down or gave up on her. He didn’t leave when times got tough, even when he would be better off abandoning the responsibility of keeping Hope in school and putting food on her plate.

  Memories of Garrett’s unwavering dedication were what finally penetrated Hope’s fear. The determination on his face. That same resolve she’d seen from him time and time again since the day they were orphaned, a teenage boy left to be brother, parent, and sole provider for their tiny family.

  Garrett was Hope’s rock. Her touchstone. He bore the burden of caring for Hope, not once ever uttering a word of complaint. Not once. To be honest, what Garrett said was true. Just like her brother, Hope grew to be strong, too. Ditched her dreams, everything she ever wanted for herself, and as soon as she turned eighteen and took her GED, she got a job stripping—which she loathed—to earn her keep and lift some of the pressure off Garrett. Unfortunately, though the money was good, she never earned enough to keep Garrett from having to fight.

  Every time he left the apartment in the middle of the night, scheduled for one of those horrible fights, Hope honestly believed it would end up being the last time she ever saw her brother. Instead of begging Garrett not to go, guilting him into doing what she wanted, Hope pasted on a smile and wished him luck. No way would she wound Garrett’s pride by begging him to stop. Besides the fact that they needed the cash to keep from ending up on the streets. Each time Garrett returned home, usually covered in bruises and cuts, she sucked it up, stowed her issues, and patched up his wounds. Garrett didn’t fight for fun. He did it for them. For her. The very least Garrett deserved was Hope’s support and care, even if all she could offer was a smile and a bit of first aid.

  Not once in all those years, the hard times and the impossible times, did they give up on one another. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, let Garrett down now.

  “You’re right. I can do this.” She closed her eyes and shifted to sit on the bench so she wasn’t leaning on her brother. Enduring this trial was something she needed to do. For Garrett, but more for herself. Yes, Garrett sat at her side, but ultimately, it was Hope’s demon to conquer. Focusing on breathing steady, she accepted a teeny, tiny bit of comfort and held her brother’s hand.

  Fear still permeated down to Hope’s soul and terror still twisted her intestines into knots, but she would damn well get through this. Inhaling deep to clear her mind, Hope opened her eyes to find Thomas filling her field of vision. The gorgeous attorney was staring at her. By the expression on the man’s handsome face, he was as equally concerned as Garrett. Thomas’s kissable lips looked pinched and his stunning blue eyes reflected anxiety.

  If Hope were to get one wish, a wish she could use to have anything she wanted, it would be Thomas’s arms around her with her cheek pressed against his broad chest, his breath whispering in her hair while she listened to the steady beat of his heart as he ran his hands down her back and told her everything would be all right.

  Hope’s face flushed and she dropped her gaze. Thomas worked hard to bring that thing to trial, as did the detectives who spent hours to find and capture her assailant. This wasn’t the time for thoughts of lust. Forcing herself not to stare at Thomas, Hope decided to look at the trial from a different perspective. When she peeled away her own issues, her assault, her fear, her narrow point of view as “the victim”, Hope realized that everyone, even Dante Vittorio, had worked hard to make sure Hope knew they supported her every single step of the way. Mr. Vittorio gifted Garrett and Hope jobs. Jobs that paid enough that Garrett no longer had to fight to make extra money. On top of that, Mr. Cassavettes, who Hope hadn’t even met at the time, stepped up and generously allowed the siblings to live in one of his luxury apartments at a reduced rent.

  Oh god.

  Her eyes stung and her throat felt tight. Hope sniffed and pretended she didn’t notice Garrett glancing at her as she blinked back tears. As difficult as it was to wrap her head around, she was positive it was no longer Garrett and Hope against the world. They weren’t alone anymore. For the first time since their parents died, people cared about what happened to them. People wanted to see the thing that attacked her punished. Hope couldn’t allow her own fears to keep her from testifying. Fear served no purpose. In order to move on, Hope would see this through to the end, for herself, for Garrett, and for everyone who believed in them and gave her and her brother a chance at a better life.

  “The prosecution calls Hope Hartley to the stand.”

  When Thomas called her name, her flinch couldn’t be helped. Newly confident and without a doubt in her mind, Hope gave Garrett’s hand a final squeeze and rose to do her duty. Her steady gaze flicked in its direction. It glared at her, its mouth twisted into an arrogant smirk. Hope stuck her chin out and her eyes narrowed.

  Fuck you.

  It was about to find out just how strong Hope could be when backed into a corner.

  Showtime, you bastard.

  CHAPTER 2

  T rue began to sort through the very last box, among the dozens upon dozens that were stored in the backroom of the shop for who knew how long. Dust motes rose when she opened the lid. They tickled her nose and she sneezed. Dust flew into the air. True waved a hand and said, “Peribit,” and the dust vanished.

  Fates, Cressida had so much junk, none of it properly catalogued. Using the utmost care so as not to break anything important, True removed each item from the box and placed it on a warded cloth she had spread on top of a medium-sized folding table. There was no telling how powerful an object held until it was individually tested. No way would she take any risks with Cressida Summer’s stuff. She used not only the cloth but donned warded gloves as well. Sometimes simply touching an object could prove disastrous. It could be cursed, blessed, designed to injure, harm, infect, or compel whoever or whatever it came in contact with.

  “True, my dear girl.” Cressida breezed in from the front of the store, her long robes swirling around her ankles. She stopped to take in True’s progress. Sharp eyes flicked over stacks of carefully labeled boxes and rows of warded jars True had organized on either side of the tiny storeroom. “Amazing work, dear. Simply amazing. You managed to do in weeks what I haven’t found time for in decades.”

  “Well, you were busy running the shop.” True’s cheeks heated from the unexpected praise. “I’m sure you didn’t have time to deal with all this.” She gestured at the newly organized area.

  “Fates, I’m so glad I hired you.” Cressida clasped her hands together and beamed. True wondered if she was going to hug her again. Turned out Cressida was a hugger. It was nice, but kind of weird, too.

  True snorted. “It’s not like the R
egency was going to give me back my job.” She became aware of how whiney and childish the words sounded and True cringed. “I mean, not that I don’t love working here or anything. I didn’t mean to insult you.”

  Cressida laughed and patted her arm. “I know, dear. Good thing the Regency is now, and always has been, filled with petty and narrow-minded practitioners. Their loss is my gain.”

  Fates, the female was so easygoing True couldn’t help but smile. The divinator was eccentric, aye. A tad scatterbrained, as well. But all in all, Cressida proved to be a wonderful ray of sunshine and a breath of fresh air. She never ran out of energy and always spoke her mind. Just being around her lifted True’s spirits, which as of late had fallen pretty darn low.

  “This is the last one I have to go through.” True gestured toward the open box. “I figure I’ll be done by the end of the day.”

  Cressida bent over and took a closer look at the ten or so items spread on the cloth. “Hmmm. That one.” She pointed at a silver cuff, the tarnished metal etched with several runes. “I haven’t seen it in ages.” Her eyes narrowed as she examined the almost inch-wide bracelet. Cressida reached in a pocket and withdrew what True recognized as warded gloves similar to her own. After slipping them on, Cressida lifted the cuff and turned it this way and that, examining it from every angle.

  “What is it?” It wasn’t any of True’s business, and mayhap the question was rude, but she was just too darn curious to stay quiet.

  It seemed Cressida wasn’t bothered by her inquiry. “It is a powerful shield.” She shifted the cuff closer so True could get a better look, whilst continuing to rotate it so True could take in every side. She must needs admit, the jewelry was beautiful.

  Cressida pointed to one of the symbols. “This rune here is Elhaz, an active ward and defender.” She turned the cuff to show off the next rune. “And this is Hagalaz, which casts away evil spells. This final one…” Cressida indicated the third and final rune. “Is Dagaz. The most powerful of them all.”

  “What does it do?” True had no experience with magic objects, as sorcerers and sorceress’s, for the most part, didn’t use them for spell casting. They relied on their own powers and, if one was lucky enough to be a higher class, the aether.

  Cressida stared at the cuff, reverence in her eyes. “It renders the wearer invisible at will.”

  Invisibility?

  True’s jaw dropped. As far as she knew, only Watchers possessed that particular ability. Since the beginning of time, sorcerers tried to create an invisibility spell, and to her knowledge and common teachings, none succeeded.

  “But—?”

  “You didn’t think it possible?” Cressida asked, brows raised.

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “You’re correct. It isn’t.” True squinted and Cressida’s face split into a grin. “Except to whomever owns this.” She held up the cuff.

  Speechless, True absorbed the information. “There are those who would kill for that,” she whispered, suddenly afraid of the previously harmless-looking silver cuff. Nervous, she glanced around the room, worried a powerful practitioner would mayhap jump out of the shadows at any moment to steal it, which was stupid, because they were alone and the store was warded.

  “Which is why I’m giving it to you, dear.” Cressida extended the hand with the cuff toward True.

  True bolted from her chair, scrabbling away, tripping on the legs and nearly toppling over the table along with every item on it. “Cressida, no. I can’t. It’s… it’s too strong. You know I am unable to channel that level of power.” She held up her hands and when Cressida moved forward, True stepped back. No way was she worthy of such a divine object. Fates, she was only a class two for crying out loud!

  Cressida’s face softened. “That is exactly why you should have it, dear.” True squinted. “Whilst not powerless, you are at a distinct disadvantage, and if you are in such danger that you require a Guardian…” At the same time, both glanced toward the front of the shop where Tor, her Guardian Angel, stood watch, though they couldn’t actually see him through the curtain that separated the two rooms.

  “But I don’t need the Guardian,” she said as she huffed in frustration. Annoyed, True peeled off the gloves and tossed them on a chair. “As I explained to my father, no one is coming for me. He simply won’t listen.”

  Recently, Famine, one of the four Horsemen, kidnapped and tortured True. Famine, bound and determined to open the portal to the Underworld, wanted the names of every class nine sorcerer in Eastlake Falls. Because True worked for the Regency, the Horseman thought she’d know who the class nines were, which any immortal with half a brain knew to be utterly ludicrous. As if the Regency was stupid enough to leave the list lying around the break room or something where anyone could see it. That list, one of the most important documents in the immortal world, was guarded by multiple wards and traps. Only a select few ever saw the names or worked with the class nines. It took weeks, and a whole lot of suffering, for True to get the Horseman to accept in truth, she couldn’t access the list, he dumped her in that horrific prison where she was abused at the hands of malicious daemons.

  True shivered. Then the image of Donovan, the huge, red haired, Angel of Protection, popped into her head. He looked magnificent when he swept into the cells, wrapped her in the warmth of his arms, and freed her from her personal nightmare. She shivered again, only this time not from fear.

  “Someone believes you do need a Guardian,” Cressida replied.

  True sighed. “The Guardian is only with me because Donovan is an overprotective stultus, and my dad went along with whatever he said to do.” The second the words were out, she clapped her hands over her big mouth.

  “Donovan? The Angel of Protection? That Donovan?” Cressida’s eyes bulged, then her expression slowly morphed from surprise into one of mischief. She sported a sly grin and waggled her brows.

  “It’s not like that.” True felt her face heating up. “Donovan rescued me. Now he thinks he has some sort of say over my life and flat out refuses to get it through his thick head that I’m not in any danger. I don’t know anything and Famine is aware of the fact. Therefore, he has no use for the likes of me.”

  Again, Cressida held out the cuff whilst jutting her chin out. “Prithee, take it. It would give me peace to know you have the option.”

  “But, why… I don’t…” True squinted and shook her head. “Shouldn’t you give it to someone else? Like your daughter. She’s a sorceress, right? Mayhap she could use it.”

  But Cressida wanted nothing to do with it. “My daughter is mated to the Son of Lust. She cannot wear anything charmed which repels evil. Trust me, I learned that lesson the hard way.” True caught a flash of regret in her friend’s eyes.

  “I-I didn’t know your daughter mated with Lust.” Just like everyone else in Eastlake Falls, True heard the gossip. That the city’s most eligible bachelor had been snapped up by some lucky girl. She never knew that girl was Cressida’s daughter. Heck, besides being a sorceress, True didn’t even know what her daughter did for a living.

  “Here.” Cressida thrust the bracelet under her nose until she had no choice but to take it. Now gloveless, when True’s fingers touched the metal, the amount of power that surrounded the metal made her gasp. Holding the cuff was akin to succumbing to a compulsion of lust or desire, the power buzzing through her hands like a drug through an addict’s veins.

  “Strong, aye?”

  True couldn’t tear my eyes away as she responded. “It is. It’s amazing.”

  “Go ahead and put it on, dear.”

  Slowly—so much so it was a testament to Cressida’s patience that she didn’t snatch the cuff and jam the damn thing on True’s arm—she slid the wide bracelet on her delicate wrist. Immediately, she received the full potential of its power as it encompassed, then penetrated her body. The faint odor of singed electricity stung her nostrils. She’d never been this close to an object of such magic, let alone touched one. The sensa
tion was amazing.

  “There,” Cressida said, sounding satisfied. “It looks lovely on you. Now,” she clapped her hands and smiled. “Finish sorting this last bit of stuff, dear. I’ll be up front cataloguing an order of elf bones.”

  True stared at the bracelet a few more minutes before she snapped out of the hazy fog. She couldn’t understand why anyone believed she could be in danger, but she must needs admit, the boost in power felt good.

  Really good.

  DONOVAN SLID the warded bracers onto each of his forearms and fastened the clasps to hold them in place. Next, he bent over and quickly strapped on his thigh rigs, then reached into his locker and pulled out his daggers—forged by elves from an ancient metal, then warded by a powerful sorcerer. One went in each thigh sheath. Humans used guns, but unless you had cursed bullets, those weapons were useless against immortals. Donovan preferred his blades. Preferred fighting up close and personal. The breastplate went on next. Dull and scratched, the metallic surface held testament to the many battles he took part in. Pulling the material over his head, he covered the breastplate with a windbreaker labeled SWAT on the back in tall white letters. Though they were anything but, it was imperative they maintain a human facade for all the non-immortals on the streets.

  Whilst the rest of the team suited up, Donovan stepped out of the locker room and nearly smacked right into Tony.

  “Tony?” He gaped when he noticed the detective wearing his own SWAT windbreaker. “You’re coming?”

  “Nothing could keep me away.” Tony spotted Donovan’s frown and steeled his jaw, the muscles in his cheeks twitching. “Don’t even try to talk me out of it. Michael gave me the okay, besides the fact that despite what you believe, this has been my case from the beginning, and it goes way, way back.”

  Donovan didn’t appreciate the acid in Tony’s voice, but in truth, the detective and his partner were the ones to tie decades, mayhap centuries, of deceased, young human males to the missing human females, then later, to the Horseman. Joan got called out, so wouldn’t be part of the raid. Apparently, more soulless humans were found throughout the city on a frighteningly frequent basis. It seemed Famine ramped up his soul eating as of late, and based upon the descriptions of the newly deceased, the Horseman was no longer selective with his targets. Females were now amongst his long list of victims, a fact that made Joan fuming mad.