In the Shadow of Angels: The Guardian Series 1

by Savage, Fanny Lee

I haven’t realized how incredibly weird everyone at the chateau is until I am reminded that there are friendly people that don’t stare me down or brood in corners. I have been living in a bubble all week.

  I look around the shop and recognize the wine labels from the bottles Claudette serves at the chateau. “You make the bottle labels.”

  “Yes.”

  “Does everyone here work for the winery?” I ask.

  “Monsieur Moreau is very generous. The families in town work for him in some form or another. They work the fields, others run the winery itself. Ashur treats everyone fairly. This is the way the Moreau family has run the winery for many generations.”

  Pierre takes my memory stick and plugs it into a large computer by his desk. The images pop up and I point to the pictures I want. Pierre quickly prints off the photographs and puts them in an envelope. He refuses payment, so I thank him profusely before heading out.

  The sun is setting in the distance and the village has grown eerily quiet. The streets are empty, a complete ghost town. I realize that the day has passed and everyone will be gathering for dinner soon. I pull my phone from my purse to call Henri when I see there is no cell reception.

  Shit. Henri is going to be mad. Spittin’ mad as Janice would say. I hadn’t told anyone that I was leaving, thinking I would be back well before nightfall.

  The bike wheels are, of course, flat. Kicking the tire in frustration, I look around, hoping to find someone still open so I can call Henri. The sun has set fast, and only a few lamps light the way, as I walk toward the edge of the town. Every door is closed, lights out. Before I reach the last business, I notice a small bar, music spilling from the open door, onto the street.

  There are few people inside, mostly men, who eye me as I walk in. The sweet, rough scent of cigars fills my nose. The place is dimly lit and tastefully decorated, wood paneled walls and thick oriental rugs. The furnishings are dark wood with red velvety fabric covering the seats. A chill wind blows in the open door behind me, and goosebumps cover my skin. I place my purse on the bar and order a drink. My jaw is tight, the stillness of the village setting me on edge. I check my phone but still have no service. I empty my glass and order another.

  The bartender hands me the glass and I glance at his cigarette burning in the ashtray. He catches me and offers one from the crinkled pack he pulls from his pocket. I hesitate, but only for a second, and take one greedily. The bartender offers a light, and I inhale in the thick smoke desperately. I moan in satisfaction and let the smoke curl out around my nose. I glance down at my phone. No bars.

  “There is something wrong with my cell too.” A man has slid in the stool next to mine, without me even noticing. His voice is smooth and obviously American. He looks to be in his early thirties, not typically handsome, his face more rugged, like he knows his way around a ranch or farm field. There is something about him that is off, maybe in the way he holds his mouth.

  “Oh yeah?” I ask. This should be interesting.

  “It’s missing your number.” The rancher gives me what he likely thinks is a charming smile but it crash-lands closer to smarmy.

  “Oh, terrible one,” I grimace. He’s not deterred and braces his shoulders back for the next round.

  “You know, I was feeling a bit off today, but you have definitely turned me on.”

  I shake my head and laugh. “Just, no.”

  “By the way, you owe me a drink.”

  “How so?” Please, let this one be better.

  “Cause when I saw you, I dropped mine.”

  I groan dramatically.

  “Not much happening in this place.” He looks toward the back of the bar and my eyes follow. There are two other men dressed in jeans and t-shirt’s. They look equally unappealing.

  “Let me guess, we should get outta here and get to know each other better.”

  “It’s like you can read my mind.”

  “More like I’ve heard them all before.”

  “I think it’s fate, baby.”

  “I think you need better material,” I say. Taking my purse and glass off the bar, I turn to leave, but I stop, stunned.

  Aydin sits, lounged out, his arms out behind him on a sofa in the middle of the bar, less than ten feet from me. I had no idea that he had come into the bar. Much less that he had been watching the exchange between the rancher and me. How did I not know he was here?

  Aydin lifts his hand off the back of the couch and waves, a rakish smile on his face. It is completely disarming. I stand staring a minute before I look back at the rancher, giving him a tight, rather sassy smile, and walk toward Aydin.

  “Hello, Miss Charlotte,” Aydin says, his voice too friendly, but his face is hard as stone. “I see you have decided to take a little tour of the town.”

  “Yes.” I swallow.

  “Alone.”

  “Yes.” My stomach drops, the man behind me forgotten.

  Aydin nods his head, his eyes cold. He looks extremely displeased with this decision of mine. His arm bends at the elbow, and his hand moves to his mouth. Teeth flash as he starts to bite the tip of his thumb, his tongue rubbing over the end. My heart flutters and I clench the glass. He appears to be debating what his next words are going to be and I’m pretty sure they are not going to be nice. Aydin gestures his head to the side, indicating for me to sit. I hesitate, but scoot around the coffee table and sitdown next to him, placing my purse and drink on the table.

  “You should have told me you wanted to leave.”

  “You?”

  “Yes, Charlotte. Me.” He has moved on to the next finger. Up close, I can see the soft skin of his lips, the moisture of his tongue as he rubs it against the tip of his finger. Aydin turns his head and catches me staring. I bite my lip shut, closing my mouth. His eyes move down to the cigarette I forgot was in my hand.

  “You seem to be full of poor ideas this evening,” he says.

  I stub it out, guiltily, in the tray in front of us. I glance back at Aydin, who’s made his way to his pinky finger, chewing the end. It’s an oddly erotic sight, watching his lips and tongue move around his finger. He sucks lightly on the tip, making a light popping sound before he places his arm on the sofa behind me.

  Oh, my lord.

  Still watching my face, he moves his arm from the sofa and places it over my shoulders. The smile he gives me is large, the corners of his eyes wrinkle, and his eyes catch fire in the dim light. I stop breathing altogether. Aydin’s fingers burn into the skin on my arm and he pulls me closer, pressing me into his torso. My heart starts to pound in my ears, and I grab the hem of my dress.

  Holy cow. We have flown past innuendos and gone straight to cuddling.

  “You had your pictures printed,” Aydin says and points to the envelope sticking out from the top of my purse. He reaches out with his free hand, and grabs it, smoothly opening the seal. I watch in silence as he flips from one picture to the next, placing them on his knee. When he comes to the picture of the statue by the pool, Aydin slides it in his suit jacket.

  Um ...OK? What am I supposed to say? Sure you can have my picture since we have suddenly become such good friends? This is all so weird, I laugh nervously, but it comes out more of a choking sound. I really hope Henri doesn’t decide to grab a drink at the bar. That would be awkward to say the least.

  Aydin finishes thumbing through the photographs and places the entire envelope back in my purse and hands me my drink. “Drink this and we will wait for the car to come and get you.”

  I nod gratefully, sucking it down. Wait. What? If he doesn’t have a car, how did he get down to the bar? I open my mouth and try to shift away, but he pulls me closer. Aydin hooks a finger under my chin, forcing me to look up at him. He cups the side of my face and his thumb rubs slowly over my bottom lip. My breath rushes out as his thumb stops at the corner and pulls my lip lightly down. The metallic, spicy scent fills my nose and my mouth, like sandalwood incense, but burning with something alive. I realize it comes from him. My head
is clear, but I can feel my entire body relax and ease into him.

  Holy shit. He is completely overwhelming.

  His illness dims his features, but it doesn’t mask the underlying sensuality. He is charismatic and magnetic in a jagged unpolished way. The rational parts of my mind are calling to me, but I shove them away. I don’t want the moment to end. His face is soft, with this just woken up look to it, like his eyes are still adjusting to the light, and he smiles. Not the too bright flashing smile, but soft and lopsided. At this moment I see it, Aydin masks it, covers it with a cold and a pretentious air, but he’s revealed his secret. He is kind. I grin at the revelation.

  “Where are you from?” I ask, all breathy and ridiculous.

  “My mother was from Greece, maybe Turkey,” Aydin says, smiling down at me.

  “You don’t know where your mother is from?”

  “No.”

  “Did you live with her before Ashur?”

  “My mother died giving birth to me.”

  “I’m sorry,” I frown. My hands run down my legs. Aydin’s eyes follow them to my knees. “Ashur seems like a good man.”

  “He is driven.” Aydin smooths the beard over his face. He has gone back to looking at the rancher who still stands at the bar, watching us. The man’s eyes are all over me, making me uneasy. I shift again, but Aydin refuses to let go.

  Aydin turns his focus back to me. He brushes hair back from my face, twisting the ends. His long fingers move slowly, as if he feels every single strand of hair before letting it fall to my shoulder. There are calluses on his palms, the fingers long like a musician. His nostrils flare, and he takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, his jaw clenches. My mouth goes dry, and I swallow hard.

  “You shouldn’t have come here by yourself,” Aydin says. I watch as his mouth forms the words. Women would kill for lips like that. I want to take his bottom lip in my teeth, and bite the smooth skin, tasting him. A rush of emotions well up clawing at my throat. Sorrow, joy, anger, weariness, and something in between I can’t place. I can’t tell if what I am feeling even belongs to me. He is consuming. I take another deep breath.

  “Are you and Henri close?” I blink several times, and try to focus on something normal. Something, anything, other than him.

  “We used to be,” he says. He seems suddenly distracted and keeps eyeing the door. “When Henri first returned home, we became very close. He was like a little brother.”

  Little brother. Aydin could pass for maybe five years younger than us both.

  Aydin’s body tenses, his arm drawing me in closer. I lean forward to place my glass on the table in front of us, the question of what he meant formed on my lips, but the rancher suddenly occupies the space. I blink, confused.

  “Seems to me, if she were with you, she’d be marked,” the rancher says, leaning in as he speaks.

  “Excuse me?” I ask, loudly.

  Aydin shoots me a look. He reaches up and gently strokes my cheek, leaving a tingling sensation as his fingers move. My body melts, tension easing away under his cool fingers. “She is with me.”

  “Now see, it’s funny, cause you weren’t here to make a claim on her earlier, and being she’s not marked, simply put, I saw her first.”

  I blink rapidly and focus on the rancher. Is this guy serious?

  “I have already claimed her, it’s a shame you missed your opportunity.” Aydin’s voice is smooth but sharp around the edges.

  “Excuse me?” I ask again. This time I direct the question toward Aydin. The calm feeling shifts, my body becoming tense as it leaves. I look between the two men, seeing they are involved in some sort of staring contest. The entire situation has gone from weird to completely absurd.

  “Someone should claim her, she’s a fine piece,” the rancher sneers. My face heats at his words. He rakes his eyes over me, taking in my breasts and stopping between my legs. An ugly smile forms on his lips. The rancher reaches out and brushes the top of my thigh.

  Aydin’s arm shoots out, grabbing the man by the throat, his fingers digging into the skin. He stands, forcing the rancher to his knees in front of us. “Don’t fucking touch her!”

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” I scream and stand, staring at Aydin. “That was completely unnecessary!”

  “Shut up and sit down!” Aydin hisses, his teeth clenched, but he releases the man.

  I gasp at his gall. “You have a lot of nerve!”

  Aydin turns to me, his face enraged, and presses heavily on my shoulder, forcing me down to the sofa. “I said, shut up.”

  The rancher stands, still rubbing the angry red marks on his throat. “It seems as if you have lost control over your toy.”

  The air fills with lightning. My breath sucks in at the sensation. Aydin grabs the man by the back of his head.

  “Do you know who you are fucking with?” Aydin shakes him violently, his eyes darken, losing all color, and his mouth twists in rage. Aydin throws the rancher down hard and I can hear the sickening sounds of bones crunching as his knees hit the hardwood floor. The man screams out and collapses forward, grabbing his knees at my feet.

  “Get the fuck out,” Aydin commands. He turns to me, his are eyes black, he closes them and takes a deep breath. His eyes blink open and they are clear and gray.

  The man slowly rises next to me. There are popping sounds as he steadies himself on the table. He is inches from me. So close I can see the tight woven fibers of his shirt, the thick fabric of his jeans, the light hairs over his arms. My heart beats in my ears and the sickening scent of fear fills my nose. The rancher turns to look at me and nods before he walks out the door. His friends in the back stand and follow.

  My breaths aren’t coming out right. My chest is constricted, forcing short, ragged bursts of air from my lungs. My hands shake, and my legs tremble. I bring my knees up close to me on the sofa.

  What the hell just happened?

  I point to the open doorway. “He just walked out.”

  “Yes. As I asked,” Aydin nods.

  “That was asking?” My voice is high and shrill. Noise roars in my ears. “I think you just broke his legs!”

  “The man is fine. He just walked out,” Aydin points out.

  Yes. I saw. He walked out. With two broken legs.

  Aydin reaches out, grabbing my arm. His fingers burn into the skin and everything around me goes quiet. My pulse slows and air fills my lungs. “Charlotte, we are going to go back to the chateau now.”

  -----------

  I am thrown down hard into the small settee as we enter the parlor. My head swims, the scene in the bar tumbles around in my skull, shaken not stirred.

  “What did you do to her?” Henri roars. He grabs my shoulders forcing me to face him.

  “What happened?” Claudette crouches down, taking my hands.

  “I’ll tell you what happened,” Aydin’s voice is hard and mean. “Charlotte seems to have a hard time listening! If she had just kept her mouth shut, I could have handled the situation calmly.”

  “What situation?” Henri yells.

  “In town! Who knows who I've just pissed off!” Aydin’s voice booms, ricocheting off the walls, pounding in my ears.

  “Who were they?” Claudette stands, placing her hand on Aydin’s arm.

  “I don’t know, I’ve never seen them before. They were new. Americans. There were three of them. One of them was all over her, trying to claim her.” Aydin shakes her off and runs his fingers through his hair, agitated.

  “Why did you let her go off alone?” Henri demands.

  “It’s not my job to watch her remember?” Aydin screams back. “Lance can only do so much, Henri!”

  “It is your job! Lucius isn’t here!” Henri screams.

  Who in the hell is Lucius?

  “You were instructed to make sure she stayed here, Henri. She’s not marked.” Aydin’s voice turns cold.

  “I was Aydin, but you called me away remember?” Henri steps closer to Aydin, challenging. Seems li
ke a poor idea.

  “When we said keep her occupied, I didn’t mean by trying to fuck her!” Aydin’s voice rattles the chandelier, violent.

  Everyone around me is yelling. Aydin is pacing, shouting, his entire demeanor a far cry from the cool and collected man I have spent the week with. Far from the smiling, sensual man in the bar. He looks like he is coming unhinged, a wild panther clawing at the bars.

  “She’s in shock,” Claudette says. I look down at the glass that she has forced into my hand. The clear liquid ripples as my hands start to shake, so I give it back to her.

  Someone says my name, their voice, maybe Henri, rising in panic. I look up, Aydin has stopped pacing, his eyes focus on mine. My body is losing control, shaking violently.

  “Come here.” Aydin’s voice breaks through the din in my head, velvety smooth. I stand, still trembling, and walk to him.

  “What just happened?” My voice rattles in my ears. His thin frame holds a raw power, deceiving under his gaunt appearance.

  “My god, Aydin,” Henri says. “What did you do?”

  “It wasn’t that bad, Henri, calm down.” Aydin’s voice is soothing. He radiates power and it wraps itself around my body, hot and dangerous. He reaches up, brushing my hair over my shoulder, his hand lightly touching the skin on my face. Fire lights under my flesh. Henri stands, coming forward but stops when Claudette grabs his arm, forcing him still.

  Aydin brings my hands together in his. My body eases, the shaking stops and I am instantly calm. I feel myself spinning, my head hazy, my legs weak. Tears form behind my eyes, a pool of sorrow so deep my feet will never touch bottom. Aydin’s sorrow. Aydin’s pain.

  “It’s time you talked to your mother,” Aydin says, softly. His words connect and shake me from my trance.

  “Abigail is going to kill you, Aydin!” Henri yells. “Charlotte’s not ready!”

  “That isn’t your choice, Henri,” Aydin tells him. “Go get Abigail.”

  “You mean she’s here?” I shake my head, trying to clear the fog. I spin to Henri. He closes his eyes and sighs.

  “She is. She’s been here the entire time.”

  What?