by Tes Hilaire
“And light. And, oh, human blood.”
Logan’s eyes shuttered, the light of amusement dimming. “He’s not like that.”
“Really,” she drawled.
“I’d trust him with my life.”
He spoke with solemn conviction, his steel-blue eyes deep with emotion. It was enough to convince her that it wasn’t an act.
She gnawed her lip, feeling even more uncertain than before. Could she have read this entire situation all wrong? Had she truly spent the last who knew how many hours running from and fighting a threat that didn’t exist? She couldn’t believe that. Yet Logan obviously did. There must have been a lot of history between them, enough to account for his misplaced trust. It made her curious to know what that history was, if not for the fact that she had more important things she needed to know. Besides, she got the impression that Roland was a closed topic with Logan.
“All right. I’ll take your word on that…for now.”
“Thank you.” He gestured toward the archway and the room beyond. “I brought some food. How about I fix you something to eat?”
At the mention of food, her stomach rumbled. She gave a chagrined smile and nodded. “Sounds good.”
She followed him to the kitchen, relieved that he didn’t say anything about the overturned chairs and slashed furniture. He simply detoured to pick up two stools that seemed salvageable, gave them a quick test for strength, and placed them on opposite sides of the island. She tentatively settled on the farthest one—rickety, but it would hold her—while he began to take out groceries from a large brown bag. Bread, lettuce, cheese, sliced ham, tomato, instant tea, and a bag of chips.
“I know I’m ravenous after I drain myself in the use of my gifts.” He gave her a quick look from under long, dark lashes. When she didn’t respond, he turned his attention back to the preparation of the meal. She found herself studying him anew. With her tentative decision to trust him made, his imposing mass seemed strong rather than scary, and those eyes…an astute woman could read a lot in those eyes, if she didn’t get sidetracked by those dimples first. Which brought to mind the question, why wasn’t she? Logan was the type of man who many women would drool after, but she didn’t feel any sort of pull.
No, only blood-sucking vampires turned her on. Brilliant, Kari.
“So. Can I be so bold as to ask your name?”
She drew her gaze up from where she’d been watching his hands deftly slice and stack the makings of two gigantic sandwiches. Competent hands, wide palmed with long, tapered fingers and calloused pads. He watched her carefully, his eyes no less intent than when he’d asked for her trust five minutes ago. Despite the intensity, she found nothing menacing in his gaze. Still…
Better safe than sorry.
She reached across the island, laying the tips of her fingers on his hand. He stilled, his pupils dilating. Shock zipped through the pathway the simple touch had opened, followed by a warming that turned into a sense of satisfaction and gratitude. Because he took her touch for trust? His lips curled into a smile, and just like that, his decision to do whatever it took to protect her, with his life if need be, became his foremost purpose.
Karissa jerked her hand back, not liking the thought at all. Sure, she’d come to him for help. Yes, she’d been hoping he would protect her. But with his life? The responsibility of that didn’t sit well on her shoulders. He didn’t know anything about her, other than that she’d been nothing but trouble and a pain in the ass so far—oh, and she had a nice face. Couldn’t forget that.
The abrupt removal of her hand had his smile reversing into a full-blown scowl.
“Sorry, it’s just…” She waved her hand limply, then tucked it in her lap with her other. She raised her gaze to his, hoping she hadn’t blown this totally. “Karissa. Karissa, um, Donovan.”
“Well, Karissa, it is nice to make your acquaintance.”
With purpose he set down the knife he’d used to slice the tomato, the same hand she’d touched, and held it out to her. A test. Did she trust him? Could he trust her? Knowing she’d be a fool to fail this one, she placed her much smaller hand in his, offering up a faint smile in an effort to ease the tension that had descended. She also made sure to keep her internal shields closed and didn’t try and read anything this time.
“Same goes, Mr. Calhoun.”
He gave her a nod, his lips turning up in an amused smile at the formal title.
Warmth heated her cheeks. She looked at their joined hands. He loosened his grip and she carefully extracted her fingers, glad he’d let her go without making any sort of production of it.
“Now, Karissa,” he settled on the stool across from her, scooting a paper towel with one of the ham and cheese sandwiches on it toward her, “can you tell me how it is that you know my name and how you ended up on my doorstep?”
Picking at her sandwich, she told him about how after a morning full of trivial irritations she’d cut out early and arrived home to find her grandfather slaughtered on the kitchen floor. She didn’t tell him about all the blood, or how his blank eyes had seemed to stare at her accusingly. Nor did she tell him how they’d argued the night before because she’d enrolled in a set of evening classes at the university despite his long-standing insistence she not be out after sunset. Twenty-four years old and never had she been out past dusk. She merely told Logan how the moment she’d seen Papa’s body, she’d immediately known that it was nothing human that had attacked him.
“So I ran,” she finished, her voice sounding eerily numb to her own ears.
“And happened to land on my doorstep?”
She shook her head. “Papa said I should go to you if something were to happen to him.”
“And your grandfather’s name?”
She swallowed hard, barely able to get the name out. “Joseph.”
His brow creased. “And you share the same last name?”
She nodded.
He remained silent while he took another bite of his sandwich, chewed, took another. His careful consideration drove her crazy, and after he finished the second half and still hadn’t said anything she’d had enough.
“What are you thinking?”
He wiped his hands on the empty paper towel, then tossed it in a nearby trash bin. “I’m wondering not only how he knew of me, but why your grandfather sent you to me.”
She blew out a breath, sending an errant curl dancing in front of her eyes. “I was kind of hoping you could tell me that.”
“What, exactly, did he say?”
“That if anything happened to him I should find Logan Calhoun, that you’d help me.”
He leaned his elbows on the counter, lowering his head so his gaze was on par with hers. “Find…so he didn’t tell you where to find me?”
She shook her head.
“And how did you find me? I’m not exactly listed in the phone book.”
She twisted her hands, running one thumb across the palm of the other. “I, uh, actually work for the phone company. I was curious one day and went into the unlisted numbers.”
He shook his head. “Well that explains it.”
“Explains what?”
“I’m Logan Calhoun Jr. Your grandfather probably meant for you to find my father—who, by the way, does not have a phone, either listed or unlisted. He’s head of the Paladin council, so it would make sense for you to seek his protection.”
“Paladin?”
Logan’s eyes narrowed. “How much do you know about us?”
She pushed away the messy remains of her uneaten sandwich in exasperation, folding her arms across her chest. “I have no idea what you are talking about. I thought Paladin were some sort of elite warrior back during the Crusades or something.”
He shook his head. “The name was hijacked. The first Paladin came into being centuries before the Crusades started.”
“Came into being?”
“Created, by the one God. Each Paladin warrior was chosen from volunteers who stepped forward from the ranks of Hi
s angels. They were given various gifts and sent to earth to protect His children from the evils seeping into the world.”
Whoa. God? Angels? Karissa fidgeted on her stool, unable to make eye contact. He was waiting for some sort of answer though, so she gave him the only one she could. “That’s…I don’t know.”
“Hard to take in?”
She gave a nod. Overwhelming, unbelievable, even for a believer. Yet, she did believe. She couldn’t have seen the things she’d seen in her life and not be prepared to accept what, to others, would seem surreal. She took another set of deep breaths, making sure her voice was steady when she finally spoke. “So, um, what happened? I mean, evil is present now more than ever.”
The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Seems like it, doesn’t it?”
“You don’t agree?”
“I do, to a certain extent. Man will always be challenged to stay on the path of Right.”
“But that wasn’t really the Paladin purpose, was it? To be guiding shepherds.” He’d called the Paladin warriors, not priests, after all.
“No. We were meant to fight Lucifer’s minions.”
“You don’t still?”
“Oh, we do. But there are some complications now.”
She urged him to go on. Belief had kicked aside shock and she realized she sat across from a man descended from angels. It should’ve been reassuring, yet she couldn’t seem to ease the fear still knotting her gut.
“We were making headway there for a while. Then, in the late eighth century, the Paladin were given the task of protecting an artifact that could open a gate between the different dimensions of heaven, hell, and earth. It was a simple mission, to transport the piece from Spain to France through a pass in the Pyrenees Mountains under the cover of Charlemagne’s army. One of their brothers betrayed them.”
“The battle of Roncevaux Pass?”
His brows rose. “You know your history.”
“Papa was a history teacher.” She was surprised at how strong and steady her voice sounded. How could it when her entire insides felt iced over? Papa was a history teacher. Papa was an avid reader. Papa was. She shuddered.
“Have you also heard of The Song of Roland?” Logan asked, evidently oblivious to her pain. It took a moment for what he asked to sink in, but when it did…
She jerked, her gaze darting toward the hallway. Roland was a Paladin? But how? When he was…
“No, not that Roland. Though he is his descendent.”
She turned back to Logan and licked her dry lips. “Okay, we can go into that later. But that song is just a—”
“Story? A myth?” He nodded his head. “True. And without knowing the full extent of all the forces at work, so is the historical account of a battle that I’m sure you’ve heard.”
“All right. I can accept that.” Divine warriors and gates between heaven and hell, history might acknowledge that religion played a part, but they wouldn’t admit to anything mythical or unexplainable. “So. The Paladin were betrayed by one of their brothers?”
“Ganelon. In The Song he was Roland’s stepfather and was angered because he thought Roland was trying to set him up by volunteering him for the dangerous mission. In real life he was one of our elders, part of the original council of twelve, and thought himself the inherent leader. When God put Roland in charge instead—”
“Ganelon was pissed. Got it.”
“Ganelon was so infused with jealousy, a human condition none of the Paladin had ever known before taking on their earthly forms, that he made a bargain with the hordes of evil beings sent by Lucifer to steal the artifact. With the pact made, he helped set up an ambush. As Charlemagne’s army made their way through the pass, the rearguard was set upon by hordes of Basques, their ranks swelled with Lucifer’s fiends, and they were separated from the main force. What occurred after was a massacre.”
“So all the Paladin died?”
“Of those that were involved in that battle? All but one.”
“And the artifact?”
“The one who survived took it and hid it. His descendants are the only ones who know where it is kept and are always head of the council.”
“Like your father is head of the council.”
Logan gave a nod of acknowledgement.
She tilted her head, studying him. Believing that he was a warrior was no hardship. His finely honed body and his steel eyes told her that. But to think of him as a descendent of an angel? That was harder. “So, um, your gifts are inherited and make you a Paladin too?”
His brow creased as he tapped the island. “There is a bit more to it than that. We’re born with the gifts and are raised and trained to follow in our elders’ footsteps. When we’re old enough, our parents present us to the one God where He approves us as His warriors.”
“Does He ever disapprove?”
His mouth thinned, his eyes shadowing as he looked down. “Yeah.”
Wow. She got the distinct impression she didn’t want to know what happened when He didn’t approve so she asked something else instead. “And does He ever make new Paladin from His ranks of angels to send down?”
“Not in over a thousand years.”
A thousand years. And it sounded like the Paladin had taken some pretty large hits along the way. “How many Paladin are there now?”
“Not nearly enough,” he replied solemnly, his head lifting so that his gaze bore into her, as if she were supposed to read some secret message there. A shiver ran up and down her spine, and not a good shiver. She shrugged it off. She was being silly. Despite the whole kidnapping thing, which, perhaps, wasn’t so much a kidnapping but for her protection, he had been nothing but a gentleman.
“There are always twelve on the council,” Logan said, flicking his gaze away as if only now realizing how intensely he’d been staring at her. “Right now we have perhaps another fifty whose duties span the entire globe.”
“Oh my God.” Talk about outnumbered. There were hundreds, no thousands, of vampires in New York City alone. She’d played by Papa’s rules. Never going out at night, always staying in the crowd, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t sensed their presence hanging in the shadows on rainy days, or stalking the subway’s underground network. She couldn’t even begin to guess how many other creatures walked the streets in search of human souls. Those that could come out during the day were harder to pick out, their ability to glamour only broken if she made contact and had her inner shields open. Something she didn’t dare do for fear of showing her hand.
“How do you survive?”
He took her hand, his eyes dark as wet slate as he held her gaze. “Our survival hangs very much in the balance right now. But perhaps you can help change that.”
His thumb rubbed over the back of her hand. She didn’t like the intimacy of the contact and pulled her hand free, folding both back in her lap.
“I don’t know how I could—”
“No. I suppose you don’t.” He straightened abruptly. “And that isn’t the main concern right now either.”
“What is the main concern?”
“Keeping you safe.”
Now that was something she could get behind.
***
Roland inched down the hall on silent feet. The near constant murmur of voices had drawn him out of a sleep that had been far from the usual sleep of the dead. Truth was he never slept well. Too many memories. Too many regrets. Not to mention he’d been doomed to a day of tossing and turning with her so near. He might have been able to resist the pull of her presence, but her voice, feminine and sweet, mixing in with the rougher baritone of his best friend had been nothing but another nightmare upon the many others that haunted him.
Coming to a halt at the end of the hall, he leaned an arm against the end cabinet and waited for his presence to be noted. As much as he wanted to rush in and break up the happy little scene around his kitchen island, he didn’t want to scare her again.
It didn’t take more than a couple seconds. Calh
oun straightened from where he’d been leaning across the island, spun on his stool, and gave Roland a nod of greeting. Her gaze followed. After a quick intake of breath that had her spine going as rigid as rebar, she settled her elbows back on the counter, picking at her half-eaten sandwich in what he considered a sad attempt at apathy. Did she really think she could convince him that some wilted lettuce was more interesting than an apartment with a Paladin and a vampire in it? Especially given her earlier reaction.
“Calhoun.” Roland folded his arms. Better that than lunging at Calhoun and tossing him across the room into the—upended?—end table. He took in the chaos that had once been his living room. Seems she’d been redecorating while he’d tangled with old nightmares. A few mangled pillows didn’t concern him though. Calhoun had been touching her. And it didn’t sit well with Roland at all. “Thought you weren’t coming back until this evening.”
“Thought you slept all day,” she snapped at him, her eyes narrowed. Ah, she wasn’t unaware of him. And wasn’t it good to know she hadn’t lost all her spunk. Just for Logan. With him she appeared to be all chummy. And didn’t that just rub raw.
He shrugged. “Normally I do. But what with all the racket out here…”
Her cheeks reddened, even her freckles. Funny, he never realized freckles could do that.
“Roland, you’ve met Karissa Donovan,” Calhoun said.
Her name coming off another man’s lips scraped like coarse salt over his new wounds. He’d thought nothing could ever make him willing to do harm to his best friend and brother of his heart, but it seemed there was one thing. And her name was Karissa.
Should be me introducing her by name.
“Well, since you two seem to have hit it off so splendidly, I have to get back,” Calhoun said after another minute of silence. Even managed not to sound too sarcastic. “I figured Karissa might appreciate some real food since all you have is coffee, scotch, and a bag of stale Doritos.”
More silence. She sure seemed to find that lettuce interesting.
Calhoun tapped the counter, drawing Karissa’s attention. “You have my card. Call me if you need anything,” he jerked his head toward Roland, “or if this one gives you any trouble.”