I took the telephone from him, a blush working its way up my face in a rush of heat. “Hello?”
“Charlotte. How are you?” Conal's deep voice was friendly and filled with warmth.
“Much better. How are you?”
“Back to normal. I'm guessing you're still with the bloodsuckers, then?”
“Yes, of course.” My eyes found Lucas and I saw he was watching me. I tried to guess what emotions he was feeling, but his face was utterly expressionless. “How did you find me?”
“Rang every hotel in New Orleans. You're a hard woman to track down. I'm in the lobby, with my father and some of our elders. My dad wants to meet you.”
“Um, sure. That'll be fine.”
“There you go, thinking like a human again. The leader of your Kiss needs to give us permission.”
“Really?”
I could hear the smile in his voice. “Really.”
I handed the phone to Lucas. “Conal, his father and some of their elders want to come up and see me. Apparently,” I nearly rolled my eyes at the ridiculousness of it all, “they need permission from you.” I wasn't even certain why I was explaining the conversation – when everyone in the room had no doubt heard every word I'd said and Conal's responses.
Lucas pressed his palm over the receiver and he and Ben exchanged a long look.
“What's going on?” I demanded. Something was off-kilter here, everyone in the room seemed apprehensive.
Marianne answered. “Charlotte, we have to be careful who we trust with regard to you.”
“What?” I didn't understand what the big deal was. I turned to look at Lucas and he gazed into my eyes for a long moment before he spoke.
“Laurence Armstrong may not be the only person who will want to benefit from your psychic ability.”
A frown creased my forehead as I struggled to comprehend what he was implying. I glanced from Lucas to Ben, across to Marianne, Jerome and scanned the Lingard men, all of whom seemed tense. Even Striker had turned from his position at the window, his face solemn. I returned my gaze to Lucas. “Are you saying… what are you saying?”
“I don't want you to worry, Charlotte. We will keep you safe.”
“That's not an answer!” I turned to Ben, hoping for some reassurance. “Conal saved me. He risked his own life to try and stop Armstrong from getting what he wanted!”
“We know that,” Ben responded patiently. “But his pack may want your psychic ability for themselves.”
Anger bubbled up in my chest. “That's rubbish! I don't believe it for a minute.” Conal had been there for me, when I'd thought there was no one else to help me and I couldn't – wouldn't believe he'd had an ulterior motive. I returned my gaze to Lucas and I knew he would see the determination in my eyes. “Either you let him come up here, or – I'm going down there.”
Lucas met Ben's eyes and I saw Ben shrug. “It's up to you.”
“No it's not! It's my decision whether I want to see Conal again!” I shouted angrily.
“Tell them we will allow them access,” Striker announced, “but we will match them in numbers.” His body was rigid with tension, his fangs already partially extended and I shivered.
Lucas lifted the phone to his ear and spoke. “Conal… yes, you have my permission to visit with Charlotte… no, I'm not happy about it…” He glanced down at me, his blue eyes hard. “She has the right to choose her friends, I accept that. How many people will you be bringing with you? We will have the same number here to protect Charlotte… no, I don't trust you… Yes. I understand.” There was a long, protracted silence and Lucas looked across at Nick who was sitting stock-still on the couch. “Yes, Nick and his men are here, providing protection for Charlotte… no, I will not agree to that. If you are to bring six people with you, we will require at least two of the Lingard shifters to remain with us…” There was another, longer pause and I assumed Conal was conferring with the people he'd brought with him. “Agreed. We are in Suite 912… we look forward to meeting with you.”
He disconnected the call and there was an instant flurry of action around the room. It seemed everyone was on edge, suffering apprehension about Conal's visit. Everybody except me.
“Rafe and I will remain here with you,” Nick announced decisively. “Toby, David, Marco – take Jerome and go back to our room. David, Toby –shift in case we need you. Marco, you're injured, stay in human form and be prepared to escort Toby and David back here. They'll need someone to open the doors.”
Marco looked ready to argue, but the look on Nick's face stopped him. They departed quickly, Jerome in tow, slipping out before Marianne shut the door carefully behind them and slipped the deadbolt. Lucas, Ben and Striker were huddled in the corner, their conversation so rapid that I couldn't begin to take it in and Nick and Rafe joined them. Marianne sat down beside me and took my hand, squeezing my fingers softly.
“I don't understand,” I said quietly. “Conal wouldn't hurt me.”
“I'd like to believe that he wouldn't,” Marianne responded. “We didn't want to have this conversation until we got back to Puckhaber Falls. Jerome felt you needed some time to recover from this past week and honestly, we all believe you've had quite enough stress to endure. But the facts of the matter are that you have a truly unique psychic ability. Laurence Armstrong will not be the only one who sees that power and wants to take it for himself.”
Anxiety began to gnaw at me with this latest development. “So what you're saying is that I'll never be safe? Someone is always going to be after me?”
“No, it won't be like that,” Marianne responded soothingly. “We will keep you safe, Charlotte. But we have to take precautions to ensure your safety. Keeping your psychic ability secret is paramount. The Tremaines know about it, we need to take these precautions to ensure they haven't come here to collect it.”
I honestly didn't know what to say. I didn't doubt for a minute that Conal wouldn't hurt me – there weren't any reservations in my mind about him. He'd protected me as much as was humanly possible during our imprisonment. But I didn't know his pack. Would they see this as an opportunity? Abruptly, I felt sick. Holding a hand over my mouth, I launched from the couch and ran for the bathroom. I made it to the toilet bowl and retched, kneeling on the cold white tiles.
“Charlotte.” Lucas crouched beside me, one hand resting lightly on my back the other holding my hair back for me.
I retched into the bowl again, losing the rest of my dinner in the process. My face was covered in a fine sheen of perspiration and I wiped my hand across my mouth before slumping onto the floor next to him, my hands over my face.
“Charlotte,” Lucas handed me a towel and I wiped it across my face. “You will be safe. We won't let them do anything to harm you.”
I got to my feet, turning on the faucet and splashing water onto my face. The mirror confirmed I looked awful, my skin had lost all color and I could see the panic in my own eyes. I took a deep breath, and then turned to Lucas. “Is Marianne right? Do you think I'll be in danger all the time?”
Lucas rose gracefully from the floor and captured my shoulders. “You will be protected with me, my Charlotte.”
“That's not what I asked!” I shrieked. “Am I in danger? How many others will come after me? How can I ask you and the others to be watching out for me constantly?”
“You don't have to ask us, love. We will do whatever it takes, to keep you safe. I don't expect that you will be in constant danger. The only people alive who know about your ability are Nick and his group, the Tremaine pack and Thut and Harley and their people. We will endeavor to keep it that way.”
“I'm not your responsibility. We're not family. You'll get sick of constantly coming to my rescue,” I said dully. The thought of being relentlessly on the run, continuously looking over my shoulder – it was inconceivable. Had I only escaped from the nightmare of my family's death to enter immediately into another one?
“Charlotte,” Lucas breathed softly. “Look at me.”
I forced my eyes up to meet his and he cupped my face in his hands. “I will protect you for the rest of your life. I love you. More than anything else in this world. You mean everything to me. You are my responsibility, because I have chosen that duty and I accept it fully. I cannot go on with this existence without you being in it with me. Being apart from you, it's something I cannot endure.”
“I accept that responsibility also.”
Ben was standing in the doorway and he stepped into the bathroom. “Charlotte, you're like a daughter to Rowena and I. We love you and want you to be a part of our lives. We will protect you from harm.”
“And Marianne and I accept that duty also.” Striker appeared in the doorway, his hand interlinked with Marianne's smaller one, his demeanor somber. “It is my honor to protect you and I will do so to the best of my ability.”
I looked from Ben to Striker and Marianne, then back to Lucas, shaking my head. “How can you be accountable for me? You'd have been better off if I'd never crossed your path.”
“On the contrary. Our existence is incomplete without you in it,” Lucas murmured as he drew me into a comforting embrace. “You provide light and dark, shade and substance to what is otherwise a mundane journey through decades. You are providing us with as much, if not more, than we are providing you. And you are giving me the greatest gift of all – happiness and love. I can assure you, I will not give up that gift.”
I looked into his dark blue eyes, my own filling with tears at the show of unity they'd provided for me. I nodded hesitantly and Lucas kissed me, a brief brush of his lips over mine. “They will be here very soon. Are you ready to meet with them?”
“Can I have a couple of minutes? I want to brush my teeth and tidy up a little.”
“Of course.” He kissed my forehead before releasing me and Ben gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze as they left the bathroom. I flushed the toilet and dropped the seat lid down, slumping onto it wearily. Closing my eyes, I reached into the recesses of my mind, opening the box. Lucas had been right. I wouldn't make the mistake of shutting the spirits away again – from now on, I would be prepared for anything.
Chapter 11: The Tremaines
The tension was tangible when I stepped back into the living room, the very air filled with something akin to static electricity, strong enough for me to feel it on my bare skin. On one side, Lucas and his Kiss, Rafe and Nick. Opposite them was Conal and five of his pack members. Nobody spoke. Everyone watched the opposing group suspiciously. Lucas and our group had their backs to me and Conal was the first to see me, smiling warmly, his black eyes lighting up with obvious delight. “Here she is.”
Lucas turned and nodded imperceptibly, but the stance of his body and that of the others showed they were prepared for a fight. Lucas's fangs had extended which I found both mildly disturbing and very worrying. This situation could turn into a bloodbath and I hurried to stand between the two lines of combatants.
Someone obviously had to keep the peace in this meeting. From the looks on the faces of Conal's werewolves, they were just as ready for battle as my little cluster of vampires and shape shifters. This looked like a meeting between Israelis and Palestinians. Except they didn't generally rip each other apart with claws, fangs and superhuman strength.
“Conal, thank you for coming to visit me.” I stepped in front of him and hugged him, feeling the tension release from his shoulders a little when he wrapped his arms around me. He looked much improved on the last time we'd seen one another, the bruising on his face virtually healed. He was dressed in faded denim jeans and a black shirt, well-worn boots on his feet. His dark hair framed his face like a halo as he grinned down at me, his black eyes twinkling.
“You look well, Charlotte. Except for a ton of bruises.” His eyes travelled down my neck and chest. “That looks better. It could have done with some more… uh… treatment.”
Behind us, Lucas growled from low in his chest and Conal glanced at him. “I'm not suggesting anything, bloodsucker.”
“Keep your eyes to yourself, dog,” Lucas snarled, anger vibrating in his voice.
“Will you both stop this, right now!” I ordered, forcing myself to sound firm. “I won't tolerate you being rude to one another.” Both Conal and Lucas looked at me with unconcealed surprise and I put my hands on my hips. “The least you can do is speak to one another with some respect. After all, you were both on the same side, unless you've already forgotten that tiny detail?”
“Charlotte is correct,” Ben agreed in his usual calm manner.
“Alright, alright. I won't call him a bloodsucker,” Conal agreed begrudgingly, his voice a husky growl.
“Or a leech,” I reminded him tartly.
Conal crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at me, but I could see the flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Okay. No calling him a leech, either.”
I turned and stared at Lucas, giving him cool eyes. After a few seconds, he nodded. “I will refrain from rudeness,” he agreed, the silver highlights in his eyes swirling like a mini-tornado.
I turned back to Conal; found his attention was focused on my hair. “I didn't realize it was so curly.”
I touched my hair self-consciously. “Yeah, well, you didn't get my best look.”
“I can see that,” he said quietly, his dark eyes soft and appreciative. I heard another deep growl from behind me, and hurried things along, glancing at the man standing nearest to Conal. “Are you going to introduce me?”
“Yeah. Charlotte Duncan, this is my father and head of the Tremaine pack, Lyell Tremaine.”
He was tall with shoulders as broad as his son, and there were obvious similarities in the shape of the brow and nose. But Lyell Tremaine's dark hair held a considerable amount of grey, his face lined and weathered as though he'd spent many years working outside. His eyes were also grey, the color of pewter and coldly impassionate as he watched me. I glanced back at Conal, puzzled by his father's reaction.
Conal shrugged and threw me a sheepish smile. “Dad's convinced you're a witch. Thinks you put me under some kind of spell while we were being held by Armstrong.”
My lips twitched and I fought the urge to smile. “A witch, huh?”
“I've tried to tell him that's not what you are, but he's not buying it,” Conal said apologetically.
I stepped in front of Lyell Tremaine, waiting until he met my gaze before I spoke. “Mr. Tremaine, I've been called a few things in my time, but never a witch. May I shake your hand?”
He looked down at me suspiciously, but the man beside him spoke. This man was lean and wiry, probably mid to late fifties, with thick black hair and piercing blue eyes that scrutinized me cautiously. “You cannot touch the hand of our Alpha, until we have ensured you will not bewitch him also.”
“Alpha?”
Conal emitted a deep sigh. “It's what werewolves call their leader, Charlotte. This is Ralph Torres, Dad's Beta. He's the second-in-command in our pack.”
“Mr. Torres. May I shake your hand?”
He studied me intently, his gaze calculating, before holding out his hand. I took his hand and he shook mine firmly, almost hard enough to hurt. I wondered if he was doing it deliberately. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Torres.”
He nodded, still eying me suspiciously and I decided to take matters into my own hands. Now I'd made physical contact with him, I scanned my mind and located the new voice, one I hadn't heard before. I listened for a few seconds, closing my eyes to study the new spirit. When I opened my eyes again, I focused on Ralph Torres and smiled warmly. “As I said, I'm not a witch. I have a psychic ability, which allows me to speak to those who have died. May I share some information with you?”
Ralph Torres glanced to Lyell Tremaine for guidance and he nodded his assent.
“I have your father, Rudi Torres with me. He passed over about twelve months ago; he had cancer of the stomach, which spread to his liver. You and the pack did everything you could to save him, but in the end, the
cancer could not be treated, by conventional treatments or with your traditional medicines. You and your Dad spent a lot of time fishing together; he particularly liked trawling for catfish where you live in Natchez.” I listened intently for a minute and smiled. “Your dad wants to admit to a guilty secret – you thought he'd given up smoking the pipe after he was diagnosed with cancer, but he wants to own up. He did still sneak a few puffs. He had a spot where the river forks, there's a group of three boulders and he would go out there in the afternoon and have a quiet smoke when you thought he was napping. He wants you to know he has no more pain now and he's spending a lot of time with your Aunt Ada.”
The information I'd imparted was clearly accurate, there was a tear trailing slowly down Ralph Torres's cheek and he shook his head slowly, as if he had trouble believing what I'd done. “How do you— Is this what your ability is?” He turned to Lyell Tremaine. “Conal's right. She's not a witch; she has the ability to speak with our dead.”
“She sees them, too,” Conal added. “I've seen them in her mind, as clearly as if they were still here amongst us.”
I stole a glance at Lucas and was relieved to see the approval in his eyes. He nodded imperceptibly and his rigid stance had loosened slightly, as though he thought some of the danger had passed.
I turned my attention to the next person in the row. “As a gesture of goodwill and to give your pack further proof that I'm not a witch, will you allow me to shake your hand?” He was easily the shortest of the six men, with a stocky build. His head was balding, his features sharp, his skin the color of milk chocolate. Conal introduced him as Kenyon Douglas, the pack's Gamma, or third in command. I took his hand in mine and he offered me a gentler handshake than Mr. Torres' did, his dark brown eyes watching me with curiosity.
“Your Grandmother Lope is speaking with me. She died when you were seventeen and wishes she'd lived long enough to see you graduate from high school. She was happy you decided to study law and she's very proud of the work you do for your people. Your grandmother remembers how much you loved her pecan pie; you used to tell people for miles around that Grandmother Lope made the best pecan pie in Mississippi.” Another voice joined Lope and I listened for another few minutes. “Your twin brother, Adolph has joined your Grandmother. He wants to remind you of the fun you two had playing little league together and how you would confuse Mr. Trimble in second grade by swapping seats and pretending to be one another. Adolph is sorry he had to leave you so soon, he… he knows how foolish it was to drink and drive. He says the accident was nobody's fault but his own. He knows you had a lot of trouble believing that at the time, but he takes full responsibility for the amount he drank before he got in the car. He's thankful it was only him who was killed and Gracie survived.”
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