by I. T. Lucas
“I suggested seeing either my mother or one of her colleagues, but Tessa vetoed it. I’m not pressuring her because she is making progress without any outside help. In the beginning, she couldn’t tolerate any intimacy at all, not even a kiss. Things are much better now. I learned the trick is to go slow, holding back even when she wants to push forward, and not scare her or overwhelm her. Patience is the key.”
Bridget put a hand over her heart. “You’re such a sweet guy, and so mature for your age.”
The tips of his ears tingled in embarrassment. Jackson didn’t like compliments like that. He wasn’t doing anything special. If he wanted a future with Tessa, there was no other way. He didn’t volunteer for the task out of the goodness of his heart, he was doing it for selfish reasons. Helping the woman he loved to
heal was like helping himself, and no one would’ve called him sweet for that.
“Did I embarrass you?” Bridget asked. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I envy you a little.”
“Envy me? Why?”
“I envy your youth. Only the very young can love with such passion. Your heart is still wide open, and you gaze with hope upon the future. I’m jaded. Even if I found my true-love match, I don’t think I could fall so deeply in love.”
“What about Bhathian and Eva? Syssi and Kian?”
She nodded. “Yeah. I guess it’s a lot like having a first baby. No matter how much everyone around you gushes about their love for their children, you can’t imagine the intensity and the power of that love until you hold your own child in your arms.”
Jackson lifted both hands in the air. “One thing at a time, doctor. I’m only eighteen. All this talk about babies is freaking me out.”
Bridget laughed as she rose to her feet. “Let me escort you out. I’m going to the café.” She waited for him to join her then threaded her arm through his.
The mighty doctor was petite, the top of her head reaching a few inches below his shoulder. Jackson smiled down at her. “You would like Tessa. She is tiny, like you.”
Bridget wasn’t as skinny, though, and had flaming red hair. But he was smart enough to know it wasn’t something a guy should remark on. Women took offense to the silliest of things.
Jackson liked females of all shapes and sizes, and in his eyes beauty didn’t equate with skinny or tall, or the other way around.
Her lips pursed in mock affront. The doctor managed to look down her nose at him even though she had to crank her head way up. “The correct term, young man, is vertically challenged.”
He snorted. “Good to know. I’ll keep it in mind.”
Chapter 7: Brundar
Parked on the street across from Calypso’s house, Brundar heard her husband irate voice. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m filling in paperwork.”
“What for? I thought we agreed that you’re not going to waste your time studying a worthless profession like teaching.” His voice got louder.
“I know. But what if I can get several scholarships that together will cover the tuition? I can still work my shifts at Aussie and make the same money I’m making now.”
“And what about the house? Who is going to clean and cook, huh?”
“I’ve been managing that just fine with work and classes at the community college.”
“No one is going to give you money so you can play at being a student. But by all means, go ahead and play pretend. Maybe you should buy a lottery ticket too. Who knows? Maybe you’ll win?” he mocked her.
Asshole. Brundar didn’t need to delve into the guy’s sick mind to know what this was all about. It wasn’t about money, or Calypso earning less as a teacher than as a waitress. It was about control. A moment later Brundar heard the door slam, then the garage door lifted and Shawn backed his fancy car into the street.
It was so tempting to arrange an accident. All Brundar had to do was project an illusion, something that would cause the jerk to hit the brakes, put the car into a spin, and hit a tree. The problem was that the neighborhood was new, and the trees were mere saplings.
The lamppost wasn’t sturdy enough either.
Besides, Brundar couldn’t do it. He was a Guardian, a law enforcer, and arranging an accident was the same as murder. Regrettably, Shawn’s behavior and nasty intentions didn’t justify an execution.
Not yet.
The problem was that when they did, it would be too late.
Calypso’s husband was a sick fuck. She needed to leave him as soon as possible and run as far away as she could.
If he could only talk to her and convince her of that. But knocking on her door and getting invited inside wasn’t happening. She wouldn’t remember him. Calypso had seen Brundar only once, almost a year ago, and he’d made sure to muddle her memory of the entire incident before sending her on her way.
The garage door opened again, this time to let Calypso out.
Brundar frowned. Why was she wearing the steak house’s red T-shirt on her day off?
The girl must have switched shifts with another waiter again. She’d been doing it a lot lately. Probably to get out of the house and away from the abusive jerk.
Verbally abusive. Brundar ordered his fangs to retract. Shawn hadn’t abused her physically yet, that was why he was still alive. Nevertheless, he was systematically quashing her spirit. But one of these days, he was going to snap and hit her. With men like him, once that mental barrier was breached it never went down again.
Brundar couldn’t let it happen.
It was time to take action.
He would follow Calypso to work, walk in as a customer, order a steak, and strike up a conversation while gently returning her memory of their first and only meeting.
But what if the reminder embarrassed her, and she refused to talk to him?
Trying to get into a kink club and getting thrown out because she was underage at the time probably wasn’t her proudest memory.
What if she wanted to forget about it?
He could always take a peek at her mind and gauge her reaction, but it was a dishonorable thing to do. An invasion of privacy. The clan had very strict rules about what, when, how and why it was allowed.
The rules of conduct Brundar lived by were even stricter.
Protecting the clan and the secret of its existence was basically the only reason thralling a human was allowed. Not that everyone adhered to the letter of the law. But as long as the thrall was minimal and not done to gain an unfair advantage, it was considered more of a misdemeanor than a criminal offense.
He’d done it himself before, but it was to protect her, not for his own benefit. Brundar couldn’t claim that defense in this case.
Driving slow, he got to the Aussie Steak House a few minutes behind Calypso and parked his car at the other end of the restaurant’s parking lot, as far away from her Honda as he could.
There was a small chance Calypso might recognize his car from the many times he’d been parked across the street from her house. Continuous shrouding took a mental toll, and sometimes he’d been too tired to bother. Besides, even if Calypso had noticed the same car coming around and parking next to one of her neighbors’ houses once or twice a week, she probably assumed he was their guest.
Pulling a leather string from his pocket, Brundar gathered his hair back in a tight ponytail and tied it. He liked eating steaks, but not smelling them on his hair.
Aussie was a trendy steak house. Even at seven in the evening on a weekday, there was a twenty-minute wait. Brundar slipped the hostess a twenty, asking to be seated in Calypso’s section, took the pager she’d given him, and went back to sit in his car. There were class schedules to check, updates to read, and once it was all done he even had time to catch up on the headline news before the pager went off.
The hostess escorted him to his table. “You look so familiar. Are you an actor?” she asked as she handed him the menu.
He got it a lot. It was the hair. He reminded people of a character in that Lord of
the Rings saga—the elf guy with the pointed ears.
“No.” He opened the menu, making it clear that the conversation was over. It was pointless to humor people with lies or idle chitchat. A simple no didn’t waste anyone’s time.
“Well, enjoy your dinner.” The hostess sounded cheerful despite what she must’ve perceived as rudeness. The girl probably assumed he was an actor who didn’t want to be bothered.
From behind the large menu, Brundar observed Calypso interacting with the other customers. The bright smile she offered everyone wasn’t faked even though she had no reason for smiling today. Or the day before, or the one before that.
Her husband was a mean and angry jerk, and between her classes, work, homework, and keeping the house the way the asshole liked it, she had no time for friends.
Or maybe she was just reluctant to have anyone she knew meet Shawn and witness how he was treating her.
As she got nearer, Brundar’s breath caught in anticipation, but then she stopped by the couple sitting one table over, and he had to wait a moment longer.
Damnation, the girl was making him nervous. He couldn’t remember being so anxious in centuries.
Bloody battles? Bring them on.
Outnumbered and surrounded by enemies? No problem.
Before Calypso had entered his life over a year ago, Brundar hadn’t needed to slip into the zone to be at his best, he’d lived in it. A well-oiled, efficient, killing machine who experienced no fear, no hatred, no emotion at all.
It had been his shield, staving off mistakes, keeping him alive, and making him invincible.
But one young woman had managed to ruin all that. She was stirring a storm of emotions within him that he had no idea what to do with. Between one spying visit and the next, he had to work hard on blocking thoughts of her and getting back into the zone.
Being here, talking to her would only make it worse. He should just get up and go.
Too late.
She was coming over, that bright smile of hers searing him like a beam of sunshine on a vampire.
“Good evening, sir. What can I offer you to drink?”
“Whiskey.”
“Sure thing. Which one would you like? We have Johnnie Walker, Chattanooga, Jameson, Crown Royal, Jim Beam, Chivas Regal, and Jack Daniel’s.”
“Chivas.”
“Neat?”
“Is there any other way?” Ice cubes had no place in a whiskey. It wasn’t a bloody soda.
She smiled. “You’ve got it. Some bread to munch on while you wait for your steak?”
“How did you know I was going to order a steak?”
She tapped her temple. “I’m a mind reader.”
Strange, she was teasing, not intimidated by him at all. That didn’t happen often.
Calypso laughed, the sound going straight to his balls. “Just joking. It’s not like there is anything else on the menu, and you don’t look like the type who orders an appetizer salad.”
“No, I’m not.” He debated whether he should release her memory of him now or later. “You look familiar. I think we’ve met before.”
She put a hand on her hip. “Yeah, you look familiar too. But that’s probably because you look a lot like Legolas.”
Brundar frowned. “Who?”
She rolled her eyes. “The elf prince from Lord of the Rings.”
He nodded. “I’ve been told that before. Though the only thing we have in common is the hair.”
She looked a little closer, examining his features. “You’re right. You’re much better looking than Orlando.”
“Who?” He was starting to sound like a broken record.
“Didn’t you see the movie? That’s the name of the actor who played Legolas. I used to have a huge crush on him.”
It was good she’d used the past tense. Otherwise…
What? Why was it even bothering him that Calypso liked that Orlando guy? “I don’t watch movies,” he grumbled.
“Well, you should watch that one and see why everyone thinks you look like him.”
“Do we have the same eyes?”
As Callie bent down to take a closer look, he trapped her gaze and went in.
Sifting through a year’s worth of memories took time, but he was good, speeding through them as if it was a fast forward movie and taking care not to peek at the many scenes flashing by. Not only to protect her privacy, but also to save himself from seeing things that would incite him into a murderous rage. No amount of self-talk and restraint would save Shawn then.
He held her captive for a good two minutes before finding the one buried memory he needed to flush out.
When Brundar released Calypso, she swayed on her feet, her hand going to her head. “Wow, where did this headache come from?”
He got up, ready to catch her if she fell. “Do you need to sit down?”
She shook her head. “No, I’m fine. It was just a weird moment. It’s already getting better.” She lifted her eyes to him. “Now I remember where I’ve seen you before. You were the guy at that club…”
He pretended surprise. “That’s why you look so familiar.”
Chapter 8: Callie
The guy from the club.
She should’ve remembered him. Not only was he the best-looking man she’d ever seen, but the circumstances of meeting him were quite memorable.
Except, for some reason, everything from that night had been hazy.
Shawn hadn’t remembered much either.
Maybe they had both suppressed the details of the episode because it was an uncomfortable memory. Getting thrown out like a couple of trespassing teenagers had been embarrassing, and they hadn’t even made it into the kinky area. The receptionist had refused them admission into the nightclub that everyone else over twenty-one could get into.
After that night, things had been good between Shawn and her for a while, so maybe that was the reason she’d pushed that memory into some dark corner of her mind where it had joined other unpleasant moments she wasn’t keen on remembering.
At the time, Callie had hoped that they were on the right track, that they had reached a turning point and that their marriage was going to survive. But the good times hadn’t lasted long. Shawn’s anger tantrums had returned and then worsened. It had taken her a while, but eventually she realized that more than an expression of his inner turmoil and fury, the tantrums were a tool meant to intimidate her and control her.
“Did you ever try again?” the guy asked.
She knew he didn’t mean going to a nightclub. Callie shook her head. “No.” She was spending way too long talking to this customer, Brad, if she remembered his name right. A quick, friendly chitchat was part of her job description, but this conversation was going places she’d rather not talk about in the middle of the restaurant. “Did you decide on a steak?”
Brad didn’t look at the menu. “The largest you have. Medium well.”
“Fries or mash potatoes?”
“What do you recommend?”
“We are famous for our mash potatoes.”
“Then that’s what I’ll have.”
“Anything else I can get you?”
“Food wise, no. But I would like to talk to you after your shift ends. If you’re so inclined,” he tacked on at the end as if remembering to mind his manners.
Callie wasn’t sure about that. He was a stranger she’d only met once before and under peculiar circumstances.
Was he safe?
Logically, no, he wasn’t. Take away his good looks, and his demeanor was straight up creepy.
And yet, her gut told her differently.
Or was that her hormones?
He was incredibly attractive.
“My shift ends at midnight. I’m sure you have better things to do than waiting around for me.” She collected his menu.
He caught her hand. “I only want to talk. We can sit out on the patio and share a drink. I checked, and the bar stays open until two in the morning. We will not be alone out ther
e.”
She shrugged as if it didn’t matter to her one way or another, but the truth was that his offer was more than enticing. She wanted to sit out on the patio with him and talk, find out more about this mysterious man. “If you’re there when I’m done, I’ll stay for a few minutes.”
“That’s all I’m asking for, Calypso.”
Callie smiled a fake little smile and walked away on shaky legs.
He remembered more about her than he’d let her believe. Her name tag said Callie, the name everyone knew her by. She’d told this stranger her real one a year ago, and he remembered. Which meant he’d been faking the whole ‘you look familiar’ thing. He knew exactly who she was.
She should stay away from him.
What if he was a crazy stalker?
Yeah, right. And he waited almost a year to approach me.
Not likely.
Why would a movie-star-gorgeous guy stalk a Plain Jane like her?
He wouldn’t.
Maybe his strangeness was the result of a personality disorder?
Who talked like that?
Clipped answers spoken in a flat computer-like voice. Heck, the text-to-speech on her phone sounded more human than Brad.
Maybe he had a speech impediment?
She shouldn’t be afraid of him because of a disability. As someone who had dreams of teaching kids with learning difficulties, she should be more open-minded than that.
When she brought him his drink, Callie made sure to serve it with a smile. “Here you go, Brad. It’s Brad, right?”
For a split second, he looked uncomfortable. “That’s the name I use in the club.”
Okay?
And?
At that point, any normal person would have offered the name he wanted her to know him by.
The guy was definitely on the spectrum.
She should encourage him. “What’s your real name?”
“Brundar.”
For some reason, she thought it fitted him better. A warrior’s name. Not that she knew what it meant, but it sounded like it. “Is it Nordic?”