Broken (Book 1, The Watcher Chronicles, Paranormal Romance) (22 page)

“Not cause any real damage?” I say, my voice on the verge of hysteria.  “You’ve seen what that thing does to other people’s lives!  How can you sit there and say it doesn’t cause any real damage?”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it
, Jessica.  Yes, I know it rips people’s lives apart but the universe remains intact.  Lives continue, just differently.”

“Spoke
n like someone who’s never truly lost someone they love.”  I hear the harshness of my voice but don’t care.  It’s what I believe.

“I’ve suffered loss,” Michael says, and I see the evidence of pain in his eyes.  “I lost my best friend to his own greed.  I had to abandon the woman I loved because I was ordered to.  I never had a chance to know my one and only child because my involvement in her life would have diverted her from her true path.  The path she was born to take.  I’ve known loss just as painful as yours, Jessica.  Don’t think you’re the only one who holds a monopoly on heartache because you’re not.”

I suddenly feel like I’ve just been put in my place and look away, unable to look Michael in the eyes anymore.

“I didn’t mean
to make you feel bad,” he says gently.  “But you must remember we’ve all had to make sacrifices, some of them harder than others but just as painful.”

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t think about what you’ve been through.  I was just being selfish.”

I’m silent for a moment before I ask him another question.

“So after I find the other six
and get them their crowns and talismans,” I say, “what do we do?”

“Let’s concentrate on
the most important thing first: finding the first vessel.  When you’re finally together, your powers will combine and you’ll be able to find the next archangel vessel a little easier.  Each time you add another member, finding the next will become far simpler.  But it’s the first one that will be the toughest if you don’t allow yourself to connect with people.  And I hate to add to your burden but that responsibility rest solely on your shoulders.”

“No pressure there,” I say, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly.

“You can do it,” Michael says, so sure of his statement it makes me look back up at him.

The look of confidence on his face instills me with the courage I need to face the task he has laid out before me.

“Will this be the last time I see you?” I ask.

Michael smiles.  “No, you’ve awoken me now.  If you need to speak with me, just call out to me in your dreams and I will come to you.”

“Ok,” I say, standing up.  “How do I get out of here so I can start looking for the other vessels?”

“Wake up.”

I open my eyes and find myself in a strange bedroom.  A painting of a woman in a red dress is mounted on the wall across from the bed I’m in.  Her hand is propped against her cheek as she leans to the side staring down at me.  A lacquered wood dresser rests beneath her.  On its surface is a bouquet of white roses in a crystal vase.  The sword is still grasped firmly in my right hand the crown is lying in the crevice between my pillow and the other pillow on the bed.

Streams of sunlight enter the room through
a pair of paned glass doors on the wall facing towards the outside of the building I am in.  Gauzy white drapes hang from hooks above the doors scattering the light across the red tiles on the floor.  I push the thin white quilt covering me off my body and swing my legs over the side of the bed.

I’m still wearing my Watcher uniform but find
that my shoes, socks and thigh holster are missing.  I stand up and walk over to the lacquered dresser to place the sword and the crown on his surface.  Then I walk over to the glass doors to discover where I am.

Outside
is a grey stone terrace that looks out over an immaculately kept formal garden with its shrubbery trimmed into various complementary geometrical designs.  Past the garden are acres of rolling hills covered in what appear to be grapevines.

I hear the door to the room open behind me and turn to see who it is.

I watch as Mason’s eyes travel from the bed where he obviously thinks I should be to where I’m standing.

He smiles and I feel my heart
sing as the look of concern on his face turns to relief, relaxing his features and making him more handsome than any man, or angel, has a right to look.

“How are you feeling?” He asks, coming to stand
at my side.

“I’m fine.  How long have I been
asleep?”

“T
wo days.”

I’m silent, sure I’ve heard him wrong.  “
Did you just say two days?”

He nods.  “T
wo days.”

I feel my tummy grumble
as if confirming for a fact that what he’s saying is true.

“Do you have something I can eat?” I ask, now feeling the full emptiness of my stomach gnawing at my backbone.

Mason holds his hand out to me and I assume we’re about to phase somewhere to find me food, but he simply laces his fingers between mine and tugs on my hand, urging me to follow him.  We walk out of the room holding hands like it’s the most natural thing in the world for us to be doing.  I smile, finding the intimate contact unexpected.

As Mason leads me down the hallway outside my room, I instantly know we have to be in a mansion.  The hallway is as long as my street
back home with various rooms branching off of it.

“Where are we?” I ask, observing the distinctly European furniture and
old style oil paintings hanging on the walls.

“My villa in
Tuscany,” he answers.  “I wanted to keep you somewhere safe.  Not many people know about this place.”  He turns to face me and smiles.  “It’s where I come to hide from the rest of the world.”

“So are we hiding?” I ask, amused by the idea of Mason trying to hide me.

“In a way,” he says.  “I wasn’t sure what was happening to you.  I didn’t want to take the chance of you falling into the wrong hands while you were defenseless.”

“So you were my body guard?” I asked.

Mason looks back at me, his eyes travelling the whole length of me.

“It’s a body worth guarding.”

Thankfully he turns his head before he can witness a completely girly moment of me blushing.  I feel like I should fan my cheeks their so hot but instead I just concentrate on my breathing so I don’t forget how to.

When we reach the first floor, Mason quickly escorts me through a light airy room with
a large built in stone fireplace on the far wall, three white sofas with coral colored throw pillows are arranged around a large worn wood sofa table.  A large antiqued white chandelier hangs in the center of it all, softly illuminating the exposed cherry wood beam ceiling.

We descend another set of stairs and walk a short ways down a hallway to the kitchen area.  The kitchen
is a lot smaller and cozier than I would have imagined for a house so large.  The appliances in the kitchen are the most modern things I’ve seen in the house thus far.  Apparently Mason does like to cook because I can tell he has spared no expense in this room.  Antiqued white cabinets surround the walls with black marble counter tops.  A wood table with white painted legs and chairs sit in the middle of the room.  Mason lets go of my hand so he can pull out one of the chairs at the table for me, a courtesy no one has ever bestowed on me before.

After I sit down, h
e walks to a large industrial sized refrigerator and pulls out a large silver platter filled with various cheeses, fruits, sliced meats and vegetables.  After depositing the feast of food on the table in front of me, he takes out a loaf of French bread from one of the cabinets and begins to slice it up while I nibble on a piece of aged cheddar cheese.

I can’t
stop myself from watching Mason as he slices the bread.  The way his muscles move beneath the electric blue button down shirt he’s wearing as he works the knife in and out of the bread mesmerizes me.  I grant myself permission to let my eyes travel down the length of him and find myself smiling thankfully that he decided to tuck his shirt into the pair of form fitting jeans he is wearing.  It’s a side of Mason I had never paid attention to before and became thankful for the opportunity.

“Jess?”

I quickly lift my gaze from the inappropriate spot where my eyes have been staring and find Mason’s head turned in my direction catching me in the act of ogling him.

“Yes?” I ask as innocently as I can, hoping beyond hope that he didn’t just see me staring at his butt.

A lopsided grin appears on Mason’s face and I know I’m totally busted.

“I was asking,” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice, “if you would like me to make you something else to eat?  I have a fully stocked kitchen.  I can make you anything you want
… if it’s food you want, that is.”

I feel like crawling underneath the table
and staying there until the end of time.  Not brave enough to address the elephant in the room I shake my head.

“No, I’m fine with what’s here
,” I say looking at the tray of food in front of me before I look back at Mason.

He turns around
to face me and leans back against the counter behind him, arms crossed over his chest.

“So you’re sure there’s nothing else you might want to have instead?”

It’s then I experience my first ever Freudian slip as my eyes, and I swear they do this on if their own accord, drop down to Mason’s hips.  I quickly look away and find a piece of dust on the wall to my left extremely interesting to stare at.

“No,” I
say, shaking my head sagely.  “I’m fine.”

I don’t dare look in Mason’s direction until he turns back around to arrange the sliced bread on a plate.  When I do let my eyes travel back
to where he stands, I notice that his shoulders are shaking slightly and I know he’s quietly laughing.

Normally I would feel appalled by my behavior, but if it made Mason laugh, I can live with a little embarrassment.  He d
oesn’t seem to be the type of person who lets himself relax enough to laugh very often, and I feel a strange sort of pride that my blatant leering of his persona brought him a small amount of joy.

When he does turn back around to face me, his smile is so bright I find it
utterly impossible not to smile too. 

“Is there anything in particular you would like to….
drink
?” he says, emphasizing the last word in a way which makes it sound naughty.

“Water?” I ask
, completely ignoring his suggestive tone.

He nods his head and grabs a glass from the cabinet filling it with water from the tap.

“I have an artesian well on the property,” he tells me, sitting the crystal clear water in front of me.  “It’s probably the purest water you’ll ever drink.”

He sits down across from me and I take a sip of the water.

“Wow, that really is good water,” I say.

I grab a couple of slices of bread, sliced meat and cheese to make a sandwich.  Just as I’m about to take a bite, I notice Mason staring at me and stop.

“I feel funny with you looking at me while I’m eating,” I tell him.

“Would you rather I stood and turned my back to you?” he asks, smiling knowingly.

“No,” I say, not even pretending that we both don’t now what he is implying.  “But, is there something else you could be doing in here while I eat?”

Mason stands and goes to the refrigerator pulling out
what looks like cut up chicken.

“I was planning to make you some of my famous chicken soup.  Would you like some for supper?”

“Yes, that sounds good,” I say, taking a bite of my sandwich and instantly feeling my hunger begin to ebb.

While Mason goes about cooking his soup, I end up eating three sandwiches in a row and begin to wonder if I will have room for the soup later. 
After the last sandwich, I completely drain my glass of water and get up to get another.

“What are you doing?” Mason asks seeing me rise
as he’s dropping in diced pieces of carrot into his pot of soup

“I need some more water,” I say
, the words ending up sounding like a question instead of a statement because I’m not sure why he’s questioning me.

“I’ll get that for you,”
he tells me.  “You just sit down and rest.”

He takes the glass out of my hand and fills it from the sink for me.  I sit back down and tell him, “Thank you.”

Once Mason sets his soup to boil, he returns to the table and sits down across from me.

“Now, can you tell me what happened
?”

I tell Mason everything Michael told me and finally
decide to reveal my secret of ‘
seeing the truth of things
’ to another living soul.    

“So that’s
all you were keeping from me?” he asks, somewhat relieved.

“How did you know I wasn’t telling you the complete truth?” I ask.  “That first night
we met I could tell you and Isaiah knew I was holding something back from you.”