Courting Darkness (8 page)

Pulling into Mitch’s driveway, Tate cut the engine. The living room curtain shifted to the side and dropped back closed. Before he could climb out of the car, the front door flew open and the guy stepped onto the porch. His hopeful countenance fell as Tate stepped from Olivia’s car. Brows drawing tight into a foreboding scowl, he supposed this male could be considered intimidating to another man. Were he a mortal, he might have thought twice about approaching the surly human. Shoulders back, jaw locked tight in a defiant clench, the guy was throwing off a whole lot of turn-around-and-get-the-fuck-back-in-that-car.

Tate didn’t cow to anyone, least of all a mere mortal. Shouldering his own aggressive stance, he advanced on the arrogant prick who dared to hassle his ward.

“Who are you and what do you want?” Mitch demanded.

Short, sweet, and to the point. “I’m Olivia’s guardian.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Mitch cocked his head. “I’ve met Olivia’s guardian, and you ain’t him. Try again.”

Tate mounted the stairs, stopping in front of Mitch. “Well, I’m the new guy—”

“What happened to Liam?”

“He’s currently detained, so I’m filling in. Anyway, I’m here to tell you to lay off Olivia. She’s going through a tough time right now, and harassing her isn’t going to help your chances of getting her back. But it will, however, put you on my shit list.”

Mitch’s glare darkened—muscles tensed. His stance shifted, redistributing his weight to his back leg. That cocky bastard was getting ready to hit him. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You hit me and all bets are off.” It was the only warning Tate would give him. Anything else he had to say would be with his fists.

“Get off my porch or it’s on. I don’t give a fuck where you hail from.”

The strong bite of whiskey stung Tate’s nostrils. “You wouldn’t be so cavalier about taking me on without that liquid courage saturating your common sense. Do yourself a favor and stay away from Olivia. You tamper with her car again and—”

“I haven’t done shit to her car! If someone’s fucking with it, it ain’t me. Perhaps you should go threaten some other sucker who’s had the misfortune of falling for that deceitful little bitch!”

With a surprising amount of agility, Mitch stepped forward and took a swing at Tate. Instinctively, his arm flew up, blocking the blow, and he countered with a right hook to Mitch’s jaw. At the last minute, Tate pulled his punch, but the hit still connected solidly. His knuckle tore open on Mitch’s tooth as his head snapped back. He fell against the front door, a livid curse flying from his split lip.

As he scrambled for his footing, Tate bore down on him. In two long strides, he reached Mitch and pressed his booted foot into the guy’s chest, pinning him to the porch floor. “Now that was just stupid.”

From his supine position, Mitch gave Tate a contemptuous glare, unbridled fury rolling off him like heat waves.

“Honestly, I don’t know what Olivia ever saw in you, but I’m starting to think her
amnesia
is the best thing that ever happened to her. I’m here to officially tell you, it’s over. You fuck with her again, and I won’t be so nice the next time I come back.” His warning was devoid of emotion, but ominous in his command. Leaving no measure for misunderstanding, Tate gave the arrogant prick a shove with his foot before he turned and strode back to the car.

“It ain’t over until I say it’s over!” Mitch called after him.

Before climbing inside, Tate shot him a dark glare over the roof of the car. “Then you’ll not find me so pleasant the next time we cross paths.”

Taking his pent-up aggression out on the accelerator, the Camaro shot backward onto the street, tires coming to a screaming halt. He threw the gear into drive and punched the pedal.

Olivia was in the kitchen when he entered from the garage service door. A worried frown pulled tight over her verdant eyes as she sat at the table, nervously clutching a steaming cup of tea. “You were gone a long time for just getting spark plugs.” Her gaze dropped to his hand.

A trickle of blood oozed down his finger. Had he not expended so much energy starting her car, the cut would have been healed by now. With a subtle turn of his wrist, he wiped the back of his hand against his jeans. Her brow arched questioningly. That female didn’t miss a beat.

“What happened to it?”

“I cut it.” Tate pushed the door closed and stepped into the kitchen.

“How?”

“Does it matter?” He pulled out a chair across from her and sat.

“You’re talking around me because you can’t lie and you don’t want to tell me the truth.”

Slipping low in his seat, legs stretched out, arms crossed over his chest, he watched his ward with surprised amusement. “How do you know I can’t lie, Olivia?”

She shrugged and lifted the mug to her lips, taking a sip. “It was in my journal. Apparently, I’m quite the writer.”

“What else did you learn?” he asked, careful to keep his tone neutral.

“Not enough. Now quit changing the subject and tell me how you cut your hand, and why it isn’t healed yet.” She slid her chair back and walked over to the sink, wet a napkin, and grabbed an emergency medical kit from the cupboard below.

He didn’t respond, but watched her warily as she walked over to her seat, and held out her hand expectantly. What was she doing? Did she really expect him to give her his hand? The cut was nothing. It would heal—as soon as his energy built back up. He was here to take care of her, not the other way around. “What?” A ripple of tension shuddered through him.

“Just let me see it.” Olivia reached across the table and grabbed his arm. Taking his hand in hers, she inspected his knuckles. Her brows furrowed, her bottom lip caught between her teeth in concentration. Grabbing the wet cloth, she dabbed at his knuckles, glancing up as if to make sure she wasn’t hurting him. “You saw Mitch, didn’t you?”

He dipped his head in acknowledgment, resisting the impulse to withdraw his hand from her grasp, not wholly comfortable with the physical contact. “Mitch is an ass,” he grumbled. “Honestly, I can’t see you with that guy, memories or not. From how Liam spoke of you—”

Olivia stilled. Her grip on his hand tightened and her emerald gaze shot up, locking on him intently. “He talked about me? What did he say?”

Aw hell...
The hopeful expression on her face sent a pang of guilt piercing his heart. He was supposed to be encouraging her to let Liam go, not talking about him. But she looked so heartsick at the mere mention of his name. Heaving a sigh of resignation, he conceded, “Liam always spoke of you in the highest regard. He described you as intelligent, spirited, and compassionate. He worried your lack of life experience would make you vulnerable to others who would take advantage of your gentle nature. When Liam came back, the first time that is, it was clear he’d fallen in love with you. That concerned the elders. Still, he endeavored to let you go, as you must do for him now.”

She scowled at that, clearly finding the advice distasteful. He glanced down at his hand held tightly by hers in a pleading embrace. Blood continued to ooze from the laceration, slowly rolling toward her fingers. He pulled his hand from her grip and grabbed the moist cloth from the table, wiping it across his hand.

“I’m sorry—” she stammered, as if just now realizing she’d been in the process of tending his wound.

He waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. I said it’s fine.”

Propping her elbows on the table, she buried her face in her hands. “I can’t do it, Tate. And I know it makes no sense to you. I don’t even understand it myself, but I can’t let him go. My heart is clinging to someone I can’t even remember. But Olivia...the Olivia who wrote in that journal was so profoundly in love with him, that to read her memories makes me fall in love him all over again. I want him back in my life.”

He truly pitied the young woman sitting beside him. She looked so fragile, so...broken. If there was something he could have said, something he could have done to ease her suffering, he would have done it. As it was, he could be of no assistance when it came to matters of the heart.

“—And then there’s this part of me that’s so furious he did this to me. How could he just erase four years of my life like they never happened?”

Her head snapped up and those tear-filled eyes locked on him as if she expected him to answer her. If he was wise, he’d keep his mouth shut. Nothing was going to fix this. If he could lie, he’d be tempted to belay her with untruths that Liam didn’t want her. She’d been nothing but an assignment that he was tired of babysitting. It would have broken her heart, but truly, could the pain have been any worse than her suffering right now? At least with time she’d be able to move on. If you asked him, it would have been the merciful thing to do.

“—I mean how, if he really loved me, could he possibly do something like this?”

Tate sighed, cursing the truth and its adage, for it did not always set you free. “He didn’t have a choice, Olivia. He had to leave and he did what he thought was best—for you. Do not think, for one second, that any of this has been easy for him. He wanted to spare you the grief of letting him go.”

“Is that what he told you? Have you seen him?”

He was reluctant to answer any more of her questions. He’d already said more than enough. But perhaps this was what she needed to hear, to understand the finality of her situation. Maybe then she would attempt to let Liam go, and Tate could finally bond to his ward.

“I haven’t seen him since the day of his sentencing—when he lost his guardianship of you. You were right when you said I don’t understand. Because I don’t. And I won’t sit here and pretend that I do. I think only logically and am driven by duty, not emotion. If I seem crass to your plight, understand that my job is to protect you and keep you out of the hands of the Dark Court. If you truly want to get past this, then for the love of God, stop trying to remember him and quit reading that bloody journal.”

A certain resolve stiffened her spine, notching her up a little higher. The stubborn set of her jaw told him he was wasting his breath. Liam had said the female was tenacious. Man, he wasn’t kidding. Olivia was an intelligent woman. She knew what was at stake and the dangers of shutting him out. Perhaps she’d consider what he said—perhaps she’d accept him before it was too late.

Pushing his chair back, Tate stood and wordlessly exited the kitchen.

Pat entered the kitchen and stopped at the table long enough to empty his pockets—keys, some change, and two spark plugs clattered into the catch-all bowl. So close, and yet so fucking far… The woman had been seconds from recanting and accepting a ride, when out of nowhere her “something like that” had shown up and ruined everything. How in the hell did that asshole get her car started with a dead battery and a missing plug?

“Since you’re back so soon, I assume that means you failed.”

At the raspy growl, Pat’s heart leapt into his throat as he spun around. “Jesus! You scared the hell out of me.”

The sardonic chuckle sent a shiver of dread racing up his spine.

“Oh, I highly doubt that, my boy.”

He stepped into the living room to find his uninvited guest lounging in the recliner, a half-empty bottle of Absinthe in his hand.

What the fuck…
“What are you doing here? Don’t you have to be invited in or something?”

The guy slowly turned his head and exhaled a cloud of smoke that billowed out from his hooded mantle. Pat couldn’t see his face, and frankly didn’t want to. Once was more than enough.

“I’m not a goddamn vampire,” he growled.

Well, then what in the hell was he? Scary as fuck, that’s what he was—with that creepy black cloak and those long, gnarled fingers poking out from his domed sleeves. Shadows surrounded him. The swirling mist hovering around his legs seemed to take on a life of its own.

Maybe it was better the identity of his employer remain a mystery, rather than face the possibility he might have made a deal with the devil—literally.

“Your stayin’ here wasn’t part of our arrangement,” he grumbled with displeasure, helpless to do anything else. Pat knew he was in over his head. If only he had any idea what he was getting himself in to. The guy had found him at his lowest of lows, seconds from getting curb stomped by a gang employed by a very powerful, very irate loan shark Pat owed a substantial amount of money to.

The stranger had appeared from nowhere, much like Olivia’s friend tonight. At the time, an answer to Pat’s desperately pleaded prayer. He’d even convinced himself the black-clad man stepping out of the shadows was indeed an angel. Albeit a very dangerous, terrifying one, but nonetheless, he’d saved Pat from certain death. Who would do that if not an angel of God?

When he’d offered to make Pat’s problems disappear, he’d all but jumped at the opportunity for a fresh start. After all, how many people got the chance to start over? Unfortunately, there had been a hefty price tag attached to his new beginning—at least
he
wasn’t the one paying the ultimate price.

Pat wasn’t certain what the woman, Olivia, had done to put herself on this guy’s radar, and he didn’t want to know. It wasn’t any of his business, and the less he knew about her, the easier it was to remain in blissful ignorance that perhaps he wasn’t sentencing an innocent woman to her death.