“What's up?” I called out.
“Boarding up your window,” he mumbled and ripped off a strip of duct tape with his teeth. “It's all I could find, but it should keep the cold out until you can get a replacement.”
“That's fine. I don't think I'll be sleeping here for a while.” I leaned against the wall and watched him work.
He seemed completely engrossed in his task to the point of obsession, but his emotions were too jumbled to read. Our link was growing stronger with each passing day, becoming more physical. I could feel his excitement, his pain, his fear, which were all turned on full blast right now.
Maybe he would finally take the threat of our mean-some threesome more seriously. Tobias wasn't playing around when he said he had unfinished business. He was a demon, and by profession human life meant little to him, and Caleb's meant even less. This feud wouldn't end until one of them stopped breathing and the winner claimed me as the prized trophy piece.
I drew deeper into the room, searching Caleb's face for answers, but he kept his back to me. “You okay?” I asked.
“Sure. Why wouldn't I be okay?” He placed the final sheet of cardboard over the window frame. “I should be used to dead people popping up and being helpless to stop it.”
“Helpless? Why?”
It took a long beat for Caleb to answer. He was too busy taking his anger out on the board that kept slipping from his hand. He bit off another strip of tape and slapped it over the border, almost pounding the adhesive through the wall. “I try to protect you, but it never works out, does it? No matter what I do, you always get hurt; you're always left to fend for yourself.”
I just stared at him and struggled to piece together his scattered logic. “So . . . you're mad because you weren't around to rush in and save the day? I'm sorry, what century are we in?”
He stopped moving and braced himself against the wall. “I can't afford to have something happen to you. If he hurt you . . .”
“He didn't. Tobias won't hurt me. I'm too valuable to him.”
“You're valuable to
me
!” His sudden outburst made me jump. “I couldn't help my mom, or my dad. I couldn't save Nadine. I've lost too many people in my life and I . . . I can't lose any more. When I heard you on the phone and felt your fear; I lost it. I've had too many close calls with you already. I-I can't . . .”
I touched his shoulder, then drew my hand away when he flinched at the contact. “Hey, I'm all right. I'm not going anywhere. Whatever game Tobias is playing, we won't let him win. You. Are. Not. Weak.”
Caleb didn't seem to hear me, but stared at the wall ahead of him. I recognized the blank expression, the deadened look in his eyes. It was his coping device, an escape hatch for when emotions got too big to handle. Bad things always followed that detachment, and this would give Capone the perfect opportunity to take over.
“No. Don't do that. Hey, stop. Don't shut down on me, not now. I need you with me. Come back, please?” I hugged his waist and rested my head against his back, which felt as solid as a brick wall from all the tension. “It takes strength to cope with loss. I envy you, because I haven't dealt with my grief at all, and I'm due for a psychotic break any minute now. I saw how you fought Tobias on Thanksgiving night and it was all kinds of awesome. I could never do that. I'm too small.”
“That was Capone. He fought Tobias, not me.” He took a deep breath and spun around to look at me. “And you're not that small, Sam, and from what I hear, size doesn't matter. I wouldn't know anything about that, though.”
That made me snort, and we broke into a hearty laugh that we both needed. This was a good thing. Caleb's ego demanded some inflating, and I needed to remember what it was like to laugh until my eyes watered.
We locked eyes for a long moment as the humor began to die and something wicked in the air came to life. There came the heaviness again, gravity pulling us together, a force that had become second nature. He leaned into me and brushed away the tear from my cheek with his thumb. His finger moved lower and traced the outline of my bottom lip.
“Anyway, I'm saying it's not a crime to be scared.”
“I'm not scared of Tobias or anyone else. I'm afraid of what I'd do if anyone tried to take you from me. There'd be no stopping me.” His expression darkened, his eyes taking me in with a fierce heat that could burn right through my skin. “I
will
keep you safe.”
Under different circumstances, I could've walked out of the room and gone to sleep without any problems. But the night's excitement had lowered my guard, heightened my senses, making me painfully aware of his scent, his warmth, his presence.
Being this close to each other was a volatile combination. My mom was downstairs and she could walk in at any minute. The fact that a man just died right where we stood did not make for a very romantic atmosphere. But the second I saw that lavender glow, the hypnotic swirl of lights in his eyes, it was over.
Caleb grabbed my waist and yanked me to him. Our mouths met in a clash of desperation and repressed energy. My arms wrapped around his neck in the process to climb up his body. His hands slipped under me and lifted my legs to mold around his hips. We tumbled until my back pressed against the wall. His mouth plundered mine, stealing my breath, all reason, and any impulse to stop. But Caleb's will was stronger than mine.
He pulled his mouth away and rested his forehead against mine. His breath fanned over my face, hot, shaky, and uneven. We stayed propped against the wall, locked in a tangle of limbs until our breathing calmed. Slowly, carefully, he loosened his hold around my legs and allowed my body to slide down his. Even the act of setting me down was a physical challenge that involved every ounce of his concentration.
He backed away with his head bowed and his eyes to the floor. “We can't keep doing this.”
“I know,” I agreed, not moving a muscle. It wasn't a good idea to make any sudden moves with his eyes still glowing like that. I wasn't afraid of him. In fact, I was pretty sure I could take him in a fistfightâjudo classes be damned. I was afraid
for
him. I knew his limits and he was skating the edge of reason. I knew, because I was right there with him.
He paced in front of me and gripped hunks of hair with his fist. “It will only get worse from here on out. Our spirits will crave more than what we can give them. It's getting harder to restrain Capone.” He met my gaze, wearing a hard mask of sobriety. “And I
don't want
to restrain him. I told you I'd protect you no matter what, even if it's from myself. And I mean it.”
He made it sound like fire would rain from the sky if we ever got pelvic. “Shouldn't this kind of morning-after regret come much later?”
“I'd rather regret it now than months, years down the road. I don't want you resenting me for something you had no choice in, and I sure as hell don't want to have to
feel
that resentment coming off you for the rest of my life. You couldn't smile and fake itâI would always know. We could live miles away in different states and I would still know. The one thing we need most is the one thing we don't have. Time.” He crossed the room and sat on the edge of my bed. “It's past your bed time, Miss Marshall. We've had enough excitement for one night.”
Was I being dismissed? His mood swings were getting all over my nerves and all the anger from earlier tonight came back with interest. “Dude, if you're gonna clam up every time we make-out, then we should probably end this now. I know the risks, and the only real fear I have is being a teen mom and that can be prevented. Being bound to you forever will not put an end to my world, but it might be the end of yours if you keep up the grown-man bitching, so cut it out!” I looked around the room to the messy accommodations. “If you wanna sleep here, go right ahead. I'll be in Mom's room.”
While leaving the room, he called after me. “While I'm here, do me a favor before you go to bed? Not just for me, but for your sake, too.”
I stopped with my back to him. I didn't need to see the hurt look on his face; I could hear it in the strain of his voice, and I felt his heart breaking in my own chest. “What?” I asked.
“Lock your door.”
Those were the chilliest three words I'd ever heard, spoken with the desperate voice of a prisoner condemned. A last request. I nodded and closed the bedroom door behind me, aching for rest that I knew I wouldn't get tonight. And neither would he.
7
N
o one really knows how it all started, but what little knowledge survived the ages was as absurd and disturbing as a ghost story told around a campfire.
Three different versions of what were known as
The Origin Tale
were recorded in Angie's family memoirs, all amounting to the same horrifically detailed outcome: death and lots of it. I had trouble sleeping after reading these entries; however, I'd love to see a Disney version of this grim fairy tale, uncensored and in 3D.
I was three-fourths into the first volume of this epic saga and couldn't put it down; not so much for historical curiosity, but because it was the juiciest soap opera ever put to paper. Obsession, jealousy, and violence drowned the pages in blood, as each female in Angie's line bared their souls for future generations.
Though these records were for genealogical purposes, I also believed that these Cambion heroines wanted those like me to learn from their mistakes. They whispered words of warning from beyond the grave, begging me to maintain my humanity or else lose my soul forever. For their sake, for their sacrifice, I owed it to them to listen.
More to the point, Angie's flight would arrive in a matter of hours and she would demand a full book report as soon as she saw me. She'd given both volumes to me to read and I'd been pushing my duties aside until the last minute. Could anyone really blame meâeach book consisted of almost two thousand pages, single spaced, with a ten-point font size. But now, with the clock ticking and two pots of coffee running through my veins, it was crunch time.
School, work, and Caleb's extended trip to “jerkistan,” were put on the back burner for the past week in order to meet this deadline. Wherever I went, volume one was tucked under my arm while everything faded in the background. These leather-bound grimoirs didn't help my popularity at school and rumors of my use of witchcraft were in heavy circulation. Everyone around me knew better than to talk to me, which was why no one knocked on my bedroom door all weekend.
Mom kept busy downstairs doing last-minute finishing touches on the house and yelling at the neighbors. I figured the Christmas lawn wars were still in effect, but as long as there were no shots fired, I left Mom to duke it out on her own.
The funny thing was that I felt I'd read these books before. The stories, the cast of characters came back to me, jogging my memory somehow. It then became apparent that the memory wasn't mine, but Nadine's. An image of her sitting on her bed reading this book flashed in my head. Long, blond strands fell over her eyes as a white hand turned the page. She had been sentenced to read both volumes as well and forced to memorize sections to recite for her mother at dinner. I sensed a type of urgency with the request, as if Nadine's life depended on her study of these books. It was a civil duty, a royal obligation to learn her Cambion roots, and now the responsibility had been passed down to me.
By the time I pulled my nose out of my book, it was dark outside and I had twenty minutes to meet up with Angie for dinner. I'd talked to her hundreds of times over the phone and I pretty much knew her life story, but that didn't stop my hands from shaking and sweating. Most women had that reaction when it came to the grand dame of Cambions. Angie was pretty high class, and mingling with us country bumpkins had to be a step down for her. The thought made me self-conscious and forced me to change my wardrobe twice.
I settled for a simple blue knee-length dress with an empire waist and ruffled shoulders. Wearing my hair in a loose bun with curly tendrils framing my face, I looked like someone out of a Jane Austen novel. Not my usual taste, but the Wonder Twins were sufficiently covered and that was the best I could do as far as modesty.
This was an intimate meet-and-greet for Cambions only, which meant no outsiders allowed. So Mom stayed behind, but not without updating me on the latest child abduction on the news.
“. . . and all the police could find were human bones in the wood shed behind the house.” Mom concluded, holding a wrapped plate of peanut butter cookies. “And don't forget to give these to Angie. It's always good to bring a gift to a party.”
I shook my head and took the plate, though secretly thankful that her time with Ruiz hadn't lowered her guard. Then again, she couldn't afford to in the Cambion world, even if she was a quiet observer. I might be spiritually connected to Angie, but I was Julie Marshall's baby, and woe to anyone who messed with that.
After a hug and kiss, I hightailed it to the Charlotte Hotel. I knew I was in for a formal event when I found Caleb's brother, Michael in the lobby. His tall, gangly body settled into one of the high boy chairs as he played a game on his phone. His long brown braid fell over one shoulder and touched his belly. He didn't wear his usual Silent Bob trench coat, but a white dress shirt, black slacks, and one bright yellow checkered sock.
Michael was the oddball of the Ross clan, but he was the smartest and sweetest of the brothers. He was also the spitting image of Caleb, minus a good twenty pounds.
“Hey, Michael!” I called.
He lifted his head and I was greeted with the same colored eyes that all the males in his line owned. But unlike Caleb's, Michael's were wide, bloodshot, and shifty, never quite making direct eye contact with those of the fairer gender. He tucked the phone into his pocket and stood.
“Ah, you made it. I was hoping you were going to run late,” he said, the slight hint of his English accent creeping through the syllables.
“Why? Trying not to go upstairs yet?”
“Pretty much, yeah.” He nodded. “Evangeline's been barking orders since she arrived. She instructed me to wait here to meet you while she changed.”
“What a loyal man-servant you are.” I patted his shoulder. “You shouldn't be afraid of Angie. She's cool people.”
I could tell Michael wanted to comment, but he didn't. “Right, well, let's go then. Don't want to keep her waiting. Did your mum make those?” he asked, ogling my cookies.
“Yes, and they're for Angie. Back up, you heathen!” I held the plate close to my chest as he escorted me to the bank of elevators.
Keeping my eyes peeled for any weird guests, I leaned in and asked, “Any news about, you know, Mr. T.?”
He glanced sideways at me. “Isn't that the bloke with the Mohawk and chains around his neck?”
“No. I meant Tobias,” I whispered then scanned the lobby again. The name seemed cursed now, where unspeakable horrors awaited anyone who said it three times in front of a mirror.
Michael pushed the button on the elevator and motioned me to enter first. “Sam, he's an incubus, not Lord Voldermort. You can say his whole name.”
“I know, but he can be anywhere, listening in on us.”
“Not here. We've sealed the building with oil.”
“That didn't stop him before,” I argued. “Did Caleb tell you about the man who broke into my house?” I gave Michael the lowdown in case his brother left out details. He looked sufficiently worried, especially after learning that I now slept with the lights on in my room.
When I finished, he said, “That's very unfortunate. Seems everything's gone all Pete Tong, hasn't it?”
Since he didn't follow up that random comment with an explanation, I searched the elevator car for one. “Who's Pete Tong?”
Michael looked away with a quick shake of his head. “Oh. It means âwrong.' It's a Cockney thing for slang to rhyme,” he explained. “But I'm not entirely sure Tobias is involved.”
“Why does everyone keep saying that? Am I missing something?”
“Probably, but I wouldn't worry about it too much. We've got bigger problems at the moment. Let's focus on surviving the night, shall we?” he said as the doors opened.
Angie rented the entire top floor, which was one oversized apartment with two levels. We stepped through the glass French doors to the foyer that seemed to go on for miles. A black and white marble floor led to a grand staircase in the center. Beveled mirrors and oil paintings accented the cream walls and oversized palm leaves gave life to the room.
“Hello? Angie, we're here!” I called out.
Angie's head popped around the corner, her ash blond hair swinging over her shoulder. Letting out a girlish squeal, she clapped her hands and raced to my side. The clink of her numerous bracelets provided a song for every movement.
She wore her forty years better than the black cocktail dress that clung to her like a wet suit. She had an oval face, a long, pointy nose, and full lips that on anyone else would throw off the symmetry, but with Angie it only seemed to enhance it. She reminded me of one of those femme fatales in old black-and-white detective movies. From her tall, ramrod posture to her feline stride, she epitomized elegance, yet she had a bit of sass that leaned toward the obscene, the dangerous.
“My little warrior, you are finally here!” she cried and squeezed me tight.
“Yeah, I almost didn't make it though.” I rocked from side to side in her arms.
“Nonsense. You had to come. You would not dare leave me here alone with these savages.” She winked at Michael who looked away sheepishly. It could've been the way Angie stared at people, totally engrossed, like they were the most captivating creatures on Earth. It stood on the left of flirtation and just shy of creepy. A popular Cambion trait.
“Thank you so much for greeting Samara,” she told Michael. “Now would you be so kind as to bring your brothers. Dinner will begin shortly.”
At her command, my stomach flipped. For a second, I had forgotten that Caleb would be joining this little get-together. I hadn't seen him since that stunt in my room and I wasn't in the mood for more drama. Actually, I had seen him plenty of times at work, I just didn't want to. I was still raw and bitter, and talking to him would just lead to more words I'd regret later.
Keeping in good spirits, I presented my gift. “Here, Mom made you some cookâ” I paused at the plate that now had three lonely cookies and a pile of crumbs. “Michael!” I whipped my head around to see the thief fleeing the scene of the crime. I couldn't believe it. I'd been holding the plate the entire time and didn't even notice. Oh, he was good. Munching on his prize, Michael disappeared behind the sliding elevator doors.
Angie lifted a cookie from the plate and motioned me to the sitting room. “As I said, savages, dear.”
“So what have you been up to?” I asked.
“Well, I sold four paintings and have two commissions. My next showing isn't until February, so I'll be free to handle business here.”
Knowing what type of business, my muscles tightened. Did she have any news about the Cambion big wigs? Were they still after Caleb?
Sensing my unease, she said, “No politics before dinner, Samara. It's bad etiquette. Let us enjoy our time together. Come, the others are waiting.”
I wasn't expecting the red carpet and fanfare, just something a little less awkward. One thing about the Petrovsky progeny, or Cambion children in general, there was no need for a blood test. Dressed in their Sunday best, they lined up by height in the living room, looking like the Von Trapps from
The Sound of Music
. They stood with hands behind their backs, their postures displaying regality and years of boarding school discipline. Sore thumb was not the right analogy to describe my presence. I squinted my eyes, blinded by the glare of all that blond.
“And these are my darlings. I told you about them, yes?” With a graceful sweep of her hand, Angie pointed to each replica of herself, starting with the sixteen-year-old. Of all three siblings, she resembled Nadine the most, not just in appearance, but in attitude. She oozed apathy, a world-weary detachment that took years to master.
I extended my hand to the tall girl. “You must be Olivia, right?”
A nod was her only reply. With chin lifted in the air, she scrutinized every square inch of my person. Her eyes were keen, hooded with heavy lids as if she were about to doze off at any minute. In that instant, I knew I was working a tough crowd, so I decided to move on to the thirteen-year-old.
“This is my son, Szymon, and my little mouse, Mishka,” Angie said.
I bowed my head. “Nice to meet you.”
Szymon shifted from foot to foot, unsure where to look. Though he had Angie's features, his light gray eyes excluded him from the group.
Mishka, on the other hand, seemed more curious than the others and a bit more eager to break the ice. All curls and rosy cheeks, the ten-year-old stepped forward and curtseyed. Her emerald eyes widened as if I were something shiny. “Are you our new sister now?”
“Uh . . .” I looked to Angie for the right answer, but she was out of ideas.
“Don't be stupid, Mishka. Of course she's not. She's just a carrier, that's all,” Olivia said with tight lips.
Ouch.
“I'm a little more than that,” I replied. “But, I'm not here to replace your sister. Nadine was a good friend of mine, and I'm honored to have a part of her with me.”