Guardian (24 page)

The following day she was home. Or as close to a home she had. She’d gone to sleep on a bed of silk after Damon met her at the door and held her for so long it seemed he’d never let go.

She’d wanted to go straight to her mom and dad’s things, but he said no. “Sleep, Nikki. Tomorrow morning, we’ll go downstairs together.”

She woke to the smell of freshly toasted bread and the realization someone had entered her room. She heard their whispered steps and the sound of their breathing, and she sensed them as well. Through her barely opened eyes, Nikki watched Anya, Vessler’s housekeeper, pour a cup of coffee from the silver carafe, dump in a bit of cream and sugar, and stir the concoction vigorously. She breezed out of the room and the door clicked behind her.

Nikki leaned onto her elbows and stared at the tray of breakfast like it was a snake. Her mouth watered, but something in her begged not to trust what was in front of her. Not to trust any of this.

She threw the covers back. “That’s ridiculous,” she mumbled and sailed to the tray, taking a bite so big the bread barely fit into her mouth.

A knock caused her to jump.

“Come in,” she said in a muffled voice, tongue maneuvering around the half-macerated bread.

Damon slid the door open. His dark eyes widened, brows raised high. “Glad to see you have your appetite.”

She swallowed, wished there’d been a little more butter on the toast, and reached for the coffee.

With a mega-smile, he moved with the fluid motions of a man with years of martial arts training. He paused at the table, reached for the delicate pat of butter, and smeared it on her bread. Another devastating smile as he held it out for her to take a bite.

She froze. Did he actually expect to feed her? Okay, that ranks pretty high on the creepy, possible-pedophile scale. Her eyes cut from him to the butter-gooed bread, and noticed a stream of spread ran along the edge of the toast. She grabbed it from him and took another bite, making sure she caught the buttery river while stepping a good foot away.

The air kicked on and Damon’s scent of clean linen and expensive cologne surrounded her. He always smelled so good. She took in the room, the bedroom, and again everything felt wrong. Very, very wrong.

Damon lifted his hands and bowed. “Forgive me. I know this must seem strange to you, Nicole, but it feels perfectly natural to me. In many ways I feel like you’re my own daughter.” His gold chain twinkled, catching the light in the hollow of his throat where the V of his designer shirt framed his tan neckline.

His own daughter? Well, that leveled the freak flag, but raised the alarm flag to full mast. “I barely know you,” she uttered. Oops. She’d only meant to think that, not say it.

“But I know you, my dear. Through your parents, I shared every moment of your life. I know about your first bicycle wreck, your first B on a math assignment.” He led her to the window and opened the curtains wide. Below, on a smaller hillside, her house sat nestled inside the neighborhood of smallish homes where she grew up. “I’ve kept a watch over you. And as long as you’ll let me, I promise to do so forever.”

Great. Just what she needed right now: another guardian. But this one wasn’t trying to toss her into an epic war, this one wasn’t trying to dictate her life; this one cared simply because he cared.

“You got a lovely tan on the, uh, ship, was it?”

She focused on the windowsill. Here it comes. The third degree about where I was and why, and I don’t have a clue how to answer any of it. She steeled herself. “Yes, it was a ship.”

“The sun agrees with you. I wouldn’t have thought it possible to make you any more beautiful, and yet you are.”

Uh-huh. “Thanks,” she said, more of a question than an answer. “I guess I should explain.” She pivoted to face him.

“No, you shouldn’t.”

“Wha—what?”

“You’ve nothing to explain to me. You’re an adult now, Nikki. You don’t have to answer to anyone anymore.”

Huh. She hadn’t thought of that.

“In fact,” Damon continued, “I forbid it. No talk of where you were and what you were doing.”

Her eyes narrowed playfully. “If I’ve no one to answer to, then how can you forbid it?”

His smile was slow, alarmingly so, and it caused the blacks of his eyes to twinkle like quartz dazzled by sunlight. “Exactly.” He rested his hands on her shoulders, and with a gentle press urged her to gaze out at the world beyond the window.

A few houses over, a small boy helped his dad rake leaves while a lady rocked in a porch swing. If Nikki really tried, maybe she could forget all about demons and angels. Maybe, just maybe, Damon Vessler was her one shot at a normal life.

“Okay,” she agreed, and felt the tips of his fingers throb where they rested lightly against the T-shirt she’d slept in. Why her awareness of his reaction caused alarm, she couldn’t say. She pushed the sensation aside. If Will and Mace and Raven had taught her one thing, it was that she had no right to trust her feelings.

Tears kept her company as she journeyed through her parents' life. It seemed so strange that her mom and dad could be reduced to a basement full of quiet, lonely objects. What had once brought her joy—seeing the counter filled with a mix of Mom’s baking dishes on a Saturday morning—now only added to her suffering. Those things sat patiently in a cardboard box waiting for her to choose one. But she never would. Nor would her mom ever tap her finger against her chin and say, “Hmm. I think a glass pan will work best for this.” Each item was just an echo of the lives they represented. And echoes became quieter and quieter as time passed.

Damon had walked her to the foot of the stairs that first morning, but when he reached for the first box, one marked Dale’s Garage, she’d gently placed a hand on his and shook her head.

He’d understood completely. Damon had nodded, taken a breath so deep she thought he’d pop the buttons on his expensive linen shirt, and given her a quick smile that conveyed more than words. And then he left. Simple as that. She’d once thought Mace understood her, then thought Raven better fit that role. Maybe Damon was the only one who understood her. The only one left, anyway.

In the days that followed, life became a solemn routine of working through her parents' things, practicing her karate, and spending evenings with Damon, who gave her space, who didn’t coddle, who left her alone. And that’s all Nikki really needed. To be left alone. She should have contacted Krissy, but even the guilt over not letting her best friend know she was back began to fade with time. It was like that part of her life died alongside her mom and dad.

But after a few weeks, the loneliness intensified, and a tiny part of her searched for something, anything, to replace the utter nothingness. Only a month ago she’d been so surrounded by life and noise and people. Now emptiness filled her, refusing to leave her unaccompanied for long.

Something was growing within her soul, something cold and black and deadly. She found it easier and easier to get rid of items her parents once cherished. Some things she kept, for one reason or another, but the reality of sorting had hardened her. People who are dead have no use for items. People who are dead don’t come back.

Damon said the lead he’d had on the killer had gone cold. “Maybe if you’d been here …” But he’d stopped himself. He hadn’t needed to say more. She understood, and it fed the black thing growing in her stomach.

She sat before a box of old books, some of which her dad had purchased as research. A robbery. My parents died in a robbery. A handful of antique swords, possessions they’d gained by chance, led to the forfeit of their lives. She’d give the world to have them back, yet they died over a bundle of inanimate objects. Irony was an angry witch, a witch with sharpened claws.

It didn’t matter anyway. Nikki’d reached a decision. Once she was finished with her parents' things, she’d go after the guy herself. And she’d do to him every horrible thing he’d done to her parents before he stole their lives.

She’d stopped doing her classwork somewhere along the way. When she told Damon it was probably time for her to get back to school, he’d shaken his head. No need. He’d done some checking and learned she had enough credits to graduate two years early. Principal Schmidt apparently hadn’t liked it, but had agreed under the circumstances. After all, Damon could be quite persuasive. Nikki’d tried to voice her concerns about the credits, about going from a junior to a high school graduate, but Damon shut her down.

No more chemistry tests, no more sweaty locker rooms, no more friends. Guilt over Krissy slinked back into her mind. She hadn’t even called her best friend once since she’d returned from Germany, mostly because Krissy represented everything that no longer was. And Krissy—best friend extraordinaire— would be full of questions Nikki couldn’t answer now or ever. When Mace, Raven, and Vine started attending her school— oh, so many innocent days ago—it was Krissy who first encouraged Nikki to get to know them. She was something of a bridge between Nikki’s two worlds. And Nikki didn’t need a bridge— she needed dynamite to blast the whole thing to dust.

So when Damon informed her she’d graduated, Nikki accepted it like she had everything else in her new world. He held an intimate ceremony in her honor and gave her the title to the Ducati concept bike he’d purchased from a doctor in Florida. Life should be good. But the walls, though soaring and palatial, were closing in around her.

“I’ve arranged for us to spend a few days at my beach house. And I have a surprise for you when we get there,” Damon said. He handed her a fresh bottle of water. He was always doing that. Encouraging her to eat, making sure she had coffee in the morning and water throughout the rest of the day.

She turned from the library window. She didn’t open the window in her room anymore, as she’d lost all interest in looking over to the house that had once been her home. But here in the library, she enjoyed the vivid view of a meandering garden. It reminded her of Viennesse. “Oh?”

“Yes, I thought a change of scenery would do you good.”

Sunshine, beach, sand sifting between her toes. Too bad it sounded dead.

“Thought it would cheer you. And even if the setting doesn’t, the surprise is sure to.”

She didn’t expect to experience cheer again. Even when he gave her the keys to the bike, a prize she’d once only been able to dream of, there’d been no delight. Waking, sleeping, she was a zombie. An undead. She felt nothing. Not pain, not joy. She couldn’t remember what it was to smile, to laugh. She felt old, finished.

No. The beach held no appeal. She could just as well stay right here. “Do we have any news on the killer, Damon?” “Ah,” he said. “A spark of life.”

True. The desire to see the monster brought to justice was the only thing that kept her heart beating. Black vines twisted in her chest and offered perverted comfort. She accepted their embrace. It was growing easier and easier to do so.

Damon maneuvered around a table and came to rest behind her. He placed his hands on her shoulders and kneaded with a gentle touch. “I will find him. I gave you my word. We even have a new lead.” He leaned closer. “Nikki, what are your wishes when we locate the assassin?”

She spun to face him. “I want him to suffer like my parents suffered.”

He seemed to fight a smile. “It’s justice. An eye for an eye. It’s the only way you’ll ever be able to move on. To get closure.”

Deep within her a still, small voice whispered revenge was not the answer. She smothered it and clung to her dream. Because revenge—right or wrong—had become her closest companion. Oftentimes, her only companion.

And Damon was going to help her accomplish it.

Nikki threw a punch into the heavy bag hard enough to double it. Damon had arranged for her karate instructor, Sensei Coble, to continue private classes at the mansion. “I want to learn KravMaga,” Nikki said. “Are you familiar with it, Sensei?”

Damon had become her sparring partner, as her ability was quickly eclipsing her sensei’s. Damon was a specialist in several fighting styles and the first to mention the style taught to the Israeli Special Forces.

Concern washed across Sensei Coble’s usually calm veneer. “It’s a brutal style, Nikki.”