Healing His Soul's Mate (5 page)

“They sent you out here to read the twins?” Cemil’s skepticism washed over Shade.

“They did. Did you think they would send me for another reason?” Shade’s presence would be questioned. The lack of trust between the Rowans and the Syndicate had become legendary. Each a necessary evil to the other. But he had remained as neutral to their conflict as one could and still be involved.

“With the Syndicate, one can never be so sure,” Cemil said. “Anything you can share about the twins?”

Shade carried packets of information about his objective, information compiled by the best Syndicate seers and psychics. “Nothing yet.” He indicated the locked worn-leather satchel. “Not because I won’t share, but I don’t open the files I am given until I’ve met my mark. I don’t want others’ impressions influencing my first reading. I’ll read my reports once I’ve met with Dana. This way I can compare the preciseness of what they collect against mine. Perhaps after dinner I’ll stroll down to meet the mama to be. I assume the rules still apply about dinner?”

Cemil nodded. “Don’t make Rekkus track you down for dinner. I admit Sage, Myron, and I get a chuckle at how worked up Cyrus and our tiger get over missing guests. Rekkus and his tight-assed rules. Don’t tell them, but sometimes we delay a guest on purpose. ”

“You have a demented sense of humor, my friend, a trait I’ve always liked very much.”

“Here we are.” Cemil parked the cart and threw the keys to Shade. “There’s an extra key under the front seat in case you drop this one in the water.”

Cemil grabbed the bigger of the two bags and led Shade to an A-frame cottage on a wooden dock above the water. Two sides opened up over the ocean to the fog wall on the horizon. The other two walls offered privacy toward the land with a simple window looking out over the dock. The kitchenette’s small stove and refrigerator took up one corner, the rest of the room filled by its round bed, a lounge chair, small table, and a few lamps. A window in the center of the floor offered a view into the ocean below.

Cemil handed him a remote control. “The top button lowers the walls, the bottom closes the curtains. The window in the floor opens. If you wish to dangle your feet in the water, you’ll find the remote control next to the chair, though the water’s too cold in my opinion. It’s deeper than it appears, so no swimming through it. We’ve stocked the fridge. You’re on a generator, so there are lanterns, candles, and extra blankets in the closets. Bathroom is next to the closet. No luxuries, but the place is quite secluded and, more important, quiet.”

“It’s perfect.” Shade closed his eyes and pushed out over the water. He sensed nothing except for his friend. “Did you turn off the fish?”

“If you sense nothing, Myron must have called in Serena to clear the area. She could easily have circled the island before we got out of view of the house. She is your best defense, so, if you have any problems, jump in the water and yell.”

“I can’t imagine why I might need help from a mermaid, but thank you.”

“I’ll leave you in peace. Dinner is in an hour, and perhaps we can discuss a class or two for you to take on while you’re here. The deep-meditation class on soul-searching might offer what a few of our guests need.”

“Providing you don’t ask me to go soul-searching Sarka, I’m your man.”

Cemil chuckled as he headed down the pier. Shade waited until he felt the pull and slight pop as the last soul left the area. Rotating his head, he took a deep breath. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d experienced silence. Pulling a mat from his backpack, he laid it out and knelt, facing the ocean. For him, silence wasn’t only lack of sound. His ability to reach souls was a blessed one, most of the time, but he needed to turn it all off once in a while. He needed peace to replenish his own soul.

He wouldn’t complain about his abilities. Others had far worse gifts. Cemil could feel humans’ pain miles away, powers even reaching over phone lines. Not a power he wished to possess.

Then there was Cyrus Rowan. No one’s gift seemed more of a curse. Other retro-cogs could see the past while the items remained within their touch. Once they let go, the images disappeared as fog does when summer sun reaches high into the sky. Only one born every millennial shared Cyrus’ gift. When he touched an item, he could see its history back to its creation, and when he let go, the images remained in his mind. If he touched an assassin’s sword, every event the blade had ever been involved in stayed with him, haunted him. He’d once compared the experience to little movies running constantly within his head, ones without an off button.

When everything went bad for Cyrus, it had gone seriously bad. After the assassin who killed his sisters turned his attention to him, he broke. The Syndicate called Shade in to assess the state of Cyrus’ soul. It had taken no more than a couple minutes in Cyrus’ company for him to make his diagnosis. Walking into the council’s high-ceilinged chamber room, Shade informed the three women their vessel could no longer be used.

“Is he fixable?” The elf high priestess whispered.

“Doubtful.”

“That bad.” The shifting high priestess, voice filled with concern.

“Worse. I think, if he suffers one more trauma, his soul will shatter.”

Silence. Shade sensed they waited for more information, but when dealing with the three, one gave the information they requested, nothing more.

The elf spoke again. “What is your assessment of what would happen then?”

“He would die or he would turn.”

“We cannot afford to have our secrets out to our enemies,” the vampire queen and oldest council member said in her gravelly voice.

“He is our responsibility. We take care of our own,” the elf asserted.

The shifter, most empathic of the trio, asked in a soft voice, “What do you feel he needs?”

“Seclusion, rest, and most of all security. He cannot heal if he doesn’t feel he and his family are safe.”

“There is an island, small at the moment, but with the ability to grow to adjust to the needs of its owners. The land has been unused for some time, but there is a good-sized German château left by its prior occupants. Might suit his needs,” the vampire said.

“It’s extremely hard to get to and would provide rest and seclusion,” the elf concurred.

Nails tapping their marble desk echoed through the domed room before the shifter spoke. “Security we can supply, but it’s the sense of security he needs. It is not something easy to come by—”

“He needs to feel his loved ones are safe. I can think of only one who can give the Rowans everything they need. One who Cyrus trusts above all others,” Shade said.

“Rekkus,” the three chorused.

“I believe so.”

“And how do you propose we get the black-tiger prince to agree? He is uncompromising on his best days and not a fan of this council,” the elf said.

Shade’s tension eased as his plan fell neatly into place. “I propose we leave it to Cyrus himself. If we let Rekkus believe this was not a Syndicate decision, he will bend to the needs of his friend.”

“Having Rekkus away on an island will prevent an uprising by his hands.” The vampiress’s tone held a great deal of satisfaction. The Syndicate would relieve themselves of the Rowans while seeming to take care of their own. But it wouldn’t be that easy.

Taking a deep cleansing breath, Shade glanced at his watch. His meditation had lasted longer than he’d thought. Standing, he stretched and pulled a sweater out of a suitcase before heading out onto the deck and up the road to the Wiccan Haus for dinner. Living in the Syndicate’s capital city of Lochmage, he had little time to take in the joys of nature. Perhaps he could use this week to refresh and rejuvenate his soul. And yet, a tingle nudged at him. The island working its magic, he suspected. The island had grown since his last visit. It appeared to feed off the powers of the Rowans. Were they in turn recharging from its powers? He picked up his pace, propelled toward the Haus and its inhabitants.

Every bite of food proved better than the last. The chef needed a gigantic raise, even if, for some strange reason, they refused to serve chicken of any kind. Ashlynn savored the flavors, loving the way the tastes exploded in her mouth. She even allowed herself a second plate, enjoying the perks of no longer being a fashion model. But if her mother made one more nasty comment about the Wiccan Haus, Dana, or her second serving, she would pour the food, no matter how scrumptious, over her mother’s perfectly coifed head. So far, the staff had gone out of their way to be kind and professional. Their hospitality far exceeded any five-star hotel she’d stayed in. And her mother rewarded their efforts with rude comments and plates being sent back without having been tasted.

Her father sat lost in thought. Perhaps he worried for Dana. His daughter being heavily pregnant with twins and far from modern conveniences of the city or one of his hospitals must weigh heavy on his mind. The echo of her sister’s name being repeated throughout the dining room preceded her arrival. As Dana’s husband guided her across the room, a gentle hush fell. Many staff members approached them, rubbing the pregnant belly with affection. Envy overcame Ashlynn. All of the island residents would come to visit her sister in her confinement, help without being asked. They loved her, and she smiled at them, returning their love. Only three people had come to see Ashlynn in the hospital, not including her parents. Her agent, her lawyer, and Dana’s best friend.

What did that say about Ashlynn? She spent too many hours traveling on photo shoots, had been tutored rather than attending school so she had never made a true friend growing up, and the one thing she had come to rely on, long hours on runways and photo shoots, had been taken from her. But if her sister could start again and find so much happiness, Ashlynn could, too.

Dana cast Rekkus a pleading look, and finally Rekkus inclined his head. Dana sat at the table with her family; Rekkus stood at her shoulder as if waiting to pounce. Her mother parted her lips to speak then snapped them closed under his glare. To watch Rekkus tear into her mother would be a treat. Dana greeted their father with a kiss on the cheek, but their mother ignored her presence. Ashlynn tried to make amends until a stilling hand told her Dana didn’t need them. “How is your head? I heard you had a rough afternoon.”

She guessed privacy acts didn’t stretch to the resort, not that she cared if her sister knew she had a headache. But after weeks in the hospital where no one could tell anyone she had asked for an aspirin, it was a change to have her business known. “Surprisingly okay, now. I guess I needed a nap.”

“I can relate. All I do is nap these days.” Dana glanced up at her husband. “Honey, if you need to be somewhere else, I’ll be fine.”

His attention moved to Dana then to his mother-in-law and back to his wife. “I can see everyone I need to from here, and there is no way I am leaving your side.”

“Are you saying for once everyone showed up for dinner?”

Cyrus, who had been circling the dining room, joined them. “Oh, three didn’t show up but your mate—husband sent Kaleb after them.”

“Rekkus!”

A boyish smile softened the big man. “What? It was Cyrus’ idea.”

“Might have been.” Cyrus shrugged. “Serves him right. We did have to get his ass here a number of times while he was a guest. Payback’s a bitch.”

Ashlynn marveled at how Dana brought two men to heel, changing them from monstrous walls of fearsomeness to most youthful in their behavior. Like two children with their hands caught in the cookie jar, each claiming the other started it. “I’m impressed.”

Dana’s brow creased. “At what?”

“When you say jump, do they also ask how high?”

She smiled, “Ah. Neither is tamed, but they occasionally let me believe I’m in control.”

“You might want to inform your sister I have excellent hearing.” Rekkus leaned between the two of them. “What do you want for dinner, Dana? The kitchen is unsure what to send out.”

“Can you ask Cherry for a steak—rare? Some Roosevelt beans and corn on the cob with extra butter.”

“And?”

“And maybe some corn bread.”

“Do they serve to order here? I asked for chicken and they said no….” Green colored her sister’s face and her hands shot to her mouth. “Dana?”

“Whatever you do, don’t mention poultry. Makes her a bit sick to her stomach,” Cyrus whispered in her ear.

“Can’t have it in the building. She can smell it a mile away—raw or cooked, doesn’t matter,” Rekkus said.

Cyrus straightened. “I’ll put her order in.”

“Rekkus, could you either sit down or do something? You’re making me nervous.” Ashlynn shifted uncomfortably.

“It’s what he does best.” A man in the uniform of a security guard paused at her side. Despite his significant height, he stood shorter than the rest of the guards. He seemed different somehow, more down to earth. No less buff but more approachable. “Last guest is accounted for.”

This must be Kaleb. Rekkus nodded.

“The last guest isn’t on the roster, Rekkus. And he would like to talk to you and Cyrus as soon as possible.”

Rekkus rounded on the shorter man. “What do you mean not on the roster?”

Kaleb stood his ground. “He had a letter granting him permission to come on-site this week.”

“Fucking Syndicate and their damned minions. And why am I only now being informed of his arrival?” Happy his gruff tone was directed elsewhere, Ashlynn focused on her food.

“Rekkus, brusque as always. Some things never change.” Ashlynn turned toward the door at the voice warm and smooth enough to melt butter.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Rekkus growled but, to Ashlynn’s surprise, smiled.

Gorgeous did not describe this man. There was something absolutely…absolute about him. His piercing green eyes sparked like emeralds. His long dark hair, the color of midnight on a moonless night, lay like silk against his broad shoulders. And although not as tall as Rekkus and Cyrus, he made her six-foot figure seem petite.

“Close your mouth, sis. You’re gonna catch flies.”

“Are all the men on this island related to Adonis?” Statistically, the amount of gorgeousness in this room didn’t make sense.