Immortally Theirs [Legends & Myths] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) (5 page)

“Um, I’m not sure. I hadn’t really intended to stop here at all, but, well…something just kind of pulled me in.”

Christian chuckled. “Yes, it has that effect on a lot of people, it seems.” He glanced at Stefan and then back to Claire. “Do you have somewhere else to be soon?”

Claire opened her mouth and then shut it again. She looked down and shook her head. “No. I have nowhere.”

Stefan’s curiosity about this woman grew stronger by the minute. How could someone as beautiful as Claire, with so much talent and potential, seem so lost and alone? And who the hell had told her she wasn’t allowed to paint?

“I’d like to make you a proposal, Claire.” Christian pointed to the sketchpad. “Stefan’s right. You’re extremely talented.” Claire blushed, but Christian continued. “I’ve been thinking about acquiring some new artwork for the casa. I think it would be much more meaningful to have an artist paint pieces specifically for the space, don’t you?”

Claire stared at him, her pink lips parted and her eyes wide. She appeared taken aback that someone had asked her opinion about something.

“Um, yes, I suppose it would.” She glanced up at the house, the spark of enthusiasm Stefan had spotted moments ago returning to her eyes.

“So here’s my proposal.” Christian’s voice drew her gaze back to his. “I’d like to hire you to paint some pieces for me, maybe even a mural if you’d like. In return, I will provide all of your supplies and room and board. Would that be of interest to you?”

Claire’s mouth fell open. “You want…you want me to…”

Christian grinned. “Yes, very much so. If you’re interested, of course.”

Claire blinked several times and then a slow smile spread across her face. Stefan could have sworn the sun was already up, but when Claire smiled it was as though the morning light had just burst over the courtyard walls for the first time. He had rarely, if ever, seen so much excitement flow from someone as it did from Claire at that moment.

“Yes! Yes, I’m absolutely interested!” Giggles interlaced Claire’s acceptance. Her whole countenance seemed to change in that moment.

Christian grinned. “Excellent! Take a look around the house and feel free to paint something for any of the spaces where you feel a painting would be suitable. I’ll give Stefan the locations of a couple of places where you can get artist supplies nearby and he can accompany you.” He glanced at Stefan, his eyebrows raised. Stefan nodded. Christian smiled and turned back to Claire. “Get whatever you need. You have carte blanche to paint whatever you feel inspired to paint.”

Claire beamed at Christian. “Really? I mean, I don’t need to check with you first to, you know, make sure you approve?”

Christian assured her that she did, indeed, have freedom to do whatever she felt would look best in the space. The look of amazement on Claire’s face was not lost on Stefan. He narrowed his eyes. Stefan may have spent a good number of years behaving like a murderous ass, but he had never mistreated a woman and despised anyone who did. He couldn’t believe it, but Stefan felt genuine interest in seeing what Claire could do. He found himself looking forward to watching her work, which was pretty amazing, considering he hadn’t looked forward to much of anything in a very long time. That realization sparked a possessiveness within Stefan that he was unaccustomed to feeling. He knew, without a doubt, that Claire had been mistreated by someone. He wanted to know how her talent and her spirit would change if she were no longer threatened by whatever demons chased her. The urge to protect her surged through him. It might not be rational, since he had only just met this woman, but Stefan swore to himself that he would make sure those demons never caught up with her.

Being alive for well over three hundred years had taught Christian a few things. He knew how to be observant. He could understand a great deal about someone by reading their body language. He knew which supernatural creatures he could trust and which ones he couldn’t. He had learned to be patient and calculating. He could also make a mean sangria.

But the skill he focused on the most at this moment was his ability to analyze and investigate a given situation. Or in this case, an individual. There were things he wanted to know about his new houseguest, things that concerned him. He hadn’t missed the slip of her tongue when she had introduced herself in the pub the night before. She had been about to say Moran, or Morales, or some other name that began with Mor. He had run an internet search for Claire Mor and turned up nothing of relevance. He then searched for Claire Jernigan and received over three million results. He browsed through several pages of the available photo images and saw none that resembled Claire.

Christian had offered to accompany her to retrieve her car the night before, but Claire had insisted on getting it herself and meeting him at the casa. He hadn’t wanted her walking through the dark streets with Atticus on the prowl, but she had been insistent. Christian had relented, not wanting to scare her off by coming across as too persistent. He had left her with his address and instructions on where to find the parking lot he owned across the street.

He picked up a pen and some paper off of his desk and walked over to the window on the east side of his office. The small parking lot across the street had been the one he had directed Claire to and held most of his guest’s vehicles. He pulled his binoculars off the bookshelf next to the window and jotted down as many license plates as he could see from his second-floor vantage point. If none of them turned up the information he sought, he’d walk over and collect the rest.

Beyond his goal to prevent Atticus from collecting Claire’s soul for his sadistic master, Christian’s protectiveness regarding Claire confused him. He had made a point not to get too involved with mortals. Oh, he had spent the night in more than a few beds over the last three centuries and had shared his own bed with countless unattached guests, but never for more than a few nights with each woman. So why was he taking such an interest in this one?

Maybe it was the contradictions he saw in her. Youth and weariness. Defiance and vulnerability. Strength and weakness. Maybe she was just a puzzle that he wanted to figure out. Christian scoffed and shook his head, knowing he was kidding himself if he thought that was the sole reason. His protectiveness was not borne out of his desire to solve a puzzle.

Christian pushed the thoughts aside and began his internet search. He pulled up his favorite license plate search site, the one he used when someone illegally parked on the street in front of the casa or in the small, private lot reserved for his guests. He entered the numbers from the cars across the street and waited for the results.

Moments later, he stared at his computer screen. The silver BMW with Colorado license plates across the street was registered to someone named Mark Morgan. A few more minutes of searching turned up property records in Mr. Morgan’s name for a home in Denver, valued at over seven million dollars.

Christian wasn’t finished. He searched other public records and newspaper archives, looking for anything that linked Claire to the owner of the car. His search complete, he sat back in his chair, disturbed by the newspaper article and accompanying photo he had unearthed.

In the photo, Claire stared up at Mark Morgan, her face alight with happiness and hope. She had been an angelic vision in white on her wedding day. Her new husband, rather than looking back into the adoring eyes of his bride, had stared straight into the camera, a smug smile turning up his lips. Christian had looked into many, many eyes over the last three hundred years and, even in a photo, he recognized arrogance and cruelty when he saw it.

The newspaper photo was dated less than four years ago, but the woman staying in his home might as well have been a different person from the girl in the photo. The Claire he had met last night and talked with this morning seemed to be a mere shadow of her former self. Her eyes no longer held the hope for the future that they had displayed in the wedding photo.

Christian didn’t have to think very hard to know where that hope had gone and why Claire was in Florida using a fake last name. Her current circumstances, combined with her limp, the way she protected her left arm, and her lack of confidence all added up to one thing. Mark Morgan liked to beat his wife.

Anger and agitation forced Christian to his feet and he paced across the office. He couldn’t abide anyone, human or otherwise, who preyed on weaker beings. It was the reason he often roamed the city’s streets at night, on watch for those who looked for victims. And as far as he was concerned, men who abused their wives, the very women who loved them and placed the hopes of their future in them, were among the lowest of the low.

The thought of Claire being beaten, her bones broken and her body bruised and battered, turned Christian’s stomach. He had never been able to take a wife for himself. But if he had, she would have been treated as though she were the most precious thing in the world to him. Because she would have been.

He stopped at the window and stared down at the BMW across the street. He had a bad feeling about that car, and if he had a bad feeling about something, he knew damn well he’d better listen to it. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and punched in a number. It was one he used when he had certain unique tasks to accomplish. The phone on the other end rang once before it was answered.

“Dave, I have a job for you.” Christian didn’t wait for any pleasantries, knowing they weren’t needed. He looked back down at the BMW. “I need you to steal a car.”

Christian provided the details for the job and ended the call. He stalked back over to his desk and narrowed his eyes at the bastard in the photo on his computer screen. Mark Morgan had better hope he never crossed Christian’s path. Because three hundred years had taught him something else that he would take great pleasure in demonstrating for Mr. Morgan.

It had taught Christian how to kill.

Claire stepped back from the wall to get a better look at what she had accomplished so far. The outlines of her vision were taking shape against the stark walls surrounding Christian’s bedroom doors. She had been working on it since she and Stefan got back from the art supply store yesterday, only stopping long enough to eat and get a few hours of sleep. She didn’t have more than the basic elements sketched onto the wall so far, but she could already tell the end result would be perfect for the space. The finished painting would add some much needed life to this corridor.

She had prowled the rooms of the casa, looking for empty places that spoke to her artistic sensibilities. She had taken note of several places she thought a painting would be appropriate. But none cried out to her as much as this place. The majority of the casa was decorated with the touch of someone who knew of the finer things in life, with rich tapestries, antiques, and fine furnishings. Artwork already adorned many of the walls, some of it with a local flair and some by the old masters she recognized from her art classes in college. She didn’t think the paintings were reproductions, either. The fact that Christian had asked her to contribute her own talent to the already stunning casa was a little overwhelming.

Her instincts and the evidence she saw in this home indicated that Christian and Stefan were wealthy, maybe even more so than Mark. But the brothers wore it in a manner so unlike Mark. Where Mark flaunted his wealth with arrogance and superiority, Christian and Stefan seemed humble and unpretentious. They didn’t wear their wealth as something to be waved in the face of those less fortunate.

She had noticed other differences between the brothers and her husband, as well. Whenever she had looked into Mark’s eyes, she saw an emptiness there, as though she were looking into a black hole. She believed everyone had a soul, but she thought Mark’s soul was so tainted with greed, murder, and corruption that she figured he had sold it to the devil long ago.

Christian and Stefan held emptiness in their eyes as well, but it wasn’t the same black nothingness Mark possessed. Claire wasn’t sure what the brothers’ emptiness stemmed from, but instead of repelling her the way Mark’s did, it seemed to pull her in. It made her more curious about the two men.

This corridor seemed to be a reflection of the emptiness she saw in the brother’s eyes, Christian’s in particular. It was almost as though he had intentionally left this corridor empty, all life and color banished from the space leading to his bedroom. But just as this corridor cried out to Claire for life to be brought to it, so too did the men who owned this casa.

Claire shook her head and resumed her outline. She wasn’t here to figure out why two men who seemed to have everything going for them carried emptiness in their hearts and souls. She was going to paint, do some sightseeing, and try to enjoy herself for once. Just the simple act of working on the outline for this mural seemed to have a liberating effect on her. Even her familiar aches and pains seemed less severe when her mind was occupied with her art.

She remembered the last time she had tried to paint a mural. She had been married for almost a year. Mark had been gone for a few days and she’d gotten bored, so she had started a mural of the Italian countryside on a blank wall of the foyer. She had been so excited and anxious for Mark to see it. But when he’d gotten home, he had been furious at her for altering their house without his permission. He had called painters to come to the house and cover her work and then he had thrown out all of her art supplies. That was when the beatings had started, as well.