In the Shadow of Angels: The Guardian Series 1 (18 page)

“I don’t believe Abigail would like hearing that you have been impatient with Charlotte,” Lucius’ voice is velvet. He even smiles. His pupils have dilated and I can only see a thin ring of blue around them.

Henri storms from the room without another word. His anger clings to me. I had known Henri as a boy, seen his anger and felt his love, his good. I have never seen the crazed look, or the possessive force that came off of him. I am too intoxicated to care and I sink back into my seat.

“He can be a little prick sometimes.” I hear Lucius’ smooth honey voice and look to see him standing above me.
Good lord.
The man looks like a Viking God with his pale yellow curls.

“So you’re my bodyguard?” I ask.

“Guardian, yes,” his smile is coy. I have no idea what this means, but who cares. He can follow me anywhere.

“Are all Guardians as beautiful as you?” I stand and grab his shirt to steady myself. I can feel his thick muscles underneath and I run my hands over his chest.

Holy cow. He’s perfection personified.

“Yes, pretty Little Bird, we are,” Lucius says, and glances at Aydin.

My eyes land on Aydin. His brows are knitted together, his eyes dark, like he may murder the next person that speaks. I keep forgetting they know what I’m feeling. I groan inwardly.

“I’ll deal with her,” Aydin says.

Lucius lowers himself to look in my eyes. “Aydin here will see after you. I am giving him permission.”

Lucius leans in to say something to Aydin and walks from the room.

“Come, let’s get you to bed.” Aydin offers his hand.

“Are you trying to get in my pants, Mr. Thanos?”

“You are too young for me, Miss Charlotte,” Aydin says and puts his hand on my elbow, sending shutters of electricity down my spine.

“Don’t touch me,” I say. Aydin, out of everyone, is the last person that needs to touch me. “I don’t need anyone to deal with me. I’ve made it this far in life.”

“Barely,” Aydin says, but releases my arm.

“I don’t need anyone to watch over me, Aydin,” I say, walking toward the door. “I don’t need anyone to calm me down or tell me when it’s time for bed. I’m a big girl.”

-----------

The walled garden is almost in complete darkness. The bright moon touches the tops of the archways, casting pale blue shadows over the pool. Black ridged mountains provide an eerie backdrop. Water ripples, moved by a gentle breeze. The soft light from the moon cascades over the water, reflecting the stark white sphere.

The air is filled with the sweet smell of night blooming jasmine and lavender. I breathe it in deeply. It reminds me of home, my real home. Where beasts stalk the night and laughter rings out from the shadows of the oaks. Sometimes I miss it, the memories, not what it really was.

The water is cool, caressing soft hands over my skin. I float in the shallow water, my eyes on the stars, bright faces of ghosts gleaming back at me. I can’t help but wonder what all they have seen. How many gods and monsters did these stars lend light to as they in walked this garden of shadow? A rush of cool air brushes over me. I know he is here. Moving upright, my eyes scan under the arches, but I don’t see him.

“I hope you brought a towel.” I stand, water dripping around my feet at the pool’s edge.

Aydin steps forward, out of the shadow, the moon bringing out the blue in his hair. The mercury color of his eyes gleam toxic. His thin frame is graceful and he moves forward with such ease, there is no sound under his feet. In his hand is a towel and he holds it out toward me.

“Making sure I don't drown?” I ask and wrap the towel around me, covering the thin material of my bra and panties.

“I knew you would be cold,” Aydin says. I can feel his eyes watching my every move as I sit by the pool’s edge. He joins me, his long legs stretching out, leaning back on his arms. I try to make out his features in the soft light. He looks like some mythological creature, and well ... he is.

“When were you born?” I ask.

“Which time?”

“The first time.”

“The calendars were different then, and it wasn’t documented. But it was in the fall of 183,” he says.

Holy crap, what?
“You mean, like, 183 A.D.?”

“Yes.”

“How old are you?”

“Almost nineteen-thousand years old.”

What?

I turn to stare at him in the darkness. The moon glints in his light eyes, giving him a predatory look. I don’t know what to say, so I ask the next logical question, if logic can even be applied to the conversation. This is all so out of my element. “How old were you when you were turned?”

“I was twenty-seven,” he says. “Ashur was never one to keep up with birthdays, but the woman that cared for me kept track.”

“So, you really were with Ashur as a child,” I say.

“Yes.” Aydin sits up. His arms rest on his knees protruding through the thin material.

“Did he know your mother?” A million questions race through my mind. “Where did you live? Did he know your father?”

“Slow down. I will tell you,” he laughs quietly. “I was born in a small village outside of Ephesus, in Ashur’s ludus.”

I take a deep breath and focus on what he said. My brows turn down. I know what that is. I know all sorts of things, but none of it is making its way through my fog.

“It is where gladiators were trained,” he clarifies for me.

“No way,” I laugh. “What did you do?”

“I was a gladiator,” he states, like it should have been obvious

“You were really a gladiator? Like Spartacus?” I ask, because I haven’t insulted him enough.

“Yes.”

“Wow.” I am actually speechless. It is no wonder he is the Head of Security. He looks like a character from a book. Disproportionate. Too-tall, too-thin, yet underneath, it is visible. It is in his features, written under his gaunt face. He is handsome, in an intense, almost devastating way. As if he carries too much, even his features seem too strong. I want to ask him what had happened that made him look sickly, but I have offended him enough.

“I’ve changed,” he says. His face looks thinner under his beard in the stark light, his eyes paler, almost white.

“You are incredible; your face. You should let me take pictures of you,” I say.

“No.”

“What? Oh my god! Do you not show up in pictures?”

Aydin releases a rush of air, laughing. “Of course I show up in pictures.”

My laugh is quiet, more of a giggle.
Good lord, I’m drunk.
It feels wonderful. My head is dizzy, my entire body is warm, tingling from wine. I try to prop myself up next to him, but fail. Instead, I lay out, too close. “What is it like?”

“Dark.”

I make a face, showing this isn’t the answer I was looking for. My head swims and I have to close my eyes to focus. When I open them, he is still watching me. I hear a sigh escape.

“It’s like living with ghosts,” he says, finally.

Ghosts. I know them as well. Aydin knows about ghosts more than I. They dance behind his eyes, the faces and faint whispers of past lives, in the cool gray.

“What does it feel like, inside?” I ask. I sit back up, waiting for his response. Heat radiates off of him, it reaches out and caresses me. I touch the skin in his hand. It is cool and soft. He looks down at my fingers and I pull my hand away, biting my lip.

“A being, something connected to a power we can’t see, flows through you. Everything around you is alive and it reaches out to touch you. I can see the light in the dark. Feel the passion of the humans around me, the small short bursts of energy their lives give out. The complexity of their emotions. Their mortality. How frail you are. How scared. It is beautiful, so much so, that it hurts.”

“And you called me a romantic?” I ask, laughing. Aydin smiles and glances towards the water. I like his smile. It lights up his face and removes the sadness from his eyes. “Everything you described makes you sound human, Aydin, but you refer to yourself as otherwise.”

“I am not human, Charlotte.” He stands and forces me to my feet. He hands me my rumpled dress, and I slip it over my head.

“Make sure you change into dry clothes before you go to bed,” Aydin scolds. “Come. You should get inside before you pass out. I’d rather not have to carry you.”

I laugh at that. “You are the first man I have met that doesn’t want to take me to bed.”

“I don’t find little girls tempting.”

I look up and give him my best seductive smile. I grab the lapels of his jacket, and press in close, too close, the damp material of my dress seeping through into his suit.

I can feel his attraction. He pretends is doesn’t exist, but he has no idea that I can read him. Aydin’s desire is different, softer, and it reaches out with longing, sitting just under his skin, threatening to break free and consume.

My head spins and my hands grip tighter. A flash of light, metal links at his neck. The corner of his mouth turns down slightly, like it does when he is hiding a smile. Such a beautiful mouth. I reach up and trace his bottom lip. They are soft and cool under my fingers. I wonder if his lips would burn as harsh as his hands. His smile grows wider, he knows I what I am thinking.

“Do I look like a little girl, Aydin?”

“You look drunk.”

“Then get me in bed!” I put a finger over my lips to hush myself and giggle.

“Is this supposed to be your way of invitation, Miss Charlotte?”

“Maybe,”
I say to myself.

“At the rate you are going, we are never going to get you in bed before sunrise,” He says. “I’ll be forced to leave you passed out on the ground.”

“I’m tired.” I sag against him, still holding his jacket.

“Come, Charlotte.” He runs his hand over my hair, smoothing the strands down. He’s oddly comforting, so different from what he has shown me the last week. He’s gentle, like in the bar, before for he broke the man’s ... no ...vampire’s knees. Claudette is right, he is like a bear. I close my eyes and lay my head on his chest.

“You don’t feel so intense when no one else is around,” I say.

“Am I too intense?”

“You’re overwhelming,” I say, the corners of my eyes start to blur.

“I’m not sure if that is supposed to be a compliment.”

“It’s a good overwhelming.” Darkness grabs at my brain. “I like it.”

Chapter
Twenty-two

Pain stabs the back of my eyes and sears through my skull. My stomach protests as I shoot up. I am in my bed, tucked safely under the blankets, still dressed in the same clothes as the night before. The stiletto heels have been placed neatly by the armoire. A tall glass of water and a bottle of pain medicine sit on the side table. Early morning light shines through the open terrace doors, a soft breeze tickles over my skin. The light scent of sandalwood fills my nose. Aydin, I know, had carried me to bed. His smell is in my hair and on my skin. I bring the strands to my nose, creepy stalker style, and drink in his scent. At this moment, I know I’m in trouble.

I cradle my groggy head in my hands. How embarrassing and almost comical. It is hard to imagine him walking around, gathering the glass of water and pain medicine, leaving the terrace doors open for me. He doesn’t exactly look like the type that would leave a woman snuggled nicely in bed. He doesn’t look like he would leave a woman alone in bed at all, much less with her clothes on. I brush the thoughts away.

I stand, bile rises in my throat. The room tilts, and I grab the table to steady myself. My head roars, and I gulp the water and take the medicine, grateful. I am going to have to thank him later. And then I remember.

I sit back down.

Aydin’s stern face flashes in my mind and I groan. It seems as if it was a dream, like I had made it up in my drunken stupor. Maybe, and I really want to believe it, I had not made advances toward him. I know, though, I had. Rubbing a man’s lip and then passing out in his arms more than constitutes as making a pass. To make matters worse, I had practically invited him to my bed.
Oh no, had I?
I pray to whatever gods that will take their time with me that I really had used my inner voice.

For whatever reason, I am attracted to Aydin. He isn’t even my type. My type is Henri. Silky smooth, beautiful, exotic, and very human, Henri. Yet my body keeps telling my brain that I like Aydin. A lot. We had, after all, shared a moment. Granted it had been a super power induced moment that ended with his breaking legs, but it was a moment none the less. I know I am just enamored because of what he is. I’m a mere mortal woman all giddy because he is a supernatural creature. A breathtaking one.

A shower helps, and I feel almost normal again, dressed in shorts and a loose halter top. I let my hair fall around my shoulders, still wet, and walk barefoot down the red corridor towards the servant stairwell. Lance stands, my loyal guard dog at the end of the hall. I wave, before stepping into the narrow passage.

When I open the stairwell door, I hear Henri’s voice carry down the long hallway. It comes from the behind the closed doors of one of the rooms Claudette had shown me.

“Not you, Aydin! Lucius! Lucius is her Guardian!” Henri screams.

“He just put her to bed. I was...busy.”

There is a muffled sound and the door opens. Lucius stands, a huge toothy smile on his face, and steps back for me to enter. “Sleeping Beauty is wake, and I hadn’t even come to steal a kiss.”

If I hadn’t already been swooning from my hangover, I would have.
Oh no.
I forgot I got all handsy with him too.
This is horrible.

I give Lucius a weak smile and walk in. It is a drawing room, or whatever they call it in France. Another room with seats and a small writing desk sits in front of the windows. Heavy curtains cover them and the room is dimly lit with a few well-placed lamps and wall sconces.

Lucius leads me to a small chair and I sit down, blushing at his attention and mischievous smile. He doesn’t carry the energy like every human, nor the power of Aydin that leaves me desperate for air, but he is certainly just as overwhelming.

I freeze as I remember what I had said to Aydin before passing out. Bits and pieces of the night comeback slowly.
Good grief.
Seems like I got real friendly with everyone I wasn’t supposed to.

My head shoots over to where Aydin sits, aloof in a chair. Henri, red-faced stands in front of him. Aydin’s eyes catch mine, but I can’t read his face. I look away, wishing I could disappear.

“You look...pale.” Henri settles on the least offensive word as he moves toward me.

“You look like you need food,” Aydin says from his seat.

My stomach revolts at his words and I swallow painfully. “I don’t know what you put in the wine here, but it doesn’t sit well with me.”

“Five glasses of any wine wouldn’t sit well,” Henri points out. “Let’s get you some food. We need you feeling better, we have plans today.”

“Plans?” My only plan is to get back in bed after I calm the growing storm in my stomach. In the safety of my room, I can hide from Aydin.

“Yes. I’m still courting you, remember?” Henri gives me his thousand watt smile. He has apparently forgotten about his sudden outburst the night before.

I reluctantly smile back and rub my face with both hands. The room sways like I'm on a boat, and my stomach roils every time I move my head. The last thing I want to deal with is Henri trying to rekindle our twelve-year-old romance. It dried up and withered away when I learned he had been living with my vampire mother. My stomach knots and I try to push it all away.

“The Celebration Feast is tomorrow,” Aydin reminds me. “There are are going to be several Organization members there. Ashur wants to introduce you to them.”

I sink in my chair. I forgot about the damn party. I clasp my hands together, avoiding his eyes.

“Make sure you eat,” Aydin says. I slump down, further. It is amazing how small he can make me feel. Like I don’t feel stupid enough.

“I’ll take care of her, Aydin,” Henri snaps. He pulls me from my seat too quickly and my brain sloshes around before settling, again pounding. “She will be fine.”

“I know she will, because you will make sure of it,” Aydin says, a nasty edge to his voice.

“She can rest on the drive,” Lucius offers.

“She will be fine by this afternoon,” Henri says.

“Oh, take her camera, I want to see pictures.” Lucius winks at me.

“Her camera is already packed.”

“Did you get her an extra memory card?” Lucius asks.

“She unloads the one she has every night on her laptop,” Aydin lets everyone know.

How does he even know that?

“She already has an extra memory card,” Henri announces.

No one bothers to look at me.

“She is standing right here,” I say, to no one in particular, and point at myself.

Henri, finally turns to me. “We are going to do some sightseeing.”

“Don’t keep her too long,” Lucius says. “Charlotte and I have some catching up to do.” His smile is secretive, making me flush as I am led from the room.

-----------

“You are beautiful when you sleep.”

My eyes flutter open to see Henri laid out on his side next to me. His body is pressed to mine, his arm bent, propping up his head. My skin tickles where his fingers lightly graze my abdomen. His eyes move over my face and he brushes the hair from my eyes.

“I didn’t realize I had fallen asleep,” I say.

The drive hadn’t been too long. I managed to take a cat nap on the way. Henri had ordered, rather than asked me to eat the light picnic lunch he had brought. The soft fleece blanket under my skin and the warm air had lulled me into a peaceful slumber.

We are laying at the base of a large skinny tree in the middle of a field. Bright orange wild poppies fallaway to rows and rows of lavender. In the distance, is what looks like the top of a small cathedral sitting on a steep conical hill. Buildings, obscured by tall trees, dot the slope surrounding it, the pale roofs bright in the midday sun. We are just outside a small village that had once inhabited Romans.

“I used to watch you and Emily sleep. You both were so different.” His hands move back to my abdomen, and lightly pulls me closer. “Emily talked up a storm and you snored.”

“That’s a little creepy, Henri,” I say, “And, I don’t snore.”

“Oh, you do and talk in your sleep sometimes.” Henri brushes his fingers over my side, raising goosebumps all over. “It sounded like the two of you were in conversation.”

I press my eyes closed, my head still hurts, but I feel better than earlier when Henri had forced me out of the chateau. “I still can’t talk about her.”

“You rarely say her name.”

It is simply too hard to say it. He doesn’t know of her deception, her hatred and her lies. Henri has the freedom to remember her as she presented herself to the world. I don’t have that luxury.

“There are many cultures that don’t speak the names of the dead. Some believe it’s a sign of respect, others that it would cast a dark shadow on their souls. Others, simply because it’s too painful,” He speaks softly and lays his head next to mine.

I remain still and let his fingers soothe me. I know I still care for him, maybe even love him. Really love him. Maybe it will be easy to forget that he has lied to me for so long. I am good at pushing out the bad. Eventually, the hurt will lessen and I can move on. But, I know too much and have seen too much darkness.

“I think, if we go too long without speaking of them, we lose sight of what they were,” he says.

“You have no idea what she was, Henri. She was nothing she seemed to be.”

“You still don’t remember that night do you?” He asks.

I shake my head and look away. I can’t talk of her, of that night. I swallow around the lump in my throat.

“It is good you don’t,” he says. “I couldn’t stand the thought that you would have to live with remembering.”

My heart almost tears in my chest.
Please don’t say these things.

He shifts his weight and pulls himself on top of me. His arms rest on either side of my head, his face close. I can feel his warm breath and smell his earthy scent. His thigh pushes between my legs forcing them apart, pressing himself to me.

“Let’s not talk of her then.” His mouth presses over mine, hard, surprising. His tongue flickers out over my lips.

I shove him back, and he breaks the kiss. “I can’t do this, Henri.”

He rolls over and sits up, running his fingers through his hair. I have hurt him, not that I wanted to. “I’m sorry.”

“All of this is too much.” I stand. “We aren’t eighteen any more. The Henri I thought I knew would never have brought me here or lied to me our entire lives.”

“Do you really think I wanted this?” He asks, angrily. “Do you really think I wanted to lie to you? I had no choice. This is my life, Charlotte. This is your life.”

“I don’t want this life!” I yell. “Did you really think you could bring me here, show me my mother and I would just forget all the years you both were gone?”

“We are your family, this is your life. There is no other choice.”

“Yes there is! My life is back in Florida.” How can he not see this? How can he really think I'd be so accepting? Did he think I would fall into his arms?

“Your life there was over the moment you found out about Abigail.” Henri presses his fingers to his eyes, irritation rolls off of him into the air around us. “You think you can just go back to ignoring life around you? Pretend none of us exist? Go back to having Lucius follow you quietly?”

“No.”

“Then what? What do you want?”

Something normal. Something real. Something that isn’t shrouded in darkness and deception. “I don’t know.”

Henri stands, and grabs my hands in his. His face is solemn, the beautiful light in his eyes has darkened. “Here. France. Me. This life is your life.”

We stand in silence. “I have a say in this, Henri.”

“No, Charlotte, you don’t.”

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The ride back to the chateau is tense to say the least. Lance feels it, and he seems on edge at the wheel. Then again, I’d be pretty pissed if some jerk made me drive him on a picnic and I had to wait by the car. I hope he had his book.

Once we arrive, I leave Henri in the foyer and hide in my room. I don’t want to see anyone, but force myself down to the dining room for dinner. I sit at my usual spot next to Henri, but refuse to look at him, and pick at the food on my plate. I don’t know why they insist on this nightly ritual. They don’t even eat.

My stomach is in knots, nausea has it in a vice grip and my head pulses. The worst case of nerves and regret. I try to focus on my plate. I know I need more food, but it is useless, I crave the safety of my bed.

Aydin appears, dapper as ever, and sits directly across from me. He looks different, colder, and more controlled. Even the air around him is different, charged and challenging. I can feel his eyes on me, but I can’t look up, keeping my own down to the table. Images of him play in my thoughts. His lips, his smile. If I look at him, he will see everything. My humiliation and my attraction.

I really hope no one knows what I am thinking.

“It seems as if our, little Charlotte has a thing for Aydin,” Claudette laughs.