In the Shadow of Angels: The Guardian Series 1 (8 page)

Chapter Ten

It is so dark I am blind. Screeching metal roars in my ears, piercing screams ring out, then complete silence. Cold splinters tear at my skin, the flesh peeling away. I reach out, trying to find anything substantial, as I swim in the darkness. My hands catch something soft; a warm and sticky layer covers it. My fingers run through soft silky strands.

Slowly a light begins to form, a pinpoint in the blackness. As it comes closer, the object I am holding, starts to take form. It is blurred, still obscured in the shadow. Emily’s face comes into view, filling the entire line of vision. Her blue eyes are vacant.

Panic wells up and I am unable to free my hands, ensnared in the sticky, blood soaked web of her hair. Screams bubble up as I frantically try to free myself. Emily’s mouth opens, forming words I don’t understand. Her hands reach out and claw at my face, her nails digging into the raw skin. I push back, my fingers press into her eyes, a desperate attempt to escape her grasp. Blood oozes as I dig at her eyes until she releases me. Finally, free, I shove her away, trying to run, my body slow and struggling in the nightmare. Arms wrap around me hard and cold, spinning me until I meet the steel colored eyes, jolting me from my sleep.

Henri is shaking me, yelling my name until I can focus on him.

I scream, loud pleads. My hands cling to the thick blanket. The sheets are twisted, my body shaking and covered in a layer of sweat. My breathing is ragged and my throat dry.

Light filters through the cracked blinds and I blink.

I’m OK. I’m awake.
The nightmare is the same every time. Waking at the same point, the eyes the last vision before my mind breaks free of the dream.

“Charlotte, you are awake.” Henri smooths his hands over my hair. He is sitting on the bed next to me. His hair is sticking out, his eyes, glazed and stunned.

“I had a nightmare,” I say, blinking in the bright light.

“That was one hell of a nightmare.” His voice is ragged. I wonder how long he had been trying to wake me. “Do you have them often?”

“Yes.” I want to tell him it was almost every night. That Emily haunts my sleep, her gaze empty and terrifying. I want to tell him unless I am drunk or drugged, sleep rarely comes, that my entire life has been shattered the night my sister tried to kill me. Instead, I remain silent.

Henri sits, quietly. Tears burn behind my eyes, but I push them back. The nightmare lingers in the back of my mind, it sits hunched, stalking me in the dark corners. I shove the blankets away untangling myself from the mess of sheets. My legs are bare, I am wearing only the small t-shirt I had put on before I lay down. It is short and exposes the cotton panties I wear underneath. I can feel Henri’s eyes on me as I stand and walk to the window. 

“What time is it?” I ask. All sense of time is lost. I've traveled through different time zones and have no idea even what day we are on.

“It’s past noon.”

That surprises me. But then I have no idea of what time we had arrived at the villa the night before. “When do we leave to see Abigail?”

“Why do you call her that?” Henri asks.

I turn back, he is still sitting on the bed, wearing only boxers. He must have come running when he heard my screams. My entire body heats at the sight of him. His chest is smooth and tanned. The muscles of his thighs strain at the fabric of his shorts. Bright morning light shines on him, highlighting his skin and hair. He could be the sketch of an artist, he’s beautiful. 

I force myself to look away and turn back to the view out the window. I hate being so obvious. “That is her name,” I say, with no emotion.

“She is your mother.”

“She gave up the right to be my mother when she left.”

Henri moves to stand next to me. It is too intimate. I don’t want to share the same space with him wearing next to nothing. I want to remain angry with him. For holding secrets. For still caring for me. For hurting Emily.

“She left partly because of me. Because of us.” His voice is soft holding traces of sadness.

I am so tired of being sad, sick of feeling everyone’s pain. Of secrets and small family tragedies. I have lived carrying them around for far too long.

“Why because you tried to get in my pants? Because I was going to let you?” I can’t help the bitterness that stains the sarcasm in my voice.

“You were going to let me?” A light laugh comes from him, calming the air in the room.

“I would have caved eventuality. You were persistent,” I laugh with him.

“Damn,” he teases and brushes his fingers over my arm. My skin tingles. “Maybe I should start trying again.”

I laugh again, nervously. The heaviness has returned, but this time it is thick with want. He is inches from me. I could reach out and touch him and I know that would be all he needed. He steps closer, closing the space between us. I hadn’t realized how tall he is, he almost towers over me. His head is bent and I have to tilt my head back to see his face. His eyes are filled with desire. No, need.

It flows off of him and I know if I were to touch him, it would fill me. He is waiting. He always waited. I had to be the one to touch him first, always, even in his teenage lust. My eyes move to his lips, I want desperately to know if they feel the same. I brush my finger over his bottom lip, the pulse in his neck quickens thumping hard in his throat. Henri reaches out cupping my face and his lips barely touch mine. When he pulls away, I am too scared to open my eyes, I knew they will betray me. I keep them closed as I hear him walk from the room.

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I shower and wash the memory of Henri’s touch from me, regretfully. I don’t want to go on. The large bed calls to me and I can only picture climbing into it with Henri and staying there until everything bad that has ever happened fades.

I have never dealt with surprises or stressful situations well. Flying to France hadn’t been one of those plans. Seeing Henri and finding he still holds strong feelings for me was certainly not expected. My mother dying of cancer was never in the cards. Being forced to face where my sister had crashed our father’s car definitely was not written anywhere on my life’s to-do list.

After Emily’s death, I learned that planning in advance is futile. Life happens around us, people, its game pieces. We move about seemingly at our own will, blind to the truth. We have no control over the way our lives playout. Not really. Only how we choose to live in each moment. I learned to take every second as it comes. Life tears up your plans no matter how foolproof and safe they seem.

After my shower, I go downstairs and find Henri sitting in the large living room talking to Lance. I am surprised to hear his smooth voice. I am surprised to hear him speak at all. On the drive he had sat like a statue, staring straight ahead at the road in front of him. Lance’s face is masculine, with a strong jawline, the cheeks lightly pitted from acne and intelligent, dark eyes. I can see he has a small Blu-tooth device in his ear.

I walk in and sit down next to Henri. He smiles at me, the secret of our kiss in his eyes.

“We were just discussing the trip to the chateau. Lance feels its best to leave as soon as possible, but I have a few things to attend to,” Henri tells me. “Lance will go with you to town and you can do some shopping. The chateau is about two hours drive from here. I should be finished by five o’clock and we will arrive at dusk.”

My smile is big and obvious. This will be fun. “So, it looks like we get to go shopping,” I say to Lance.

Lance’s face remains impassive. Oh good. He has a great personality.

We all stand at once and Lance walks from the room without a word.
I am going to have a long day
. Henri reaches toward the coffee table and hands me a large manila envelope. Inside is a new smart phone, two credit cards and a bundle of money.

“I can’t take this,” I say, putting everything back into the envelope. “I have my own money and phone.”

“A bank account that is traceable and a phone that is not secure,” he says, pushing the items towards me.

“I need a secure phone?”

“My research remember?” Henri says and rubs my arms. “This group will use anything, or anyone, to get what they want.”

I stand staring at him, but remain silent. I don’t like what he is implying. My brain conjures up images of me bound and gagged. Dark rooms and threatening voices. He knows I have a wild imagination. Henri it appears, is better with subtleties than I originally thought.

“Make sure you pick up some dresses while you are out,” he says. “Claudette insists everyone dress formal for dinner. It’s a quirk we all put up with.”

“Who?”
Claudette?
I don’t think I can handle any more weirdness. I’ve already had my fill and I’ve only just woke up.

“Claudette is Ashur’s daughter. He adopted her when she was very young. Don’t worry, you will love her.” Henri leans in and kisses me lightly and walks from the room.

Claudette.

Ashur has a daughter.
What?
That would make her, Henri’s cousin? Technically yes. How had I gone my entire life not knowing Henri had a cousin? When he had come to live with us, Emily and I were told he had no other family besides his uncle. He had never spoken of her, not in the almost twelve years he lived with us. Not even when he returned from one of his trips from France. Henri, it seems, has even more secrets than I do.

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Lance is standing in the hall next to the front door when I find him. His hands are clasped in front of him, his stance screams security.

“Right this way, Ms. Duval.” He gestures toward a small door leading to another room. “Mr. Moreau has indicated I escort you to the plaza.”

“Wonderful,” I say. Lance isn’t exactly warm and friendly.

Without another word, he walks me to a side room that leads into a large garage. Lance opens the door to the car we had arrived in the night before, his hand gesturing for me to enter. We drive for a few minutes in silence down the narrow streets. A small square with a large fountain comes into view; bistros and boutiques frame the square. Few people mill about, sitting in the outside chairs, or weaving lazily around each other in the doorways. Lance parks next to a small store and helps me out of the back of the vehicle.

Looking around, he leads me into the shopping plaza. No doubt checking the place for boogie men in the bushes.

“You should be able to find everything you need here.” Lance sits down on a bench directly facing the entire shopping center. He pulls a book from his back pocket and is suddenly engrossed, dismissing me.

There is a small shop that carries general items like brushes and toiletries. I buy the things I will need and splurge on a shampoo that smells of sweet almond and sandalwood, my favorite scent. Halfway through my shopping spree I leave my bags with Lance, who is still engrossed in his book. Some bodyguard he’s turning out to be.

There are two more shops to visit. The first carries long gowns and short revealing dresses. A woman comes up to me, kissing the air around my face.

“Bonjour! Henri said you would be here!” The woman is young and exuberant, her overly generous bosom jiggling as she speaks. “Henri said to spare no expense and make sure you got a variety.” Bernadette, she calls herself, grabs me by the hand and shows me a surprisingly large selection of dresses. When we reach the last dress she has decided I simply must buy, she zips up the back making loud tsking sounds.

“This will not do,” more tsking sounds come from behind me.

At first I think she is talking about the dress, which makes no sense. It is a dark red, flowing, with garnet beads at the bust curving perfectly down the side to accentuate the hips. I stare at her confused and see Bernadette is holding my simple cotton bra. My cheeks turn bright red in embarrassment.

“Henri will want something more… feminine.”

My stomach drops.
Oh no.

Just how many women has Henri sent into these boutiques? Before I can clarify that Henri will not see my underwear, she drags me through a small door leading to the shop next door. To my horror this one is full of lace panties and matching garter belts. There are corsets and other items that make my face blush further. I’m no prude, but being raised a proper southern girl, there are parts of undergarments that should simply have fabric.

Yet another woman, this one not speaking any English, comes forward. Without so much as a proper hello, she lifts my arms and wraps a tape measure around my chest, then hips.

Sweet mother of Hades.

My entire face turns red as she holds out several lacy frilly things smiling in approval. Still too embarrassed to refuse, I leave with more items than I will ever use. Garments that Henri paid for, but in my anger swear will never see.

When I sit next to Lance on the bench three hours have passed. My head swims and my feet hurt, my pride severely bruised. The women seem to know Henri and his preferences very well. What kind of man must he be that they know him by name? What kind of man has a credit line in a lingerie store? I begin to wonder what all has passed through their stores funded by Henri. I knew a man that good looking couldn’t be single, at least not every night of the week.