Heart of the Guardians: Adoring Destiny

by Adrianna Adore

  “We’re staying in the palace?” Claire asked.

  “Master Frank?” Dana asked with a mischievous smile. “I think I like the sound of that.”

  “I don’t know how to act in a palace,” Claire said, starting to worry. “Do you curtsey and bow a lot? Do you address everyone as my Lord or my Lady?”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it,” Dana said. “We’re guests of honor. I wonder if they have room service.”

  James met Dimitri coming down the trail as he was going up. He’d changed to his bear form so he could run up the path, his human feet would have been shredded by the rocks and brambles. He shifted back to his human form and pulled the tunic over his head. It was soaking wet with bear slobber where he’d been carrying it in his mouth. The Russian was in his biker leathers and didn’t seem to have a care in the world.

  “I left your clothes at the shack with the rest of the injured,” he said. “They said they were going to fly them out with helicopters, some of the guards were pretty bad off.”

  “Okay. Thanks,” James said and pulled the sticky part of the tunic away from his chest. “Where are you going?”

  “To find a bar,” Dimitri replied. “And wait for them to come back out of the portal. Wait for word of their success.”

  James nodded and seemed to be at a loss for words. He had something to say but it was hard.

  “Thanks for the help in the cave,” he finally managed. “That thing was strong, if you hadn’t ham stung it, I think it might have gotten the better of me.”

  “It’s because you don’t know how to fight,” Dimitri said. “You charge in like a bear, you fight like a bear and you almost got beaten by acting like a bear.”

  “I am a bear!” James shot back.

  “No. You’re a shifter who doesn’t know how to use his gifts,” Dimitri said. “You rely on your strength and power but there are dark ones from the other side that are bigger and stronger. You have to fight smarter.”

  “I’ll not take instructions from a dog,” James said dismissively and turned to leave.

  Dimitri took half a step forward and before James could react, he extended a single, black razor-sharp claw and touched his throat with it.

  “This dog could have killed you just now,” he said calmly. “Ripped out your trachea, severed your jugular then watched your life pour into the dirt.”

  James swallowed, stood very still, then watched as Dimitri lifted his other hand and five more long, curved claws seemed to ooze out of his fingers, razor sharp and wickedly curved.

  “You have no idea how to use your gifts,” he said. “Your society of guardians have become soft, weak and pathetic. It’s almost as if you’re ashamed of the power and want to keep it hidden deep inside. You think you are less than human, that you are the offspring of demons, that you are cursed or damned. We do not think like that. We are more than human. If we survive the first change, then we embrace our other selves. We have learned control.”

  He changed his eyes and they became yellow with black irises; his canine teeth elongated and became fangs for a second before he pulled in all the claws at once then stepped back. He appeared completely human again. A lanky young man with dark features and dark hair curling around his shoulders.

  James took a deep breath and controlled his anger, his first instinct to lash out, knock that silly smirk off his face but he didn’t. The wolf man was right. He could turn into a bear in an instant but that was all he could do. Dimitri could be anything from human to oversized wolf to everything in between. He controlled the change.

  “Will you teach me how to do that?” he finally asked.

  “Will you go through the portal with me?” Dimitri asked in return. “I hope they succeed but three injured shifters leaving blood tracks in the netherworld probably don’t stand a chance. They were headed for an opening crowded with the unclean fighting to get through to our world. Shifters are a delicacy, nothing tastes better than the meat of one of their own bastard children.”

  “How do you know all this?” James asked, “I thought your kind were scattered and savage, uncivilized and out of control.”

  “They hid things from you and you didn’t try to find the truth,” Dimitri replied. “Stig questioned their ways, he was a thorn in the council’s side. He learned much from us and we learned much from him.”

  James looked to the setting sun and tried to find reasons not to enter the portal. It was dangerous, the creatures inside were vicious and there were no guarantees. He could be killed. He had an easy life ahead of him, he’d found the love of his life, he would have riches and they could travel the world. The duties he had as ruler of Galador were mostly ceremonial. The Senate ran the day to day affairs of the country. He would head the council of Guardians but they didn’t do anything except meet a few times a year and ensure the elite guard watched the portal. Until now. Until the wolves came into town and kicked a hornets nest. He sidestepped the question again.

  “How long should we give them?” he asked. “Should we wait to see if they can mark the open portal?”

  “We’ll have to,” Dimitri said. “You need to learn how to fight, not lumber in and bash things. Time is different there. Sometimes it’s faster, sometimes it’s slower according to the scrolls. We could enter tomorrow and they may only be a few steps ahead of us or we might stumble across their crumbling bones, dry, brittle and turning to dust. It doesn’t matter when we enter, as long as we do. We’ll find them or we won’t. They’ll be dead or they won’t.”

  James clenched his fist. He hated being talked down to, treated like a no-nothing child but he also knew the Russian spoke the truth. He had been protected his whole life, the truth hidden from him. He didn’t know why the council kept their secrets but when he became king, things were going to change.

  “Teach me, then,” James said.

  “After you are coroneted,” Dimitri replied. “There is time. If I die, I would rather the stories remember that I battled beside a king rather than a spoiled rich brat.”

  James glared at him but Dimitri continued. “I tell you this, something we learn from childhood that they have kept from you. Listen and learn, young king. You must know who you are. Who we all are. We are the children of immortal demons. It took generations for us to be able to control the shifts and still more before we could blend in with society. The last of the known portals was buried and forgotten thousands of years ago. All but yours. Man grew stronger and bolder as the centuries passed and hunted most of our ancestors to extinction, the ones that couldn’t blend in. The demon seed grows weaker and sometimes skips over a generation. In some the power never manifests or it’s so diluted that it presents itself as a mild madness. An obsessive collector of all things bear. Figurines and carvings and stuffed toys. A woman with a hundred cats because she is drawn to them, believes she can communicate with them. A man becomes a breeder of wolves, loves them more than his own children and can’t explain why. A circus performer who can walk with the tigers without fear because they sense he is somehow like them.”

  James said nothing as he listened. He should have known all these things but knew none of them. He should have been groomed to lead but had been pampered as a child after his parents died. As he grew older, he was spoiled with lavish gifts, fast cars, big yachts and a playboy lifestyle. His uncle encouraged it, told him the people loved him and lived vicariously through him. A prince should be extravagant. For years he had embraced it, believed it, but he was never satisfied, something was missing. On the one occasion he had mentioned the emptiness to his uncle, he had told him it was the burden all Guardians carried and he should fill it with more women, more cars and more parties. Now he wondered how much the old king knew. Why hadn’t he called all of the other Guardians for help when he discovered the breach in the portal? Why had he only called for two of them? How had he known the wolves were going to try to break in? Accidentally discovering them didn’t ring true, the portal was far from the living quarters and deep undergr
ound. What secrets had they been hiding?

  They had reached the cabin and Dimitri stopped him before they entered the clearing. His voice lost the condescending tone as he turned to face the man who would be king.

  “How much do you know of our world?” he asked, his tone serious. “Do you know of the vampires and witches? The mermaids and banshees? The bigfoot and yeti?”

  “They’re not real,” James said dismissively, sure the Russian was goading him again.

  “Neither are werewolves, shifters and skin walkers,” he said. “But here we are.”

  A battle raged inside James. His world had been completely upended. He wanted to run away with Claire, he could truly be happy teaching at the college if she were by his side. He could walk away from the money, the power and the throne but he couldn’t turn his back on his people. Once you knew a thing, you couldn’t unknow it. Who would guard the portal? Scrimson? Pallerson? Tolley? They were old and feeble, the three of them together couldn’t even defeat the creature in the cave.

  He turned to the arrogant, brash wolf man and swallowed his pride. It was a bitter pill to choke down.

  “I’ll help you find the breach,” he said. “If you’ll teach me what I need to know.”

  Dimitri stopped the cutting remark he was about to make, saw the earnestness in his eyes and after a moment held out his hand. James put his out to shake but the Russian clasped his elbow, stared into his eyes and waited for James to do the same.

  “You are asking for powerful and secret knowledge,” he said when he did. “This I will give.”

  James caught a flash of memory, his father teaching him this ceremonial handshake when he was four or maybe five years old, shortly before they were killed in the crash. It was the oath of the ancients. A solemn promise that shouldn’t be taken lightly or ever broken.

  “You are asking me to enter the portal to find a breach in your lands,” he said. “This I will do.”

  They held their clasp for another moment, each measured the other and finally broke off when a helicopter zoomed in and hovered over the cabin. A basket was being lowered to load the grievously injured.

  10

  Preparations

  “Oh my God, would you look at the view?” Dana exclaimed as she opened the French doors and stepped out onto the balcony.

  Claire joined her and they took in the city lights below. There was a festive atmosphere and parties had spilled out of the bars and homes and into the streets. When they asked the driver why everyone was so happy, he’d explained it was their tradition. They had been in mourning for three days. Everyone had worn black and all the shops had been closed. It was a period of reflection and sadness at their loss. Now it was time to celebrate the King’s long life, his wise rulings and toast his passage from this world to the next. They wanted him to look down from the heavens to see the prosperity and joy of his people, not sorrow and gloom.

  The palace was an incredible mix of old and new. It stood on a plateau carved into the mountain side and it sprawled over acres of manicured grounds. Its’ spires and witches hat roofs climbed skyward, its’ walls were hung with intricate tapestries and they admired it as they were led from the car to the living areas. The impeccably dressed butler gave them a brief history of the Galadorian Palace before he introduced them to Mrs. Schwartz at the entrance of the living quarters. She was a stout German woman who was head of the household.

  She took them to a suite with a central living area and two sumptuous bedrooms, both with private baths. Fresh fruit was in a bowl on the table and Mrs. Schwartz herself escorted them through the apartment, then assured them anything they needed or desired was only a phone call away.

  “I’ll just tidy up a bit,” she had said. “The view from the balcony can be rather lovely this time of the evening.”

  As they stood and watched the sun set over the city. Mrs. Schwartz cleared her throat then held an envelope for each of them, their names written in calligraphy on the thick, creamy paper.

  “These are for you,” she said, letting them think she had just discovered them.

  They thanked her, then admired them before carefully prying them open. They were too lovely to tear.

  They were handwritten notes beautifully scripted with a fountain pen.

  Mrs. Schwartz stepped back into the immaculately clean living area and busied herself for a moment, pretending to wipe at a speck of dust off the counter. She was trying to linger as long as possible; she knew what was in the envelopes, Frank had enlisted her aid and she’d been working frantically all afternoon putting together a plan.

  “But you can’t give them time to think about it,” he’d warned. “They might say no.”

  “Wow.” Dana said as she slid her thumb across the fine paper. “Frank has invited me to dinner and dancing. Think I should accept?”

  “Me too!” Claire said and read the short note again.

  “What? That jerk asked you out too?”

  “No, silly. James.”

  The girls stared at each other for a moment before they both squealed, grabbed each other’s hands and started jumping up and down.

  “Wait!” Dana said and abruptly stopped. “What are we going to wear?”

  Claire’s grin of happiness turned to one of uncertainty.

  “We have all those outfits we bought in Paris and Vienna. One of those will be fine,” she said, but doubt crept into her voice

  What does one wear when going out to dinner and dancing with a prince and his most trusted advisor? Would it be a private affair or would they be out in public with people taking pictures? They both ran inside the apartment and started peppering the Head of Household with questions, asked her what she thought, how would one dress for the occasion? Where were they going? Should they dress casual or maybe a little more formal? What kind of dancing? Claire was shy on the dance floor but Dana was usually the center of attention when she was in the mood. What would be expected of them?

  “Let me see what you have,” Mrs. Schwartz said. “I’m sure you have something suitable.”

  They grabbed their suitcases and hurriedly emptied them, dumping the designer labels out onto the couch.

  “This is it?” she asked when they were finished and looked at her expectantly, both biting their lips in trepidation at her disapproving gaze at their clothes.

  They nodded, hope in their eyes.

  “Let me see the invitations,” she said in her clipped German accent and read them over.

  “This simply will not do,” she said and marched over the phone. “This is an emergency, you have been invited to the ball. You cannot be seen wearing any of these.”

  “The ball?” Dana asked and reread the invitation.

  “What ball?” Claire asked but Mrs. Schwartz ignored them.

  She spoke rapid fire German into the phone, firmness in her voice and ended the call with and emphatic “NEIN! We have two hours to do the impossible! I want Maurice here in five minutes and bring in everyone!”

  She smiled to herself before returning to the girls, ran her hands over her perfectly ironed and starched uniform and said “Do not fear, ladies. There is no need for panic. Help is on the way.”

  A small, wiry man wearing a tailored suit and pencil thin mustache barged through the doors without knocking only moments later. Three harried looking women followed in his wake, measuring tapes fluttering around their necks and notebooks in their hands.

  “Why are you still clothed?” he demanded at the shocked girls then ordered his entourage to disrobe them.

  “Wait. What?” Dana asked and pushed away the hands reaching to unbutton her blouse.

  “Stop,” the little man demanded, held up his hand and his assistants froze.

  “Is this the correct room?” he calmly asked the head of the household in his heavy French accent.

  “Ya,” she answered.

  “Are these the correct women?” he quietly asked her.

  “Ya,” she said again.

  “Is it
true that we have exactly one hour and forty-seven minutes before they are expected to be escorted by the king to the ball and then for a night on the town?”

  “Ya,” she answered again even though technically James wasn’t the king yet.

  “They are to be seen in public with his majesty?” he asked patiently.

  “Ya.”

  “And now I have one hour and forty-six minutes to turn these ducklings into swans?”

  The head of the household nodded again.

  He faced the girls who had been watching the exchange in fascination.

  “Mademoiselles,” he said calmly. “Do you understand the urgency of our situation?”

  “Yes, sir,” they said.

  “Then modesty be damned!” he shouted and snapped his fingers. “We don’t have time.”

  The assistants jumped to undress them and this time the girls didn’t resist. He spoke French into his earpiece, snagged the tape measure from one of his team and started barking out numbers.

  “Leave that,” he ordered sharply when one of them began to remove Claire’s emerald bear head necklace. “I will design her wardrobe around it.”

  He poked at her little roll of belly fat, spoke faster into the phone and broke off in mid French sentence.

  “You need to exercise more,” he said. “This needs to go.”

  “I’ve lost twenty pounds, thank you very much,” Claire said indignantly.

  She had gotten leaner over the past few weeks and she hadn’t even been trying.

  “Lose another ten,” he said and went back to barking orders in to his phone, telling them to hold out their arms, examining their toes and fingernails, peering harshly at their eyebrows and frowning at the shape of their ears.

  More people hurried in the room, men and women both, and the girls were just thankful Maurice had let them keep their underwear on. Claire was doubly thankful the strange marks had faded away and she was wearing her new undergarments, not the batman panties still in her suitcase. It’s a European thing she told herself. They have topless beaches and don’t think anything of seeing a woman’s breasts.