by Jen Colly
She stepped back from him gracefully, and with her fingers lightly touching her red lips, Allix looked Bette over from head to toe.
“Oh, my. You certainly do need my help. I’d wondered why Maeryn hurried by my shop with this horrendous thing. It wasn’t her style. It certainly isn’t yours.” Allix took hold of the skirt, then dropped it even quicker. She clapped her hands twice, the gesture more to snap her out of her own thoughts than anything else. Refocused, she smiled sweetly at Rollin. “All is forgiven. I’ll take it from here, darling.”
With that, she pulled Bette away from him and into the depths of her store. Rollin shook his head. Allix was one of a kind. Though her creations spanned a wide range of styles, their designer only wore high-collared gowns. People thought this was due to her quirky nature, but most Guardians knew the truth. She was the famed Alexandretta. Alexandretta had killed her mate, and not by accident. His body had been found broken and bloody at the bottom of the grand staircase in their home.
Her high-collared gowns covered the scars her mate had left all over her neck, and after nearly a decade of abuse, she’d taken back her freedom and her life. Shortening her name, Allix had left behind her past. Rollin found it amazing that a woman who had known ugliness now created such beauty.
After setting Bette free to search through the gowns, Allix floated back toward him like an empress, a sly smile on her lips. “Rollin, wherever did you find a woman with such exquisite taste?”
“Above,” he admitted. “She came to Balinese alone, with nothing and no one.”
“Poor thing,” Allix said with sympathetic pouting. “That explains her hair.”
“Her hair? What’s wrong with her hair?” Rollin watched Bette wandering through the sea of gowns. He didn’t see anything wrong. Her hair had been left long to hang down her back, some shorter pieces framing her face. Beautiful. “Should I get her a brush?”
“Oh, my darling,” she said through soft giggles, then patted his arm in a patronizing manner. “Don’t you worry about a thing. I’ll take care of her.”
“I’d appreciate it,” Rollin mumbled as she left his side, heading off to make arrangements.
What a woman needed to take care of herself was a surprisingly foreign concept, considering he’d grown up with four women. Oriana, in most ways, was still a child, uncaring about her appearance. Cat spent all of ten minutes getting ready. Lately she spent more time trying to reach her feet around her growing belly. Dulcina took even less time than Cat. He’d seen her get ready once. She’d tipped her head upside down, ruffled her fingers through her short curls, and slipped her Bowie knife into its sheath. End of routine.
Maeryn was different. Yes, she’d taken to reserving at least an hour to prepare her appearance, but Rollin had never been able to determine what it was she did with that time.
Allix caught his attention, then pointed discreetly toward the dressing rooms, and Rollin suddenly realized he had a problem. Bette had been beautiful in that white and pink dress, though she admittedly looked like some exotic creature trying desperately to appear innocent. But now?
Rollin leaned back, allowing the display table to support his weight. Her perfectly encased hourglass figure damn near made his mouth water. The black strapless corset had been trimmed with a fat black satin ribbon at her waist, and the champagne-colored skirt muted by a single gauzy layer of black. Gliding toward him, she was breathtaking. Elegant.
“I don’t need anything new.” She fidgeted, then reached out to touch his forearm. “Can’t we have my gown laundered?”
It took Rollin a few seconds to process her words. Why would she want that tattered, muddy mess? “Impossible. I’ve thrown it away.”
“Oh,” she said, then tried very hard to put on a smile. “Then I’ll wear the white and pink one you procured for me.”
Rollin caught sight of her hand clenching the price tag. She thought he couldn’t afford these gowns. A valid concern. Most men couldn’t. The price of just two of Allix’s creations could bankrupt a young Guardian. What she didn’t know was Rollin had the money, and then some. He’d received a healthy inheritance after his parents had died, and he had the Casteel fortune at his disposal, but he’d never had an excuse to touch either.
He stood, brushed past her to check the tags on several gowns, then left Bette standing in the center of the store to speak with Allix. When he returned, Bette nervously twisted her fingers together.
“I’ve paid for five,” he said, realizing this was the first time he’d had something worthwhile to spend his money on. “That should be enough to get you by for now.”
Her jaw dropped, and she gasped. “You didn’t. You couldn’t have. Rollin, I won’t do this to you.”
“You’re not doing anything to me.” Rollin leaned closer, and in all seriousness, whispered, “Find something true to you, or I’ll pick out every gown with pink flowers.”
Bette smacked his arm, biting back an amused smile. “What a horrible thing to say to me.”
She started off toward the corner where she’d admired a pretty cream gown with red ribbons falling loose and evenly around the skirt, but paused to look back at him. He nodded his encouragement, and she continued, thoughtfully assessing her choices.
Taking her time, Bette studied the various styles, completely skipped past certain colors, and all while inconspicuously glancing at the price tags. It didn’t make sense. A woman of her evident sense of style and accustomed to wealth wouldn’t think twice about spending money, whether it was hers or not, but not Bette.
She must have made a correlation between his meager home and what she assumed he was capable of providing. Again, he’d acted before thinking and bought the gowns, wanting to prove he was able to provide for her. Bringing her here was supposed to be a test to see if she would take advantage of him. So far he’d only proved how eager he was to please her.
One by one, Bette brought her selections to the large counter, where Allix promptly hung and tagged them on a single rolling rack against the back wall. The black and champagne gown fit perfectly, which he didn’t need an accomplished seamstress to confirm, but the rest of Bette’s choices would need altering before she could wear them.
“Throw in anything extra she’ll need,” Rollin said quickly.
Allix smiled as she asked in mock coyness, “Extra?”
Rollin narrowed his gaze on her and elaborated. “Anything at all she might need. Shoes, hair decorations, and under…things.”
“I can do without.” Bette gazed sweetly up at him. “Rollin, you’ve done more than enough for me already. Those other things aren’t necessary. Well, I suppose I’ll need shoes, but truly you can skip the rest.”
Rollin gaped at her. The thought of her completely bare beneath those new gowns… He was fairly certain his left eyebrow just twitched without his permission.
Allix giggled, successfully snapping Rollin out of his thoughts long enough for him to mumble, “She wants all the extras.”
* * * *
Bette suppressed an impish smile. This was working. She had a talent for teasing her Guardian. Her subtle touches, innocent suggestions, and blatant admissions caught him off guard, and his stoic resolve seemed to be crumbling before her eyes. Oh, the look on his face when she mentioned forgoing her unmentionables… Bette laughed.
“Something funny?” Rollin asked, and she looked up to find him gazing down at her from his towering height.
“I’m happy,” she said as he escorted her inside the elevator. “I haven’t been happy in, well, I don’t remember when. I didn’t know I missed it.”
Bette had high hopes of living through the day now, and not just because Rollin seemed a slip of control away from biting her, but because she genuinely liked him. They’d spent the night side by side, wandering up and down the Boulevard. She’d never window shopped, and Rollin rarely walked this corridor, which made
the experience new for both of them. Exhausted from the activity and excitement, she drew in a long breath and rested her head against Rollin’s thickly muscled arm.
“Tired?” he asked.
“Wonderfully tired,” she said on a sigh.
“See? Nothing to be afraid of,” he said, and he was right. Her fears had melted away while she was in his protective shadow.
“This city breathes,” she said, a touch of wonder in her voice. She couldn’t speak about Balinese in any other way. “People move through the corridors, from room to room, flowing like the very lifeblood of Balinese.”
“I’d never thought of it that way,” Rollin said.
Bette placed her hand on his forearm. “Tell me you feel it too.”
“Some days more than others, but yes. There’s a rhythm to the city,” he said, and when the elevator doors opened, he led her into the quieter corridor of a lower level. “I assume any city would be the same.”
“You’ve never been to another city,” she said with certainty. Then she shook her head to clear a thought, or perhaps catch one.
Rollin stopped walking, and she did the same, but there had been no need. Few people moved through this corridor and no one blocked their path. Bette looked up at him. “What is it?”
His brows furrowed. “Do you know you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Talk to yourself instead of to me.” Rollin turned to face her, crossing his arms over his chest. Even his posture demanded an answer.
Oh, dear. She’d spoken her thoughts out loud, and apparently this wasn’t the first time. How long had she answered her own questions, carried on conversations with herself just to hear a voice through the silence? It had become a comforting habit, but now, when she needed a clear head to ensure her own survival, she couldn’t even be sure of what she’d said to him. Or had she said something to herself?
“It happens,” she admitted, choosing to avoid eye contact and fix her gaze on her hand tucked between his arm and his side. She hadn’t let go of him. “What did I say?”
“Oh, no,” he grinned.
“Why are you smiling like that? What did I say?”
He shook his head, keeping his mouth shut and his secret to himself. He didn’t seem upset, but amused. Hopefully she’d said something funny or flattering. Not knowing was frustrating. She’d have to make more of a conscious effort to button her lip.
Chapter 11
Balinese
A good distance ahead in the corridor, Rollin caught sight of Titus walking away from him just before he slipped through the door to his home and out of sight. Three men—Titus, Dyre, and Graydon—lived together in what had to be the oddest living quarters in Balinese. He’d been inside several times over the years, and he’d never gotten over the strange space they called home. It was basically a large maintenance room, an area that seemed to be the meeting point for several major pipes, with a metal catwalk nine feet above their heads surrounding the entire squared room. The men had separated off sections to form makeshift rooms, but it was impossible to hide the red valves and sharply angled pipe joints that ran along the walls, the ceiling.
Strange place, but it seemed to fit this group of men. He wasn’t exactly friends with them, but apart from being colleagues, they were friendly enough to each other. Rollin didn’t have true friends, not like other people. He was different, never quite on the same page as anyone else.
None of these men knew what it meant to rock an orphaned two-year-old to sleep, to step up and take on the role of father and protector to four children when you yourself were still a child. They’d never had to gather a wailing, terrified child in their arms while turning their back on the one who didn’t survive.
Bette’s hand moved over his forearm, her touch gently pulling him back from those dark memories, though that couldn’t have been her intention. They’d been in and out of shops a good part of the night, and she was probably getting tired.
“Hey, I uh… I need to talk to a friend for a minute. He’s just up ahead,” Rollin said, and she nodded, tightening her hold on his arm, and that was fine.
Bette hadn’t been far from his side all night, and after they’d window shopped for an hour or so, she’d gotten brave, pulling away to touch a fabric or open a jewelry box. But she never walked out a doorway without reattaching herself to him. She was doing much better.
Together they walked a short distance up the corridor, her presence at his side quickly becoming familiar, and Rollin knocked on the heavy maintenance door. Within seconds Titus opened the door, the thick metal barrier swinging inward. Completely relaxed and inappropriate as always, Titus reached up to grab the top of the doorframe and leaned out toward them. Though he didn’t have nearly the breadth across his shoulders as Rollin, he was the same height.
Bette flinched at Rollin’s side, pulling away even as she tried to step behind him. Rollin prevented her retreat before she could take a full step back, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and keeping her by his side.
Reaching out to Titus with his other hand, Rollin grasped the man’s forearm in greeting. Titus was easygoing and always up for a good time. His jet-black, ruffled hair reflected his carefree attitude. With a big grin on his face, he said, “Well, now, if it isn’t Rollin Ca—”
“Titus is a Guardian,” he said to Bette, hoping to distract from the near mention of his last name, and to reassure her. “He’ll protect you, or die trying.”
“Hey.” He pointed to Rollin. “That only happened once, and technically I didn’t die.”
“No, but Elin wasn’t sure for a while,” he said, using what he’d learned was proper camaraderie. Guardians liked to rehash events they’d narrowly survived. Rollin had never cared for the topic personally, but as it seemed to force them to realize they’d both come close to the peace of death and were yet alive to tell it, Rollin saw no harm in the reminder. “Listen, I didn’t come to have a laugh. I need a word with Dyre. Is he home?”
“You never stop by to see me anymore,” he said, spreading his hand over his heart. “I’m hurt. Truly, I am.”
Rollin cracked a smile and shook his head. “And Graydon says you don’t have feelings.”
Titus shrugged, having no objections to the assessment.
“He doesn’t,” Graydon said as he stepped into the doorway, smacking Titus in the stomach. His fingers slipped from the doorframe and he doubled over with a grunt. Graydon was burly and bald, and when he did choose to move, his speed was unexpected. Graydon’s lazy gaze suddenly shifted to Bette, and under his scrutiny, she leaned heavily against Rollin. With a sharp tip of his chin in her direction, Graydon asked, “Who’s she?”
“This is Bette. She’s recently come to Balinese,” Rollin said.
Graydon stared at her for a moment, then opened his mouth just enough to simply say, “Hi.”
Bette didn’t have a chance to respond. A flurry of footsteps approached, nearly drowned out by a multitude of high-pitched chattering that echoed off the walls. They all turned to see a woman, Meg, leading a long line of young children. She turned to face the little ones, and as she walked backward, she shushed them.
“I know we’re walking by some of your homes, but we will not knock on doors, grab snacks, or pester your mothers in their rare moment of peace,” Meg said, then pointed at the freckle-faced student constantly leaping out of line. “I’m lookin’ at you, George.”
Giggling erupted, and about a dozen little heads turned to look at the boy. George grinned and popped back in line, promising his compliance with an exaggerated nod. No higher than her waist, the kids fidgeted in line, waiting for the signal to move forward.
Meg turned forward to lead the line, and all the smiles and perkiness when facing the kids faded instantly. She clutched her folder to her chest, her face ashen. She looked miserable, hurrying by with her eyes downcast.
&nbs
p; “Oh,” Bette said softly, bringing her hand to her mouth, her gaze following the children as they shuffled past them.
Rollin bent close and asked, “What is it?”
“They’re beautiful,” she whispered.
Graydon reached out, smacked him in the arm, then pointed at Bette. “She’s got it bad.”
“None of that,” Rollin said, sending him a sharp, scolding look.
“What?” Graydon asked, putting on an innocent face. “What’d I say?”
Titus suddenly growled under his breath, his jovial persona gone as he shoved his way past Graydon to get back inside their home.
“Ah, damn,” Graydon said, his slow drawl sounding more serious than anything Rollin had ever heard from him, and he half expected him to follow Titus inside. He did the opposite, chasing after the teacher.
Meg turned at the sound of heavy boots catching up to her group. “Graydon? What are you doing?”
“I’ll cap the end of the line. Don’t want ’em to wander off,” Graydon said, and when he was met with silence, he asked, “They do that, don’t they?”
She nodded and smiled, but it was a sad smile. Graydon slipped into place at the back of the line and they carried on, his steps comically smaller than the children ahead of him. As the class disappeared around the corner, Rollin heard Graydon give his first command, “Eyes front, blue shirt kid.”
Laughter followed the tough Guardian’s command.
“I fear Graydon will learn the hard way that he cannot control children,” Dyre said from the doorway, his gaze following the direction the children and now two supervising adults had disappeared.
Rollin asked, “What just happened?”
Glancing inside the home, Dyre made sure Titus was out of earshot, then said quietly, “He left Meg.”
“Why?” Rollin copied Dyre’s quiet tone, mindful of possibly being overheard. “I thought maybe…”
“I can’t imagine in what world they wouldn’t be fated mates.” Dyre seemed disappointed by this broken relationship on a personal level. “Neither will speak of what happened. From what I can gather, Titus walked away. Though by the way he’s been acting, you’d think it was the other way around.”
