Soul to Shepherd

by Linda Lamberson

  “Still feel like crap?” he asked.

  I nodded slowly.

  He crouched in front of me and took my hands in his. “Maybe you wouldn’t be going through this right now if you would’ve just told us about this crazy-ass deal you made those Bloodhounds?”

  “What could you have done? Offered up more of your blood?” I scoffed weakly.

  “Dylan could’ve given some of his.”

  “I could never ask him to do that.”

  “Maybe you wouldn’t have had to ask.”

  “And if he felt this weak afterwards?” I asked. “I couldn’t deal with that.”

  “Evie, if you had let those Mercenaries take another vial from you like they wanted, you probably wouldn’t be able to deal with anything anymore.”

  I sighed, knowing Quinn was probably right.

  “Look,” I began. “No use crying over spilled milk. What’s done is done, right? And thankfully, no one has to deal with the consequences but me.”

  “Wrong. We all have to deal with the consequences. Dylan’s right—we need you to be at the top of your game for the plan to work.”

  “Quinn, we’re here. You’re safe. The plan is working.”

  “For now. But what happens when you’re feeling better and the Servants come after me again? What are you going to do? Take a bullet for me?”

  “If I have to.”

  “And who’s going to take a bullet for you? Who’s going to help keep you safe?”

  “I don’t need anyone to take care of me.”

  Quinn flashed me a telling smile, his eyes laced with disappointment. “You just answered my question.”

  “What?” I asked in confusion.

  “You’ve left me no choice.”

  “Left you no choice to do what?”

  “To prove that you’re wrong.”

  “Quinn, you’re not making any sense. What am I wrong about this time?” My head was pounding, and I closed my eyes. All I wanted to do was lie down and give my body time to heal.

  “Come on.” Quinn picked me up and carried me outside to the hot tub. I was too weak to morph out of my clothes, so he undressed me. I watched my clothes disappear into thin air once they were no longer in contact with my skin. For a brief moment, I wondered how I’d mustered the strength to stay dressed at all, but it boggled my throbbing mind too much to think about it, so I let it go. At this point, part of me honestly didn’t care if I stayed naked forever.

  Quinn helped me into the hot tub. The water jets felt amazing on my aching body. A minute later, he undressed, climbed in, positioning himself behind me, and began to massage my shoulders. His fingers were like magic, and I started to feel a little better.

  “Ahh,” I sighed and closed my eyes. “That feels so good.”

  “Good. So here’s the deal,” he said softly into my ear. “Until you’re up and running at full speed again, I’m going to take care of you. And that means you’re going to listen to me for once—whether you like it or not.”

  “Okay,” I said without hesitation, leaning my head forward, completely captivated by his fingers rhythmically working their way into my muscles.

  “Okay?” Quinn asked in amused disbelief. “That’s it? No questions? No arguments? No protests?”

  “Nope. I’m putty in your hands.”

  “Wow, you must really be wiped out.”

  “Maybe.” I sighed again. “But right now I just really like the idea of not having to make any decisions whatsoever.”

  “Okay, then.” He smiled. I leaned back and let his fingers continue to work on my shoulders and arms. We sat there and watched the sun disappear behind the ocean. Eventually, Quinn hopped out of the hot tub and wrapped a towel around his waist. He helped me out of the water and wrapped a towel around me as well. Then he lifted me up and carried me back into the house.

  “Am I really so helpless I need to be carried everywhere?”

  “Ah-ah-ah. No questioning my methods, remember?” He winked and set me down on an oversized sand-colored couch in the living room, and I sank into the plush cushions. Quinn sat next to me and massaged my feet. I had to admit, if this was the type of treatment he had in mind for my recovery, I certainly wasn’t about to protest. It felt good to be pampered. In fact, I felt so relaxed I thought I might drift off to sleep, as impossible as that would be for me.

  “I feel like I could go to sleep,” I purred as I closed my eyes.

  “Maybe you should try.”

  “I think it’d be nothing but a wasted effort. Besides, I keep picturing those scenes in movies where the victims of fatal gunshot wounds say they’re just going to close their eyes for a moment and never wake up again.”

  “Okay, then, no sleep. Bad idea,” Quinn agreed. “We’ll just have to think of some other way to help you relax—and stay conscious.” He continued to massage my feet, and my eyelids continued to feel like lead weights.

  “Wait right here.” He got up and returned a minute later with his hairbrush. He sat behind me and gently combed out my long, wet, tangled hair. Each brush stroke sent the faintest of shivers down my spine. It was very sensual—erotic even—making me grin slightly. I instinctively leaned back into him and could feel the heat emanating from his body. I placed my hand on his thigh. He pushed my hair aside and kissed my neck, which led me to tilt my head back so he could kiss my lips.

  “Evie, I’m not sure this is such a good idea in your fragile condition.”

  The word “fragile” made me cringe inside. I’d always hated that word—even when I was alive. Yes, I felt wiped out, weak even—but fragile? Yuck. I swallowed my pride and flashed him my best come-hither smile.

  “Are you saying this is against doctor’s orders?” My hand began to make its way up his inner thigh as I shifted my body around to face him. I leaned over to kiss him, but he repositioned himself to put some distance between us.

  “Yes,” he said matter-of-factly.

  I sat up and looked him square in the eye. “You’re serious.”

  “Evie, sitting in that hot tub with you, my hands on your skin, looking at you right now wrapped up in nothing but that towel … You have no idea what it’s doing to me.” He closed his eyes and inhaled, exhaling slowly. “But the top priority here is for you to get your strength back, and to do that you need to rest.”

  I flashed him my best pouty face, which made him chuckle.

  “Trust me, there is nothing more I’d rather do than give in to you. But,” he said, standing up, “I’m not budging—not while you’re in this state. So focus on healing—quickly—for both our sakes.” He started walking towards the kitchen. “I’m going to make myself something to eat.”

  I sat there, my jaw hanging open. I couldn’t believe it—he’d actually turned me down.

  *

  Quinn eventually fell asleep on the couch next to me. I tried to relax, but the more time I had to think, the more restless I became. A couple of hours passed, and I couldn’t stop myself from worrying about anything and everything. I kept reliving the events of the evening. I kept thinking about the missing Journal, chastising myself for taking it from Tartuf’s office and for not reading it in its entirety. I hoped Quinn’s family was safe. And I hoped Minerva and Dylan were okay.

  My mind was firing questions off left and right. Did Dylan find out anything about today’s attack? Did Minerva figure out what had produced that mysterious aura she sensed earlier in the day? Was she able to move the truck without any surprises? Was she tailed like we’d hoped? Would either of them be able to discover some useful information about the Servants? Their plans? The missing Journal? Would they find out anything to help keep Quinn safe and end the demons’ quest to destroy us once and for all? And, of course, there was the one question constantly looming in the back of my mind—would I be able to heal completely?

  My mind was on overdrive, and I needed to find a way to distract myself. I felt a little stronger. In fact, I was strong enough to walk around and tour the house Quinn a
nd I would be staying in for the next eight days. A wood-carved plaque over the front door said “Casa del Alma,” which I translated to mean “House of the Soul.”

  How fitting, I thought.

  Dylan’s bragging about this portal was well justified. Before he left, he’d mentioned the view reminded him of the southern part of the Baja peninsula—Cabo San Lucas maybe. In all my travels, I’d never been there, but I promised myself that would change as soon as this demon debacle with Quinn was over once and for all.

  Not only was the scenery beautiful, the house was also incredible. The rounded white stucco walls that wrapped around the exterior of the adobe-style, three-story structure continued throughout the interior as well. Cream-colored travertine floors greeted every footstep. All of the furniture was white, sand, beige, or some combination thereof, punctuated with cobalt blue porcelain vases, throw pillows, and other small, eclectic pieces. There wasn’t much art, but any art would’ve paled in comparison to the picturesque views that could be seen from every room—each of which was more stunning than the next.

  In addition to the four bedroom suites, there was a gourmet kitchen, home theater, and several shared indoor and outdoor common areas, all of which flowed directly into one another when the wall of sliding glass panels was open. The outdoor space was just as amazing, with an infinity pool, hot tub, and outdoor fireplace.

  A relaxing fire to warm up the cool night air was just what I needed, but just when I’d figured out how to light the fireplace, the sun began to rise.

  “That’s weird,” I said to myself. I swore the sun had set not all that long ago, and now it was rising again? What was even stranger, I suddenly realized, was that the time of day changed in here at all. In the Falls it was always mid-afternoon. But here, time apparently shifted. I assumed that this was one of the “oddities” Dylan had mentioned.

  Figuring the sunlight streaming in through the glass-paneled wall would probably wake Quinn soon, I came up with a new plan—I’d make him breakfast. I rummaged through the kitchen and found all the ingredients I needed. Excited to surprise Quinn with one of my all-time favorite breakfasts from when I was a kid, I worked diligently and quietly, hoping the delicious aroma would stir him.

  “Mmm, what is that I smell?” Quinn asked thirty minutes later as he wandered drowsily into the kitchen, still wearing nothing but the towel he’d wrapped around his waist last night.

  “Blueberry pancakes and cheesy eggs,” I said proudly as I made him a plate.

  “Are these the same ones your mom makes?”

  “I don’t know if they’re as good as my mom’s, but, yes, it’s her recipe.”

  Quinn sat down, spread butter on each of the four pancakes in front of him and then poured a half bottle of syrup over the stack. I watched in anticipation as he cut into them and took a bite.

  “Well?” I asked anxiously when he just closed his eyes and didn’t say anything.

  “These are good. I mean, really, really good.” He took another bite and then ate a forkful of eggs. “Mmm. Where did you learn to do this?”

  “My mom always loved to cook, and I guess I just picked up a few things along the way,” I said, barely able to contain my smile.

  “Well, feel free to make these for me anytime.” Quinn shoved another bite of pancakes into his mouth, followed by another. As he helped himself to seconds, I cleaned up, beaming on the inside the entire time. Just as I was finishing the dishes, Quinn crept up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist.

  “Thanks for breakfast,” he said, kissing the back of my neck. “It was awesome.”

  “You’re welcome,” I said, smiling.

  “Are you feeling better?”

  “Yeah, a little.” I turned to face him. “I mean, don’t count on me for running a marathon or anything, but I can get around well enough.”

  “And your superpowers?”

  “I haven’t tried any yet. Hence, why I’m wearing your t-shirt and boxers.”

  “They look good on you.” There was a spark in Quinn’s eyes. I knew that look; he was hungry for more than breakfast, and it wasn’t hard to guess what he was thinking—but they’d look better off of you.

  I leaned forward to kiss him, but he pulled back a bit, looked at me, and smirked. He was teasing me. Well, after last night, that just wasn’t going to fly. I wasn’t about to let him turn me down twice. I kissed the sensitive spot on his neck, and I heard him sigh quietly. I kissed him in the same spot again and felt his muscles tense a bit. I couldn’t help but grin before kissing my way up to his jaw line, and then to his lips, knowing this time he’d reciprocate. The electricity between us was undeniable. I knew neither of us had any more patience for games. Neither of us had the will to stop—nor did we want to.

  Without another word, Quinn picked me up and carried me into the master bedroom.

  *

  “I really needed that,” I remarked.

  “Oh, did you now?” Quinn chuckled.

  “I’m serious. I actually feel better—stronger. Whoever said sex is never the answer when couples aren’t seeing eye to eye, clearly wasn’t talking about us.”

  “Is that what’s going on?” he asked in concern. “Are we not seeing eye to eye?”

  “You tell me. You were the one who was upset with me last night.”

  “Only because you’re still trying to handle everything on your own. You said it yourself last night—you don’t believe you need anyone … You don’t believe you need me,” he said uneasily.

  “How can you think that? Of course I need you,” I replied in alarm.

  “Just not my help.”

  “Quinn—”

  “Just answer the question—do you need my help?”

  “I could definitely use your help at the moment.” I smiled and reached over to kiss him again, but this time he pulled away for real.

  “I’m serious, Evie. Go ahead and ask yourself—do you?”

  It was a difficult question, probably made more so by the fact I already knew I wouldn’t like the answer, and I knew Quinn would like it even less. The entire time I’d been a Shepherd, Quinn was always the one who needed my help. It was my job was to take care of Quinn, to protect him—not the other way around. And even though I was no longer Quinn’s Shepherd, I still made it my “job” to take care of Quinn. That’s just the way it was. But right now, he was trying to turn the tables by making it his job to take care of me, and I honestly wasn’t sure what to think about that.

  “It’s complicated,” I finally muttered.

  “Actually, it’s not.” Quinn got out of bed and headed to the bathroom.

  *

  A while later, Dylan stopped in to check on us. He eyed the plate of leftover blueberry pancakes on the kitchen counter.

  “What’s this?”

  “Evie made me breakfast,” Quinn replied, grinning. His mood seemed to have improved some after a long swim in the pool.

  “Oh, did she now?” Dylan teased, eyeing me. “So, you’re feeling better then?”

  “Yeah.” The achiness in my body was completely gone, but I still felt tired and weak. In fact, Quinn was still physically stronger than me at the moment, the irony of which was not lost on me, especially considering our conversation earlier in the day.

  Dylan studied my expression, and I knew he was trying to get into my head, trying to determine just how much better I felt—or didn’t feel. I quickly averted my eyes and looked out the window to see the sun was setting again.

  “Hey, what time is it out there?” I asked, changing the subject. With as often as the sun seemed to rise and set around here, it was difficult to gauge how much time had passed on Earth since we’d arrived here—even by portal standards.

  “Six in the morning, mountain time, on the twelfth.”

  “This place really screws with your sense of time,” I noted.

  “Yeah, I have a theory about that,” Dylan stated. He explained how he’d recently discovered a handful of portals like C
asa del Alma, which he believed existed within a different layer in the fabric of time, one that was physically closer to the plane on which humans lived. He believed that was why there was some fluctuation in weather and time in this portal instead of everything being completely suspended in time like in the Falls.

  He also said these new portals were much more difficult to find. While other portals could be identified by a single glimmer of light, like a firefly suspended high up in the sky, these new portals were much trickier to spot. There were no lights identifying their positions in the sky; there were no shimmering effects as you passed though them. The only marker for their locations was a virtually undetectable ripple in the sky. They could easily be passed over by even those who knew of their locations, and nearly impossible for a newcomer to find. That’s what made this portal such an attractive option for our safe house.

  Before leaving, Dylan told us he’d check in on us every couple of days to update us and help us keep track of how many days we’d been in hiding.

  *

  During those first few days, I experienced firsthand just how different Casa del Alma was from the Falls. I knew time fluctuated from day to night and back again, but there was no consistent pattern as to when or how often the time changes occurred. We could have daylight for what seemed like an eternity, only to be greeted with sunset, dusk and sunrise all within the time it took Quinn to eat a meal.

  I also discovered Quinn fully intended to keep his promise to prove to me that I needed his help. In fact, he made it his mission to take care of me. I was still under strict orders to rest until I felt stronger, so we spent the majority of our time lounging by the pool, sitting by the outdoor fireplace, watching a ton of movies, and talking for hours on end. The few times I was able to seduce Quinn, he was almost too reserved, too gentle—like he was afraid he’d break me. And considering how gradually I was recovering, it was no wonder he acted that way.

  I was true to my word as well. I took Quinn’s advice as agreed—sans argument or protest. I did, however, have my own questions about why it was taking me so long to heal. I should’ve regained my strength in a matter of minutes, but it’d taken me two days to regain half of my strength, and since then, I felt like I’d hit some inexplicable plateau.