Was the man daft? “Our language has been dead for thousands of years. No one has those kind of records.”
“Maxis did.”
She shouldn’t be surprised. Maxis’ grandmother, Evanora, spent the bulk of her life with the sole intent of de-throning the Shantos line. Being left pregnant at the altar in favor of a commoner would do that to a woman.
“The translations exist,” he said. “Get them and we’ll see if we can’t use what I know of the prophecy to get you what you’ve always wanted.”
“And if I don’t?”
Even with the glaring sun blinding her, there was no missing the evil twist of his lips. “Then it’s likely more tangible evidence will be left behind for Eryx and his men to track in Evad. One that leaves culpability on your doorstep with a big, shiny red bow.”
Chapter 16
Too close to brainwashing if you ask me.
Trinity glared through the windshield at the aged, but warm exterior of her mother’s house and replayed Ramsay’s off-hand comment for the seven-hundredth time. She tapped out a frantic rhythm on the steering wheel. All this time she’d been scared to death of sharing the truth about her Spiritu heritage, when what she should have been worried about was the possibility her race might fall on the unsavory list.
Didn’t that just figure.
She dropped her hands in her lap and let out a frustrated huff, the new leather seats creaking at her sudden move. Where did Ramsay get off judging the Spiritu anyway? Like one rogue sector should color an entire race? Whatever rogue Spiritu were. Her dad had never mentioned them before. Another topic he’d conveniently sidestepped.
A shadow fell across the driver’s seat and a knock sounded on the window.
Ramsay grinned down at her, the picture-perfect playboy—loose, shoulder-length dark hair with sun-kissed streaks, jeans, and turquoise T-shirt.
She popped the door open and snatched her purse from the passenger’s side. “I didn’t see you pull up.” The door shut with a muted chunk. “Where’s your car?”
“Cars are for fun more than necessity.” He pointed to the sky and steered her around the car with a hand at her elbow. “The friendly skies are faster and easier. Less traffic, no rules.”
She froze so fast her purse nearly whacked her off balance. “Come again?”
The man beamed a shit-eating grin to melt a nun’s panties. “I know I got sidetracked with the explanations last night, but I’m pretty sure we covered telekinesis this morning.”
She lifted both eyebrows and bobbed her head for him to continue.
He mocked the same smug expression back at her, only on a far more playful scale. “So, if I can move a coffee pot and tweak all the right spots on your body with my mind, then I can move me too.” He tapped the tip of her nose and urged her into motion with a tug on her arm.
Trinity dug in and snatched her elbow from his grip. “You’re telling me you fly.”
“I’m telling you I fly.”
“In the sky.”
His lips twitched. “On the ground wouldn’t be flying.”
Smart ass. “Don’t people see you?”
He guided her forward again, this time splaying his big hand at the small of her back. God, the things that man could do with his hands. Or more precisely his fingers. Just thinking about it made her want to bypass her mom’s house and head back home for her next lesson.
“Remember the portal?” he said. “How I masked it? Same thing.”
Oh, yeah. She remembered. Coolest thing she’d ever seen. Levitating a coffee pot times about a million. Gray and white swirls in the form of a mystical cave with pixie dust sparkles thrown into the mix. If she didn’t think it would get Ramsay in hot water, she’d be all over a little adventure trip so she could see the inside next time.
They got to the front door and Trinity fished her keys from the bottom of her purse.
Ramsay held the screen door open. “So, what’s in the box?”
“It’s been a long time since I looked.” The key slid home and she wiggled the bolt until it finally budged. “A brown book. Or a journal, maybe. Some news clippings and a few pictures of my mom, if I remember right.”
“Kind of vague for something unique to your past.”
Trinity led the way into the dark, depressing room. The house had been built in the early sixties, but the decor was stuck in the seventies. How anyone ever found wood paneling attractive she’d never know.
“The one time I tried to see inside didn’t turn out so well.” Her breaths shortened and her throat constricted. For a fall evening, the room sure felt more like August. She shut the door behind them and headed to the kitchen. “I was about thirteen. Mom had left me alone for the first time to go to a church meeting. She’d have never done it if I wasn’t sick.”
“And?”
Trinity checked the kitchen, then her mother’s room. Her mother hadn’t answered when she’d called on the way here, but a little extra caution couldn’t hurt. Carol Blair plus Ramsay Shantos would only equal major pain in the butt for Trinity.
She shrugged as she passed Ramsay and headed to the garage. “Mom forgot something and came back. Caught me looking.”
“So? It’s your stuff, right?”
She opened the back door and flipped on the light. No car. Fingers crossed Mom had a big thing keeping her busy at church.
Oh, who was she kidding? Mom always had a big thing at church. She shut the garage door and faced Ramsay head on. “My mom blames me for Dad dying.”
To his credit, Ramsay didn’t flinch. His eyebrows dipped into a stern V, but otherwise he held stock still.
“He was taking copies of something from the box to a language expert out of town when he was killed by a drunk driver.” It was the first time she’d truly correlated the buzzing sensation with an impending significant event. She’d done everything to stop her adopted father, including telling him she thought something bad was about to happen.
Her mother had been convinced she was evil ever since.
“Your mother blames a seven-year-old kid for a guy getting hit by a drunk driver?”
Trinity strode back through the house and tossed her purse and keys on the sofa on the way to her mother’s room. Funny how it sounded, a logical question next to her mother’s illogical behavior. Her mom had latched onto religion, seeking comfort, and ended up twisting decent teachings into ideas even the most fanatical churches shied away from.
Thank God Kazan had taken his concerns toward Carol’s behavior to the Black King. If he hadn’t been granted dispensation to reveal himself and her heritage to Trinity, she’d have faced the next thirteen years alone with nothing but endless reminders of her evil nature.
“Grief does crazy things to people.” She flipped on the bedroom light. The faded blue comforter and nondescript furniture matched her mother’s worn out demeanor. “Anyway, I never tried to look again. She stuck by me, even with my inability to touch people, and always took care of me. It seemed the least I could do.”
She opened the accordion-style closet doors. Years of conservative clothing hung bunched together, the colors bland as dirt. She shifted the shoeboxes on the top shelf.
Ramsay pulled a few out of her way. “So, the book’s written in a foreign language?”
“I guess so. I never got far enough to see for myself. Dad was trying to honor my heritage. Said it was important I know where I came from.” She dropped her arms and studied the crammed contents of her mother’s closet. Where the heck was her box?
She stroked the pendant beneath her button-down. The memory of the day she’d chanced a peek inside the box flashed as clear as the day it had happened. “Mom tried to take my necklace. I told her I lost it and hid it ever since.” She shook her head and focused on Ramsay. “It’s the only real lie I’ve ever told.”
Well, up until now. Did not sharing her heritage with Ramsay count?
She shoved the hanging clothes aside, checking along the back wall. It had to be here.
It had always been here.
“Something wrong?” Ramsay asked.
“It’s gone.”
Ramsay stepped in closer and checked both sides. “What’s it look like?”
“Dark brown wood. There was a horse carved in the top. Beautiful. With wings like Pegasus.”
Ramsay spun, his eyes sharper even than the night they’d first met. He opened his mouth to speak.
“Trinity?” Her mother’s high-pitched voice rang from the kitchen and the back door slapped shut.
Ramsay snapped to attention. “Your mother?”
She nodded and dove back into her search, shifting and tossing boxes off the shelf and onto the bed behind her. It had to be here. It was hers. All she had of wherever she’d come from.
“What are you doing?”
Trinity spun at her mother’s shrill voice. A sensation she couldn’t quite name rushed from the depths of her stomach to clog her throat. Fury. That was it. Hard, cold, choking fury.
Her mother scowled at Ramsay, seemingly not intimidated by his formidable size and build. “And who are you?”
Trinity lurched between her mother and Ramsay. “Where is it?”
“Where’s what?” The words might have been right, even tinged with the necessary amount of innocent intonation, but her fanatical eyes burned with righteous indignation.
“My box,” Trinity said.
“Notes and scribbles from the devil, you mean.” Carol straightened to the peak of her five-foot frame and flicked a superior glance over Trinity’s shoulder at Ramsay. “I turned them in.”
Trinity inched closer. “Turned them in to who?”
“The authorities,” her mother said. “You saw the mark they found on those videos. It matches the one on the box. I might have been willing to harbor a child in the name of saving a soul, but I won’t protect someone who might cause God-fearing people harm.”
“What the hell is she talking about?” Ramsay’s low voice rumbled behind her, his anger a nearly palpable presence at her back.
“She thinks I’m evil,” Trinity answered.
“What else could you be?” A mottled flush spread across her cheeks, and her skinny frame shook with an eerie kind of energy. “Only a child of Satan would be able to predict the things you do. To warn of her own father’s death. What type of being can’t touch another human soul?”
“That box was mine.” All the long-stuffed loneliness and suffering lumbered its way from the pit of Trinity’s stomach, punching and clawing until her insides roiled with nausea. “I lived with you. Supported you when your family and normal friends abandoned you. Never once disobeyed you. And you give away the only thing I had that was really mine? What is wrong with you?”
“I’m a virtuous Christian woman.”
“You’re so far past Christianity, most churches are terrified to see you sitting in their pews.” Trinity whipped around to Ramsay. “We’re going.”
She stomped out the door, Ramsay’s firm footsteps behind her.
“I know my calling.” Carol’s voice trailed them. “I’ll do the Lord’s work no matter the cost.”
Trinity snatched her purse and keys off the sofa and strode toward the front door. She needed air and about fifty miles between her and her mother’s toxic bullshit. “I’m glad you’re so strong in your convictions, Mother, because they just cost you the only family you had left.”
She swung the door open.
Ramsay pulled her to a stop. “We need that box,” he said low enough only Trinity would hear.
She snapped her gaze to her mother, who hovered at the edge of the living room. “Where is it?”
Carol shook her head, the zealous gleam in her eyes enough to make Trinity’s stomach heave. “With the authorities where it needs to be. They’ve got your contact information as well, though for your sake, I asked they handle matters with as much discretion as possible.”
“For my sake?” What kind of mother not only threw away her child’s history, but tossed her to the wolves of public scrutiny in the name of religion? And Trinity had given up how much of her life trying to stand by her? “You mean for your sake. Heaven forbid people find out you’ve been harboring evil spawn all these years, right?”
Trinity looked at Ramsay. “That memory thing you do. Does it hurt?”
Ramsay shook his head. She’d swear his entire being swelled to that of a giant prepared to attack. Protective and lethal all in one package.
Trinity shut the door, blocking out the early evening sun, and crossed her arms. “Then do it.”
Chapter 17
Ramsay squeezed the steering wheel so hard it was a wonder the reinforced plastic didn’t snap. The world sped by around them, Trinity’s Accord not at all prepared for the punishment of the man driving it.
Trinity stared out the passenger’s side window, her profile troubled and strained, her thumb shuttling back and forth along her lower lip.
He’d never wanted to gut a woman before. Not until he’d blasted through Carol Blair’s memories.
Praise The Great One. The things Trinity had endured. No touch. Her father’s death. The vilest emotional abuse dressed up with the pretense of decency and love. Yet, Trinity was still Trinity. Good. Sweet and considerate.
The steering wheel groaned beneath his torturing grip. He turned onto Trinity’s block and took another calming breath. “Tell me about the premonitions.”
Her thumb stilled.
“Surely you can’t think the concept would surprise me,” he said. “Not with the things I’ve shown you in the last twenty-four hours.”
She clasped her hands in her lap. “I wouldn’t say I predict things. I just get a nasty buzz in the back of my head when something important is about to happen.” She glanced up at him, the hurt in her eyes so fierce and sharp it pierced his heart. “Hardly something to mark me as a child of Satan.”
He zipped her car into the driveway and killed the engine. The sudden silence held a tangible weight. “It could be a sign you’re Myren.”
Her lips tightened and she reached for the door handle.
Ramsay pried himself from the car and met her as she hurried up the sidewalk. “Lexi had something similar. Her intuition was strong her whole life. Turns out one of her gifts is emotional empathy.” He stopped her at the apartment complex door. “There aren’t many seers in Eden, but there are a few. Maybe that’s your thing.”
Trinity shrugged him off and swung the door open. “You need to let it go.”
Like histus he would. Why wouldn’t she even consider it? Lexi had fired right up to the idea. Or at least she had after they’d convinced her she wasn’t in a drug-induced coma and imagining the whole thing. Then again, Trinity had spent her life with a mother accusing her of being evil. Maybe Trinity was afraid to accept anything that seemed supernatural as a birthright.
For the time being, he followed her up the outer-staircase. Two wall sconces cast a cool white glow against the foyer’s stock gray paint. Inside her unit, a single light burned above the kitchen sink, the rest of the place sinking into night’s shadows.
Trinity tossed her keys onto the counter, and the clatter of metal on concrete jolted the quiet. She snagged the unfinished bottle of red from the night before and yanked the cork free with unnecessary force.
Seeing her like this, raw and angry, seemed to cross every synapse in his mind and body until all he could process were sharp, needling shocks. “I need to thank you,” he said.
Trinity hesitated mid-reach for a wine glass. “For what?”
“For offering your mom’s memories.” He slipped behind her and gripped her shoulders. The contact calmed him. Not enough to wash the sensations away entirely, but enough his lungs found a solid rhythm. “Your journal may tell us what we need to know about the prophecy.”
She poured two glasses and re-stoppered the bottle. “You don’t have to thank me. I told you I’d help.” Her voice was cold and flat. Distant.
He gave her time to take a good
, healthy drink, turned her to face him, and pulled the glass from her hand. “We’ll get your box, Trinity.” He set the wine aside and wrapped her up tight, guiding her head to his chest while he stroked the length of her spine. “Jagger and Ludan are already on their way to the police station. They’ll grab your stuff and meet us back here and no one will be the wiser.”
She shoved his chest, not enough to actually make headway, but enough to meet his eyes. “They can’t do that. You’ve got enough problems with the press.”
So sweet. Always thinking about everyone else. Even the ones who’d abused her soul. “The masking, remember? We’re pretty good with locks too, if we know where they are.” He tapped his temple. “Telekinesis has its benefits.”
He tucked her head so it rested against his sternum. “Trust me, as long as the place isn’t up to Fort Knox standards, it’ll be no big deal. Until then, you and I will hole up here and take some time to recoup.”
“I missed so much,” she whispered against his chest. Her fingers dug into his back, almost desperate. “I did everything she asked. Walked and talked the way she said was right. Lived a life so far removed from the world it’s a wonder anyone knows I exist. And for what?” She looked at him. Pain radiated from her nearly black eyes. “I missed everything.”
He cupped the back of her head, barely couching the need to fist the soft strands. He wanted to roar. Fight. Tear someone or something into tiny bits if it would rip that look off her face. “We’ll make up for it,” he said instead. “All of it.”
Her expression shifted, one second lost and agonized, the next as resolute as a man braced for war. She licked her lips. “I still haven’t had sex.”
The Great One be praised. His cock took note and hardened so fast it was a wonder he kept his feet. “I gathered,” he choked out, his voice apparently impacted by the rush of blood to his dick as well.
She tightened her arms around him, crushing those perfect tits of hers against his chest. “I want to fix that.”
Waking Eden (The Eden Series Book 3) Page 14
