by Scarlet Day
“Um, yes, I suppose it would.” She glanced up at the house, the spark of enthusiasm Stefan had spotted moments ago returning to her eyes.
“So here’s my proposal.” Christian’s voice drew her gaze back to his. “I’d like to hire you to paint some pieces for me, maybe even a mural if you’d like. In return, I will provide all of your supplies and room and board. Would that be of interest to you?”
Claire’s mouth fell open. “You want…you want me to…”
Christian grinned. “Yes, very much so. If you’re interested, of course.”
Claire blinked several times and then a slow smile spread across her face. Stefan could have sworn the sun was already up, but when Claire smiled it was as though the morning light had just burst over the courtyard walls for the first time. He had rarely, if ever, seen so much excitement flow from someone as it did from Claire at that moment.
“Yes! Yes, I’m absolutely interested!” Giggles interlaced Claire’s acceptance. Her whole countenance seemed to change in that moment.
Christian grinned. “Excellent! Take a look around the house and feel free to paint something for any of the spaces where you feel a painting would be suitable. I’ll give Stefan the locations of a couple of places where you can get artist supplies nearby and he can accompany you.” He glanced at Stefan, his eyebrows raised. Stefan nodded. Christian smiled and turned back to Claire. “Get whatever you need. You have carte blanche to paint whatever you feel inspired to paint.”
Claire beamed at Christian. “Really? I mean, I don’t need to check with you first to, you know, make sure you approve?”
Christian assured her that she did, indeed, have freedom to do whatever she felt would look best in the space. The look of amazement on Claire’s face was not lost on Stefan. He narrowed his eyes. Stefan may have spent a good number of years behaving like a murderous ass, but he had never mistreated a woman and despised anyone who did. He couldn’t believe it, but Stefan felt genuine interest in seeing what Claire could do. He found himself looking forward to watching her work, which was pretty amazing, considering he hadn’t looked forward to much of anything in a very long time. That realization sparked a possessiveness within Stefan that he was unaccustomed to feeling. He knew, without a doubt, that Claire had been mistreated by someone. He wanted to know how her talent and her spirit would change if she were no longer threatened by whatever demons chased her. The urge to protect her surged through him. It might not be rational, since he had only just met this woman, but Stefan swore to himself that he would make sure those demons never caught up with her.
Chapter Six
Being alive for well over three hundred years had taught Christian a few things. He knew how to be observant. He could understand a great deal about someone by reading their body language. He knew which supernatural creatures he could trust and which ones he couldn’t. He had learned to be patient and calculating. He could also make a mean sangria.
But the skill he focused on the most at this moment was his ability to analyze and investigate a given situation. Or in this case, an individual. There were things he wanted to know about his new houseguest, things that concerned him. He hadn’t missed the slip of her tongue when she had introduced herself in the pub the night before. She had been about to say Moran, or Morales, or some other name that began with Mor. He had run an internet search for Claire Mor and turned up nothing of relevance. He then searched for Claire Jernigan and received over three million results. He browsed through several pages of the available photo images and saw none that resembled Claire.
Christian had offered to accompany her to retrieve her car the night before, but Claire had insisted on getting it herself and meeting him at the casa. He hadn’t wanted her walking through the dark streets with Atticus on the prowl, but she had been insistent. Christian had relented, not wanting to scare her off by coming across as too persistent. He had left her with his address and instructions on where to find the parking lot he owned across the street.
He picked up a pen and some paper off of his desk and walked over to the window on the east side of his office. The small parking lot across the street had been the one he had directed Claire to and held most of his guest’s vehicles. He pulled his binoculars off the bookshelf next to the window and jotted down as many license plates as he could see from his second-floor vantage point. If none of them turned up the information he sought, he’d walk over and collect the rest.
Beyond his goal to prevent Atticus from collecting Claire’s soul for his sadistic master, Christian’s protectiveness regarding Claire confused him. He had made a point not to get too involved with mortals. Oh, he had spent the night in more than a few beds over the last three centuries and had shared his own bed with countless unattached guests, but never for more than a few nights with each woman. So why was he taking such an interest in this one?
Maybe it was the contradictions he saw in her. Youth and weariness. Defiance and vulnerability. Strength and weakness. Maybe she was just a puzzle that he wanted to figure out. Christian scoffed and shook his head, knowing he was kidding himself if he thought that was the sole reason. His protectiveness was not borne out of his desire to solve a puzzle.
Christian pushed the thoughts aside and began his internet search. He pulled up his favorite license plate search site, the one he used when someone illegally parked on the street in front of the casa or in the small, private lot reserved for his guests. He entered the numbers from the cars across the street and waited for the results.
Moments later, he stared at his computer screen. The silver BMW with Colorado license plates across the street was registered to someone named Mark Morgan. A few more minutes of searching turned up property records in Mr. Morgan’s name for a home in Denver, valued at over seven million dollars.
Christian wasn’t finished. He searched other public records and newspaper archives, looking for anything that linked Claire to the owner of the car. His search complete, he sat back in his chair, disturbed by the newspaper article and accompanying photo he had unearthed.
In the photo, Claire stared up at Mark Morgan, her face alight with happiness and hope. She had been an angelic vision in white on her wedding day. Her new husband, rather than looking back into the adoring eyes of his bride, had stared straight into the camera, a smug smile turning up his lips. Christian had looked into many, many eyes over the last three hundred years and, even in a photo, he recognized arrogance and cruelty when he saw it.
The newspaper photo was dated less than four years ago, but the woman staying in his home might as well have been a different person from the girl in the photo. The Claire he had met last night and talked with this morning seemed to be a mere shadow of her former self. Her eyes no longer held the hope for the future that they had displayed in the wedding photo.
Christian didn’t have to think very hard to know where that hope had gone and why Claire was in Florida using a fake last name. Her current circumstances, combined with her limp, the way she protected her left arm, and her lack of confidence all added up to one thing. Mark Morgan liked to beat his wife.
Anger and agitation forced Christian to his feet and he paced across the office. He couldn’t abide anyone, human or otherwise, who preyed on weaker beings. It was the reason he often roamed the city’s streets at night, on watch for those who looked for victims. And as far as he was concerned, men who abused their wives, the very women who loved them and placed the hopes of their future in them, were among the lowest of the low.
The thought of Claire being beaten, her bones broken and her body bruised and battered, turned Christian’s stomach. He had never been able to take a wife for himself. But if he had, she would have been treated as though she were the most precious thing in the world to him. Because she would have been.
He stopped at the window and stared down at the BMW across the street. He had a bad feeling about that car, and if he had a bad feeling about something, he knew damn well he’d better listen to it. He pulled his cel
l phone out of his pocket and punched in a number. It was one he used when he had certain unique tasks to accomplish. The phone on the other end rang once before it was answered.
“Dave, I have a job for you.” Christian didn’t wait for any pleasantries, knowing they weren’t needed. He looked back down at the BMW. “I need you to steal a car.”
Christian provided the details for the job and ended the call. He stalked back over to his desk and narrowed his eyes at the bastard in the photo on his computer screen. Mark Morgan had better hope he never crossed Christian’s path. Because three hundred years had taught him something else that he would take great pleasure in demonstrating for Mr. Morgan.
It had taught Christian how to kill.
Chapter Seven
Claire stepped back from the wall to get a better look at what she had accomplished so far. The outlines of her vision were taking shape against the stark walls surrounding Christian’s bedroom doors. She had been working on it since she and Stefan got back from the art supply store yesterday, only stopping long enough to eat and get a few hours of sleep. She didn’t have more than the basic elements sketched onto the wall so far, but she could already tell the end result would be perfect for the space. The finished painting would add some much needed life to this corridor.
She had prowled the rooms of the casa, looking for empty places that spoke to her artistic sensibilities. She had taken note of several places she thought a painting would be appropriate. But none cried out to her as much as this place. The majority of the casa was decorated with the touch of someone who knew of the finer things in life, with rich tapestries, antiques, and fine furnishings. Artwork already adorned many of the walls, some of it with a local flair and some by the old masters she recognized from her art classes in college. She didn’t think the paintings were reproductions, either. The fact that Christian had asked her to contribute her own talent to the already stunning casa was a little overwhelming.
Her instincts and the evidence she saw in this home indicated that Christian and Stefan were wealthy, maybe even more so than Mark. But the brothers wore it in a manner so unlike Mark. Where Mark flaunted his wealth with arrogance and superiority, Christian and Stefan seemed humble and unpretentious. They didn’t wear their wealth as something to be waved in the face of those less fortunate.
She had noticed other differences between the brothers and her husband, as well. Whenever she had looked into Mark’s eyes, she saw an emptiness there, as though she were looking into a black hole. She believed everyone had a soul, but she thought Mark’s soul was so tainted with greed, murder, and corruption that she figured he had sold it to the devil long ago.
Christian and Stefan held emptiness in their eyes as well, but it wasn’t the same black nothingness Mark possessed. Claire wasn’t sure what the brothers’ emptiness stemmed from, but instead of repelling her the way Mark’s did, it seemed to pull her in. It made her more curious about the two men.
This corridor seemed to be a reflection of the emptiness she saw in the brother’s eyes, Christian’s in particular. It was almost as though he had intentionally left this corridor empty, all life and color banished from the space leading to his bedroom. But just as this corridor cried out to Claire for life to be brought to it, so too did the men who owned this casa.
Claire shook her head and resumed her outline. She wasn’t here to figure out why two men who seemed to have everything going for them carried emptiness in their hearts and souls. She was going to paint, do some sightseeing, and try to enjoy herself for once. Just the simple act of working on the outline for this mural seemed to have a liberating effect on her. Even her familiar aches and pains seemed less severe when her mind was occupied with her art.
She remembered the last time she had tried to paint a mural. She had been married for almost a year. Mark had been gone for a few days and she’d gotten bored, so she had started a mural of the Italian countryside on a blank wall of the foyer. She had been so excited and anxious for Mark to see it. But when he’d gotten home, he had been furious at her for altering their house without his permission. He had called painters to come to the house and cover her work and then he had thrown out all of her art supplies. That was when the beatings had started, as well.
Claire shuddered and tried to put the memories behind her. Those memories were the reason she had been so stunned and grateful when Christian had given her carte blanche to paint whatever she wanted. Her own husband would not allow her to use her talents in their home, yet a complete stranger was willing to allow her to paint whatever she wanted.
Relief flooded through her, as it had so many times since she’d left Denver. That life was over and there was no way in hell she would be dragged back to it. She would rather die than spend another day under the brutal control of her husband. Granted, dying was what she knew with absolute certainty would happen when Mark found her. But at least she’d had the opportunity to meet Christian and Mark and learn that she could still experience kindness and happiness. It was worth the trade-off.
“That’s going to be beautiful, dear.” Claire spun at the woman’s voice behind her. The older woman who was staying at the casa with her husband gazed up at Claire’s outline.
Claire felt heat flood her cheeks. She wasn’t used to compliments. “Thank you. I hope Christian likes it.”
The woman walked closer to the wall to get a better look at Claire’s work. “Oh, I think he will.” She focused her keen gaze on Claire and her lips turned up in a knowing smile. “My Henry and I have been coming down here for…oh, must be nine or ten years now. Whenever it gets too cold for our old bones up north. And I can tell you, there’s been more life in Christian’s eyes in the last day than I’ve ever seen in them.”
“Good evening, ladies.” Christian had rounded the corner and walked toward them. “Beth, I see you’ve met Claire. She’ll be adding some artwork to our blank walls.”
The woman studied Christian and then winked at Claire. “Oh, I think she’ll be adding more than that to the old place.” She chuckled and turned to walk back toward the staircase.
Claire stared after her in confusion, not quite sure she knew what the last comment meant. She glanced at Christian and realized he was staring at her with an odd look on his face. Her skin pricked with self-consciousness.
“Well, um…I better get back to work.” She turned back to her sketch.
“Claire,” Christian’s voice made her turn back to him. He nodded to the mural with an intense and complicated look in his eyes. “Good choice.”
“Oh, um, thanks.” She turned back to the wall and resumed outlining with her art pencil, not paying much attention to what she drew. She felt Christian’s stare on her for a few more minutes. She struggled to control her breathing and the fast skip of her heart, unsure as to why she was reacting this way. When she heard his footsteps recede down the hall, she turned and stared at his back as he walked away.
Yes, Claire had to admit there was something about him that pulled at her. The question was, how long could she resist that pull?
Chapter Eight
Stefan opened the door of the coffee shop and waited for Claire to walk out onto the crowded sidewalk before following her. This was the second day that he had escorted her around town to see some of the historic sites. They had broken the news to Claire about her “stolen” car and promised to accompany her to all of the sites she wished to visit while the authorities worked to locate her vehicle. Stefan knew they might have a difficult time with that, considering it now sat at the bottom of a lake near Orlando. And besides, Stefan was enjoying himself far more than he knew he should.
Christian had told him Atticus was in town. Stefan had run into him on a few occasions over the last couple of centuries during the course of his travels. Atticus had even been the one who carried off the souls of some of Stefan’s victims back during his vengeful days. It had never bothered him before. Stefan knew Atticus wasn’t evil. Granted, he served an evil master, but that was a
choice Atticus had made long ago. Stefan had once gotten the impression that Atticus wished he could undo that decision, but once he had committed himself there was no turning back. Atticus had given up whatever illusion he had once held of escaping the bonds of his master and now seemed to accept his job without complaint.
Stefan understood the bonds Atticus was under, but the idea of the dark reaper taking Claire’s soul annoyed the hell out of him. Stefan was having a difficult time reconciling the notion that the young woman standing in the afternoon sun next to him was destined to die soon. From what he had seen, Christian wasn’t warming up to the idea, either.
For the last two nights, Stefan had watched Claire work on the mural outside Christian’s bedroom. She didn’t seem to sleep much and she worked into the early morning hours. Stefan could sleep if he wanted to, but it wasn’t a necessity. He found watching Claire paint to be a much more fascinating activity. She seemed to lose her meekness and uncertainty with every brush stroke, as though the act of putting color to blank walls was reviving the spirit inside her. Christian had joined them in the corridor during most of the previous two nights. Sometimes they talked, but mostly they just sat on the floor and watched her work in comfortable silence.
Based on the things he and Christian knew, or suspected, about Claire’s husband, Stefan wasn’t surprised that she had been timid and nervous when she first arrived in St. Augustine. Both he and his brother would relish treating the bastard who had abused Claire to some of his own medicine, if ever given the opportunity. Stefan was even willing to go to Denver and make his own opportunity. It wouldn’t be the first time he had hunted someone down and made them answer for their crimes.
But their first priority was Claire. Christian had made contacts within the supernatural community to attempt to find a light reaper who wasn’t already occupied. It wasn’t easy. Dark reapers seemed to outnumber the light by a larger and larger margin with each passing century. If they couldn’t find a light reaper in time, Claire’s soul would be left to Atticus for the taking.
