Dark Warrior Mine (The Children Of The Gods Paranormal Romance Series Book 7)

by I. T. Lucas

  Wheels squealing in protest, Andrew skidded into one, threw the gear into park, and got out. Slamming the door behind him, he practically ran all the way to Kian’s office hoping not to be the last one.

  Damn, he hated to walk into a room full of people who he had kept waiting.

  But as he got there, he saw through the glass doors that everyone was already there: Onegus, William, Anandur and of course—Kian.

  He pushed inside. “Sorry, guys. I swear, one of these days that goddamned traffic is going to give me an aneurysm.” He grabbed one of the chairs surrounding the conference table and brought it to face Kian’s desk.

  Rapping his fingers on its surface, Kian tilted his head and lifted one corner of his mouth in a sardonic smile. “There is an easy solution and a tough one. The easy one is you quit working for Uncle Sam and come work for us full time, therefore, no more nasty commute. The other is you grow a set and attempt the transition, after which heart attacks and aneurysms will no longer be a concern.”

  Andrew unbuttoned his blazer and sat down. “If I quit my government work, I will no longer have access to the shitloads of information you find so valuable. And if I go for the transition and end up dead, we both lose, again. I’d rather live with the traffic and take my chances with my fragile human heart.”

  At his age, going for the transition was an iffy proposition at best. The only two other examples the clan had of turning adult Dormants were Michael, who was no more than twenty years old and had handled it no problem, and Syssi, who was not yet twenty-six and almost hadn’t made it at all.

  So yeah, he’d rather live out his short human life than reach for the pie in the sky and drop dead.

  “Can’t argue with your logic.” Onegus grimaced and clapped Andrew’s shoulder.

  “I don’t know.” William shook his head and shifted in his chair, readjusting his bulk to get more comfortable. Andrew could’ve sworn that William had gotten fatter since the last time he’d seen him, which was just a little over two weeks ago. The guy needed to cut down on the amount of junk he was eating. “If it were me, I would’ve gone for it, and the sooner the better. Every day you procrastinate, is another day your body ages. It would only get worse.”

  “I concur.” Anandur winked. “There are a number of ladies who’d be very happy to get their hands on a new immortal male. You’re missing out, buddy.”

  Anandur could stuff his opinion up his ass, but William had a point. Still, this meeting was supposed to be about Alex, and not about Andrew gaining immortality by attempting suicide.

  “Okay, guys, that’s enough about me. How ’bout we move on to the purpose of this chatty get-together.”

  “The private investigator that I hired to watch the boat has been scratching his balls for the past two weeks, observing absolutely nothing. The boat stays moored at Marina Del Rey, and Alex didn’t visit even once. His Russian crew comes and goes, but none of them bring any friends aboard, male or female. I think we need to come up with a new strategy. Unless, you think that we need to wait until something happens.” Kian looked at Andrew, one brow cocked in question.

  “Keep the private eye there. Stakeouts are never as exciting as they are portrayed in the movies. They take time, sometimes months, and are mostly about being bored out of your mind and eating too much pizza.”

  “Okay, I have no problem with that, but how about upping the ante?”

  “I say we go after the Russians,” Anandur said as he got up and walked over to the buffet. He grabbed a pastry from the tray that had been left there, most likely by Okidu, Kian’s butler.

  “Bring the whole thing over here.” William waved his hand, practically salivating in anticipation. Though Andrew wondered why the guy hadn’t helped himself to something before. Perhaps he was one of those overweight people who were embarrassed to eat in front of others.

  Anandur stuffed the pastry into his mouth, holding it with his teeth as he grabbed the long tray by the handles and brought it over to Kian’s desk.

  Eh, what the hell, why not. Andrew snatched a cheese Danish.

  “How do you suggest we go about that?” Kian asked.

  Anandur finished chewing and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Easy, seduce one of the bitches.”

  Onegus snorted. “You volunteer?”

  Anandur shrugged. “Why not? I’ll do it. I’m not too picky.”

  “Damn right,” Onegus confirmed. “I’ve seen some of the skanks you’ve been picking up.”

  “As if you snag only beauty queens, you pompous bastard.”

  “Better looking than yours, that’s for sure.”

  William looked uncomfortable and reached for a croissant.

  “Can I go now?” Andrew asked, “I have better things to do than listening to who scores with whom.”

  Anandur looked like he wanted to fire up a retort, but all he did was to open his mouth and then close it like a fish out of water.

  Kian raised his hand. “So, let me get it straight. You are going to charm the pants off one of the Russians and pump her for information. Is that what you suggest?”

  “Information and otherwise.” Anandur winked.

  William stuffed another pastry in his mouth.

  Kian leaned forward and fixed his intense blue stare on Anandur. “How?”

  “You know, I’ll start with a light caress” —he demonstrated on his own thigh—“move on to a feathery kiss, right here”—he tilted his head and pointed to a spot on his neck—

  Andrew snorted. Onegus’s shoulders shook with stifled laughter. William continued munching with gusto.

  Kian didn’t even blink. “I meant, where are you going to meet one of them? And how are you going to introduce yourself? Who are you going to say you are?”

  “Deck cleaner.” Anandur pumped out his chest and smiled. “Short, frayed shorts and no shirt, a bucket of sudsy water, and a sponge. Works for next to nothing too. You think there’ll be a female in the vicinity who wouldn’t want a piece of that?” His hand made a sweeping motion over his chest and lower.

  Onegus groaned.

  Kian nodded but then turned to Andrew. “What do you think?”

  Andrew shrugged. “Worth a try.”

  “Then it’s agreed. The Russians are yours, Anandur, do your worst. Next. William, what’s the status with the surveillance?”

  William swallowed the last piece of the pastry he’d been eating, licked his fingers clean, and then wiped his hands on his billowing Hawaiian shirt. “The team working on the drone will need another month, at the least. But if Anandur is going to infiltrate enemy territory, he can plant some listening devices for us.”

  Great idea. Andrew should’ve thought of it first, but, apparently, William’s quick-thinking, brilliant mind wasn’t restricted only to things related to computers and electronics.

  “Do you need me to get you some? But this time, you’ll have to pay for them. I can’t keep supplying you with government stuff. As it is, I’m already afraid of accounting coming down on my ass for appropriating too many devices. And, potentially, they can involve internal affairs.”

  Kian looked irate. “Of course, not. You should have said something before. You know money is no object.”

  “I know. At the time, it was just more expedient.”

  “It’s all taken care of,” William interjected. “After the one you’ve planted in the Doomers’ rented Beverly Hills mansion, I ordered a bunch, and I am working on modifications.” He turned to Anandur. “Stop by my place tomorrow. I’ll have a couple ready for you.”

  “By the way, Andrew, what’s going on over there? Anything interesting?” Kian asked.

  “Dalhu’s team was sent home, and the place has been rented out again. Unfortunately, it was all done without providing us with any clues about their new center of operations. They probably communicated via email, which I failed to monitor. My bad.”

  “Water under the bridge. We move on.”

  Chapter 7: Nathalie

/>   “A cappuccino for Melanie and a latte for Daphne!” Nathalie called out.

  On their way to collect their drinks, the teenagers passed by her father and giggled, exchanging hand gestures that didn’t require familiarity with the American sign language to interpret.

  Nathalie sighed.

  Today was a particularly bad day. Not that any of them were easy, things were just getting worse as her father’s dementia progressed. But most days, he just sat in his booth, the last one in the row, mumbling to himself quietly.

  Since this morning, though, Fernando had taken a turn for the worse, or the bizarre as it may be. He was loud, arguing with what seemed like a group of imaginary people, waving his hands and pointing at the air around him.

  It could’ve been worse. She shouldn’t complain. The doctors had assured Nathalie that her father’s dementia was eating up his brain at a much slower rate than the norm. She was lucky that he could still recognize her and was able to control his bodily functions, which was no less important.

  She had no idea what she was going to do once this grace period ended. One day at a time, it was all she could manage. Stressing about the future was a luxury she didn’t have energy or time for.

  Right now, the only thing she could do to calm him down was to sit down beside him and talk to him, or rather at him. It was more the sound of her voice than the words themselves that usually did the trick.

  Simple enough, but a tough one to pull off without someone to help with the customers. She was the only one here, taking orders, making coffees, preparing sandwiches, and washing the dishes. Not to mention that she’d been up since four in the morning, baking today’s assortment of pastries.

  Damn, where the hell was Tiffany?

  At first, Nathalie had thought her one and only waitress had flaked up on her. Sometimes, Tiffany would get info about an audition and in her rush and excitement forget to call and let Nathalie know.

  But when yet another day passed, and the girl hadn’t shown up, Nathalie called her. The phone had rang for a long time before going to Tiffany’s voicemail.

  Nathalie had left a message—an angry one.

  A day later, Nathalie called again and left another message—a worried one this time. Perhaps, Tiffany had gotten offended, or scared by the scathing tone of her previous voicemail and that was why she hadn’t called back.

  Still, she’d gotten no response.

  Since then, she’d been calling every couple of hours, hoping to catch Tiffany before being sent to voicemail. She had even borrowed a customer’s cell phone, hoping Tiffany would pick up a call from an unknown number thinking it was about one of her auditions.

  She’d gotten the damn recording again.

  Nathalie couldn’t shake the feeling that something had happened to the girl. Tiffany’s address was in her employee file, so potentially she could’ve driven there and asked the girl’s roommates what was going on. Except, what would’ve been easy for most anyone else, would have required a Herculean effort from her, considering the fact that she would’ve had to schlep her father along because there was no one she could leave him with. And leaving him alone, even for a few minutes, was a big no-no.

  Whenever she needed to spend more than a moment in the bathroom, Nathalie had to lock the door from the inside and hide the key. It seemed as if Fernando was just waiting for an opportunity to run away and wander the streets.

  He reminded her of a cat she’d had when she was a kid. Fritz had been a house cat who’d unfortunately refused to accept his elevated status as a beloved pet, thinking of himself as a mighty mouse hunter instead. The cat would shoot out like a rocket the moment someone opened the door.

  Poor Fritz had probably ended up as a coyote snack.

  Fernando would just get lost. The dog tags she had him wear at all times meant that good people would bring him back, or call her to come get him. Problem was, not everyone was good, and there were plenty of coyotes of the human kind around.

  You should’ve put him in a home a long time ago, Tut said inside her head.

  She turned her back to the pastries display and hissed, “Stop saying it. I’m never going to do it. He’ll die if I do.”

  I know, Tut said, sounding sad, then faded away.

  This was surprising; she hadn’t expected him to give up so easily, or to agree, he was way more contrary than this. And it wasn’t as if she herself was convinced of the veracity of her statement. Maybe an institution that specialized in dementia and Alzheimer’s could actually benefit her father. But in her bones, Nathalie knew that Fernando would wither and die if she were to abandon him to some institution. He was hanging in there and doing better than other patients afflicted with the same disease because he was with her, surrounded by the familiar smells of baked goods and seeing new faces every day.

  So yeah, it was tough, and she didn’t have much of a life, but she was all he had, and he was all she had.

  Well, other than Tut.

  She wondered where her ghost, or rather the figment of her own malfunctioning brain, went when he wasn’t bugging her. Was there some other dimension where ghosts and figments hung out together?

  He must’ve been lonely if there wasn’t.

  The only good thing about her quitting college and coming back to take care of her father was her semi-liberation from Tut. Her cerebral roommate was bored out of existence—his words—with her new life. So much so that he didn’t want to hang around. Much. Luckily, he still kept enough of a presence to keep the other voices at bay.

  Thinking of what would’ve happened if Tut had left her permanently, Nathalie shuddered. As annoying as he was, having to endure just one voice was infinitely better than the onslaught she’d suffered before he’d come to her rescue and stayed, appointing himself the guardian of the gateway to her brain and holding back all the other voices clamoring to be heard.

  You’re welcome.

  Don’t let it get to your head. You’re only the lesser evil, doesn’t mean that you’re good.

  Everything in life is a compromise, my dear.

  And in death?

  She heard his laugh as he began fading. Nice try, Nattie.

  Argh, she could’ve strangled him if he were real. The annoying jerk never answered any questions about the other side. Using that nickname had been his way of getting back at her for asking. He knew how much she detested it.

  Nutty Nattie had been buried six feet under, together with all the other unpleasant memories from high school.

  College had been good. No one had known her, and she had done her damnedest not to get caught talking to herself. Occasionally she’d still slipped, especially when Tut was goading her, talking nasty about any guy she’d found attractive. But she’d managed to hide it, always having a set of earphones in her ears as camouflage. If someone had seen her talking to no one, they’d assumed she was mouthing the words of a song she was listening to.

  Cellphones and Bluetooth had been a godsend. Everyone looked as if they were nuts.

  “Thank you. Goodbye.” The teenagers waved and stepped outside, the small bells she’d hung on the door clanging when it opened and then again as it closed. It was a precaution, in case her father tried to sneak out behind her back.

  Damn, what was she, the Bermuda Triangle that people around her kept disappearing?

  Her mother had been missing for six long years. But despite the pitying looks from the police detective who had been assigned to the case, Nathalie refused to accept that Eva was dead. She had to believe her mother was alive somewhere and had a damn good reason for not getting in touch with her only daughter or at least letting her know that she was alive. Though the only excuse Nathalie would find acceptable was that Eva had been suffering from amnesia.

  And now Tiffany. But Nathalie didn’t dare file another missing person’s report. First of all, the girl might be perfectly fine and had just quit without notice. And second, if she reported another person missing, the police might start suspecting her of fo
ul play.

  Nathalie chuckled. They’d think she was doing away with people.

  She noticed it had become quiet in the shop and glanced at her father. He’d stopped arguing with his phantoms and was conducting a quiet and civilized conversation with just one.

  Funny, how she could relate. Though, in her case, she couldn’t blame dementia. When Fernando had first started showing signs of hallucinating, she’d been sure that he was suffering from the same thing she did, and even tried to find out more about his apparitions. But she’d soon realized that what he was seeing and hearing was very different. His imaginary people had no names and didn’t stick around—just random phantoms.

  At the moment, they were alone in the coffee shop, and she walked over to his booth and sat down.

  “Hello, my love.” Fernando leaned and kissed her cheek. “You are as beautiful as ever.”

  It took her a second to realize he thought she was Eva. She took his hand. “It’s me, Papi, Nathalie.”

  The fog clouding his eyes receded, and for a moment, they looked lucid as he regarded her. “Yes, of course you are, my Nathalie. Who else has a voice of an angel?”

  She smiled at him through the tears prickling the back of her eyes. “Nobody, only your Nathalie.” It was the answer she’d been giving him since she learned how to talk.

  “That’s right, my sweet little girl, Nathalie.”

  Chapter 8: Bhathian

  For a guy who was rarely motivated to look at his own reflection, Bhathian was spending a hell of a lot of time in front of his fucking bathroom mirror.

  Not that what was staring back at him showed much improvement, despite his best efforts.

  After his morning workout, he’d stopped by Anandur’s barber and had gotten a trim and a good shave. Regrettably, the change was marginal.

  He looked like a surly son of a bitch. Or worse.

  People still crossed over to the other side when they got a gander of him, and he could still clear a supermarket’s aisle faster than an announcement of a free giveaway at the checkout counter. You’d think he was an ogre who ate babies for breakfast or something.