Hope For More (Trinity Book 3)

by Devin Fontaine

  Circe cocked her head and grinned. “Why don’t we discuss this elsewhere?”

  Famine skimmed through his options. On one hand, he had confidence he could defeat the sorceress should it come to a fight, though he had no doubts he would incur damage, potentially severe in nature, which would set back his plans. On the other hand, mayhap he had been rash in dismissing Circe all those years ago. Having endured centuries of failure on his own, having the ability to open the portal at all was better than nothing. With Circe, there a chance, no matter how small, that his brothers would escape when she cast the spell to open it.

  Decision made, Famine swallowed down the burning fury and nodded. “There’s a rock outcropping at the top of the falls—”

  “I know it well.” She dipped her chin and vanished.

  Famine growled. Dismissed by the sorceress again.

  Despite her disrespect, a mixture of hope and fury trickled through his blackened and corroded veins. Aye, Famine loathed spending time in Circe’s company and her constant, whinging demands. But when he dismissed her all those years ago, Famine presumed he’d own a class nine by the end of the century at the latest.

  Oh how badly he miscalculated.

  In a blink, Famine dematerialized from the alley to follow the female.

  Hold tight, brothers. Soon, you shall be free, and together we shall decimate this pathetic Earthly plane and everything on it. Then… Michael shall be ours.

  CHAPTER 1

  “H élory, do you have your summaries of the statements Tony and Joan took from the witnesses at club Indecent?” Thomas didn’t glance up from the endless stacks of papers he had spread out in a haphazard looking, yet organized manner, to cover the entire surface of the large conference room table.

  “They’re in your email. As always.”

  He stopped mid-sift to glance at St. Yves Hélory, one of his assistant district attorneys. Yves, or Justice as the male preferred to be called, was giving Thomas a familiar wise-ass expression. One Thomas knew all too well. The expression Justice called upon whenever he thought Thomas to be acting like an anti-technology, dated, fifteenth-century, old fart.

  With an extra-long, overly dramatic sigh, Thomas scrubbed a hand across his stubbled chin, then scratched at it with his blunt nails. “Justice, you well know I prefer my documents to be laid out in front of me, on paper, whilst in court.” Yves despised the very French name he was saddled with at birth. A century and a half ago—someone, though Thomas couldn’t recall whom—jokingly called the male Justice, an homage to Hélory’s bull in a china shop, indefatigable, relentless pursuit of the truth. Yves liked the nickname, and insisted upon its use from that moment henceforth.

  Justice pushed his black-framed glasses up his nose—worn for appearance, not necessity, as immortals have perfect vision—with his middle finger, which didn’t escape Thomas’s notice, and focused his hazel-green stare upon him. The corners of Justice’s kind eyes crinkled with amusement and Thomas knew he was about to be on the receiving end of a smart-ass reply to match the male’s smart-ass expression.

  “The notes shall be in front of you, you stodgy old coot. On the computer, in your email.” Justice spoke slowly, enunciating each word as if Thomas were a developmentally stunted human child. “You do know what a computer is, aye? That tiny, magical metal box which contains any and all information you could ever possibly need for a trial.” The corner of his coworker’s mouth twitched whilst his eyes radiated a playful sparkle.

  Justice was well known for his sharp wit and playful jabs. Thomas didn’t mind being at the receiving end, in fact, because the job they did day in and day out was serious and depressing around ninety percent of the time, he found Justice’s disposition refreshing. They’d worked together for so long, there were times Thomas actually looked forward to the ADA’s sarcastic, biting wit.

  Thomas didn’t bother to hide his grin. “Don’t be a shit. I know full well what a computer is.”

  “Then use it. This isn’t the sixteenth century.” Justice’s gaze roved back and forth in an exaggerated manner as he pretended to scour the room. Coming to some sort of conclusion, with a dramatic flourish, Justice threw his hands out to his sides and scoffed. “I see no scrolls or ink pots. No parchment or quills. Do you?”

  Thomas barked out an unexpected laugh and pointed accusingly at his friend. “Someday, Hélory, that smart mouth of yours shall bite you right where it hurts.”

  “One can only hope,” he replied with a wink and a smirk. Thomas shook his head. Smart-ass. Justice picked up a folder and offered it across the table, bowing dramatically. “Your notes, my good sir.” It was clear the male was trying, and failing, to smother a grin.

  “Thanks, brat.” Thomas swiped the file from his hand. Their stares met again and Thomas’s grew serious. “I mean it. Many thanks, my friend. For your help. And I appreciate your levity. This case has been… difficult.” Thomas gave Justice a sharp nod of acknowledgement and the ADA returned the gesture with a military-style salute.

  Justice Hélory knew Thomas better than most, and no doubt understood exactly how much this particular case tormented his soul. Today, they were to call upon the first of the witnesses in the trial against Balor Daegan, the djinn who attacked Hope Hartley—Daegan was a common name adopted of Balor’s kind, sort of like the Smith of the Underworld. Since he gave his opening statement a week ago, Thomas found sleep difficult to come by. The subsequent exhaustion made him short on patience and long on irritation, his temper boiling over on a regular basis, usually at his one of his coworker’s expense. The pressure to not fail Hope, to get a conviction for the sweet human female, ate away at him every minute of every day. With how close he and Justice worked together for as long as they did, it didn’t come as a surprise that Thomas’s astute ADA noticed his mood swings and the dramatic change in Thomas’s personality as of late.

  They exited the room and Thomas locked the door, that specific conference room dedicated solely to Hope’s case—Thomas’s office being much too small to spread out the way he preferred, what with all his antiquated papers and what not—and the males headed toward the warded courtrooms. Justice kept pace at Thomas’s side.

  “You sure you’re all right?” Justice tried to sound casual but Thomas heard his underlying concern. “I’ve worked with you for centuries, my friend, and one thing I’ve come to rely upon is that, in truth, nothing rattles you., Normally, you’re as steady and unflappable an immortal as any I’ve met.”

  Thomas laid a hand on Justice’s arm and coaxed him to a stop in the wide marble hall. “It’s just this case…”

  Thomas’s mind flipped through a dozen explanations for his wildly fluctuating behavior, yet none seemed appropriate to confess to a coworker, particularly due to the fact that Hope Hartley was not only a client, but more importantly, a victim. Revealing his attraction to the human female could get Thomas removed from the case for conflict of interest despite that, in truth, he’d never laid a finger on the girl. Proceeding with caution, he decided to keep his excuse tame.

  “Let’s just say it’s important to me that we convict the djinn. His vile actions have wormed their way under my skin. You and I know full well it’s not often an immortal dares to use his or her powers in the presence of a human. I guess this particular instance simply hit me hard. Everyone has a breaking point.” Thomas shrugged. “Now I know mine.”

  Justice nodded in agreement. “That’s the other thing I must needs ask. When immortals use their powers in front of humans, it is not standard procedure to take the human’s memories? This leads me to wonder… why is it that this specific human female’s memory has yet to be altered? Why go through the human part of the trial?”

  Thomas stiffened and his fingers curled into his palms. Human brains were delicate things. Even the best practitioner had been known to make a mistake here and there, accidentally wiping every last one of a poor human’s memories. It would be over his immortal existence that anyone would get close enough to ta
mper with Hope’s beautiful mind.

  Before he could check himself, Thomas’s feet moved. The files tucked under his arm fell and scattered upon the floor, freeing his hands to twist the front of Justice’s shirt and fist the material tight. The next thing he knew, Thomas had slammed the ADA against the nearest wall and was snarling in the male’s face like a rabid Hellhound.

  “Don’t even think of having someone alter Hope Hartley’s mind,” he spat. The immortals stood so close their noses nearly touched. Had his vision not been clouded by rage, Thomas would have seen the fear in his friend’s shocked gaze.

  Justice’s eyes widened and his jaw hung slack, though he made no move to free himself from Thomas’s hold. “Thomas…”

  The shock and alarm in the ADA’s voice penetrated Thomas’s red haze of fury. With a blink, he snapped out of his trance, horrified at the realization he assaulted Justice, a male he liked and worked with, in the bloody courthouse! Shame and regret twisted and churned in Thomas’s stomach and his lungs started to ache. He released Justice’s shirt and took several steps back. Thomas’s hands shook and his face burned at both his loss of control and the fact he potentially exposed his intimate—and highly inappropriate—feelings with regards to a human in front of a coworker and close friend.

  “Apologies,” he mumbled, erecting a blank, emotionless facade to deter further scrutiny. Thomas pretended to dust off his suit whilst Justice straightened his own. Without uttering another word, Thomas crouched and gathered his strewn papers. Once he collected them all, he stood and cleared his throat.

  Fates. This is awkward.

  He ducked his gaze and since he knew not what to say, he simply blurted out, “Let’s get to the courtroom. We can’t afford to be late today.”

  Thomas felt the heat of Justice’s stare, the male’s eyes practically singeing holes in the back of his head. Avoiding another confrontation, Thomas kept his gaze pointed forward and held his body rigid, allowing no emotion to show through the facade.

  Fates, what had he been thinking?

  That was the point, he supposed. He hadn’t been thinking. Thomas made an impulsive decision and a serious error in judgment. A knee-jerk reaction that he couldn’t allow to occur again. No more mistakes could be made to jeopardize this case. The djinn was to be banished, no matter the cost to Thomas or damage inflicted upon his psyche due to his inexplicable, deep and emotional attachment to Hope Hartley. An attachment he must needs ignore.

  He would do this for Hope, even if every time he left her side he died a little inside.

  “YOU’LL BE FINE, SIS.” Garrett gathered Hope close, his arm never once leaving its usual spot, curled protectively around her shoulders. Her brother insisted on accompanying her to court, using the excuse that she needed someone to be there for her after she testified against the thing that attacked her at work.

  He wasn’t wrong.

  Hope used to be a stripper. She didn’t advertise the fact, but wasn’t ashamed. They needed the money and Garrett already worked two jobs, one in construction, and one by participating in illegal fights. Okay, so fighting wasn’t exactly a job, but it brought in money and that was all that mattered.

  Hope had been sitting in the break room of the strip club, getting a drink before going back on stage, when an enormous hulk of a man burst through the door. He pinned her beneath him on the couch, easily triple her weight. Somehow, Hope managed to swipe at his face and a fingernail scratched his eye. He howled in pain. The ear-piercing noise caught the attention of one of the club bouncers, but it was what happened next that blew Hope’s mind. Took reality in its hands and smashed it on the ground, turning everything she knew into thousands of scattered shards.

  The guy vanished! Not metaphorically, like he got up and took off. No, he literally disappeared from on top of her. At the time, Hope thought she lost her mind. Everyone was nice to her face when Hope explained what she saw, but she wasn’t an idiot. She knew they were simply humoring her.

  Poor thing. Oh, she must be traumatized. Well, she is a stripper. Not too smart, those girls.

  After the incident, her boss, Dante Vittorio, found out about Hope and Garrett’s dire financial situation. To her surprise, the guy, who she didn’t know from Adam’s housecat, came swooping in to rescue them. Honestly, Hope thought he was the most amazing person she’d ever met. Mr. Vittorio not only gave Garrett a job as bouncer at one of his bars, he made Hope a server in the very same establishment. No more stripping. Plus, working with Garrett every day made Hope feel safe. She would forever be grateful for the kindness Mr. Vittorio extended toward her and Garrett.

  Back in the courtroom, Hope said nothing in response to Garrett’s encouragement. Her thoughts were almost too jumbled to think, let alone construct a coherent sentence. When the defense entered the courtroom, Hope recoiled into a ball and huddled as close to her brother’s side as possible. Garrett squeezed tight. Even though she noted the thing that assaulted her wore chains on both his thick wrists and ankles, he looked no less intimidating. Possibly more so. Last she laid eyes on it was at the police station. The day she had to make a positive ID. Then, it had been dressed in jeans and a plain T-shirt.

  Thought his clothes were forgettable, the look on its face, all twisted with sadistic glee, would forever be burned in Hope’s mind. Today the thing’s charming expression, along with the expensive suit and tie it wore, did absolutely nothing to hide its dark and sinister presence. She shivered. Cleaning up certainly didn’t soothe the dread that had Hope locked in a stranglehold, her body and mind paralyzed. In fact, seeing it under the guise of normality was a thousand times more terrifying than when the weight of its bulk pressed her back down into the sharp springs of the ancient sofa at the strip club. More terrorizing than that moment, a moment Hope thought she was about to die.

  It was the facade that twisted her insides and caused her pulse to race. The mask it wore. The way it mingled amongst its legal team as if it were one of them. As if it were human. Yet, as she glanced around the courtroom, Hope knew she was the only one who noticed its black eyes, devoid of life when the thing smiled. Her body began to tremble and her teeth chattered. Garrett’s hold tightened more, but even her brother’s presence couldn’t stem the fear. Hope knew the truth. She knew it wasn’t human. More like a living shadow, sprung straight out of her worst nightmares.

  After the jury filed in, the judge arrived. Dear god, his mere presence was so overwhelming, Hope did the impossible and managed to forget about the thing seated just a few rows away. Her eyes stayed glued to the stunning judge, donned in black robes. He stood tall and wide, and so incredibly handsome, that when his sharp gaze scanned the courtroom and rested upon her for a brief second, Hope’s breath hitched.

  The bailiff announced the Honorable Raguel Luris and when he sat, so did everyone else. Thoughts thoroughly scrambled, Hope made the mistake of glancing over at the accused. The moment their gazes met, her lungs froze and she stopped breathing altogether. Her heart beat so hard it actually hurt as it slammed against her ribcage. Stares locked, the round, black pits of the monster in a three-piece suit held her captive without having to lay a finger upon her. Its icy glare was so threatening, honest to god Hope believed she was having a heart attack. All the moisture left her mouth and she tried to moisten it, but her parched tongue got stuck and it felt like she swallowed around a dozen cotton balls. The thing’s eyes continued to suck her in, their bottomless depths teeming with hate and an evil so dark and foreboding, Hope felt like prey in a predator’s sights.

  Those eyes.

  A small whimper escaped and she trembled violently from head to toe.

  “Hope?” Garrett whispered. “Are you okay?” Once again, her brother squeezed her shoulder in reassurance.

  Unfortunately, Hope was beyond reassurance. Nothing could possibly comfort her in the presence of pure evil. Hugs and pats and platitudes were useless. As of now, she officially jumped the rails to Crazytown, and was well on her way to the land of Freaking
the Fuck Out. To muffle a sob, Hope wrapped her hands around Garrett’s biceps and clung to him, her tear-streaked face buried in his shirt. Her lungs burned and she started to hyperventilate.

  Hope struggled, fighting to pull in desperately needed oxygen to no avail. Panic’s ice-cold hand forced its way into her mouth, snaked down her throat until it reached deep into her stomach, where it turned an invisible knob. The snug band around her chest cranked several notches tighter. Unable to breathe, Hope grew lightheaded and spots flickered behind her eyes. Her flight or fight finally kicked in, along with a rush of adrenaline that sent her pulse skyrocketing. Her poor heart, already stressed, was now about ready to burst from her ribcage.

  Garrett carefully pried the fingers of one of Hope’s hands from his arm and captured it with his once he peeled it off. Hope’s primal reflexes and base instincts were in the driver’s seat. Without thinking, she clutched Garrett’s hand and squeezed as hard as she had his biceps. Hope felt him tense and heard Garrett growl under his breath, “That sick fuck.” He pulled her close and ducked his head to put his lips to Hope’s ear. “Don’t look at him. Don’t let that son of a bitch fuck with you. It’s what he wants.”

  “It.”

  “What?”

  “It, not he,” Hope said. “It’s not human.”

  Hope didn’t move. She couldn’t move. How was she supposed to sit on the witness stand, in front of all these people, and face that thing? Look into those dead, coal black eyes? Into that terrifying stare?

  Gasping for air, Hope forced out the words between sharp, staccato breaths. “I don’t… think… I can… do this… Garrett.” Her voice was muffled because her face was still buried in Garrett’s shirt. The scent of home surrounded her, thought it failed to comfort her.