In the Shadow of Angels: The Guardian Series 1

by Savage, Fanny Lee

  “And this Aydin, Lance said earlier he is Head of Security? I’m curious Henri, why does a man who owns a winery need security?”

  “The security is for the research we are doing.”

  “What exactly is this super secret discovery that you need security at all times?”

  “It is complicated Char.” He looks annoyed, but probably not as much as I am.

  “Why there? Shouldn’t you be in a lab in a government building? That would provide plenty of security.”

  “This project is privately funded. Ashur has a vested interest in genetic research and this project.” Henri looks over and sees that I am not happy with his answer. I don’t want to let the subject go, but sense he is done talking about it. Not wanting to disrupt the quiet truce he doesn’t know I have drawn up, I let the topic go.

  ----------

  Lance seems relaxed, driving slower than a herd of turtles. We pass through a small village, a few shops sit along the main road, few people bike down the main street, but empty otherwise. The sun is setting, the sky turning a dark purple. We left the lavender fields long ago, the hills slowly giving way to small clusters of homes nestled in rows of grapevines. Dirt roads snake through the fields all leading to a large tall structure in the distance, outlined by tall trees.

  “It that it?” The building is far in the distance, sitting on top of one of the highest hills.

  “No, that is the winery. The chateau is farther up, closer to the mountains.” Henri’s arm reaches across me to point in the direction of the mountain. I have yet to see anything beyond it so I take his word for it.

  The vehicle makes a sharp turn onto a dusty dirt road headed into the foothills of the mountain range. Soon, we pass the large winery, it is taller than I thought, like a large sprawling mansion with distinct Mediterranean architecture. Behind us the village is still visible, maybe a mile from the winery, carved into the vineyards.

  We drive another mile before the chateau comes into view. My stomach drops. It sits high in the foothills, built into a tall rise of jagged rock. A massive, ominous structure made of gray stone, weathered and pitted high towers stretch up, meeting the black sky. It looks like something out of a horror movie, a place where young girls are lost to the world; where men suffer, their screams echoing on the empty walls.

  A large stone bridge spans over a small river leading to heavy doors that mark the entrance. Intricate cast iron hinges hold the massive doors in place. Lights sparkle from the windows that line the large square building at the center. Massive columns contain huge flames, lighting up the entire front of the castle.

  “Please tell me this place has plumbing.” I can handle no electricity, but the thought of no running water makes me want to run screaming.

  “Do you really think your mother would have spent the last decade without it?”

  Lance parks in the circular drive and Henri gets out to open my door. The chateau is so tall I can’t see the tops of the towers looming in the back, the peaked roofs blending into the dark sky.

  “Welcome to what the locals call ‘Gardien de la Rivière Rouge’,” Henri says, dramatically sweeping his arm in a grand gesture toward the doors.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Keeper of the Red River,” he says, his eyes gleaming.

  Lovely.

  Henri spent the first six years of his life here. It’s hard to fathom him living as a young boy in the castle. He takes me by the hand and guides me to the massive doors. They are opened as we walk up the stone steps by a large man in another suit, this one is pinstriped. Henri nods to the man who watches us enter and leads me into the grand foyer. The walls are ornate with heavy carved wood, golden sconces and painted fresco ceilings. Thick marble slabs cover the floor, reflecting the light from the oversized chandelier. Wide stairs stand in the center of the foyer and lead up to the second level, framed by marble arches, carved with intricate vines and flowers. On either side of the stairs, massive archways lead into two separate corridors. Henri walks me down a long corridor to the right, our shoes clicking and echoing.

  We enter into a large parlor and at once my breath is sucked from my lungs. The air is charged and thick, like it is alive. The sensation is like the calm before an intense lightning storm, the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. I take a deep breath, trying to remain balanced.

  The room’s decorations are more subtle, light satin fabrics and rich blues. Floral patterns cover several small chairs. The large carpet is slightly faded, a pale yellow with woven blue vines. A stone fireplace sits at the very back where I see two people standing, turning as we enter. A petite woman comes rushing toward us.

  “Henri! Oh, comme tu m’as manqué!” Her accent is heavy and rich. She pulls Henri into a fierce hug, resting her head on his chest. She kisses his cheeks, squeezing his arms. Claudette I gather. I have to remind myself they are cousins. Technically.

  “Charlotte. Finally, I get to meet the woman that holds my Henri’s heart! I am Claudette, I have waited so long to meet you!” She grabs my shoulders holding me at a distance.

  Claudette looks to be somewhere in her mid-twenties. Everything about her is exaggerated. Her eyes are large and secretive, a vivid blue similar to my own. Her face is wide, with high and prominent cheekbones and a small petite nose. Her heart shaped mouth is full and painted the glossy red of apples. Pale skin matches fair silky hair, the color of lemon chiffon cake, is elaborately woven into a braided coiffure at the base of her skull. Her neck is long and graceful, leading to delicate collar bones. Her clothing is perfect, a simple light pink dress that clings to voluptuous hips and an equally voluptuous chest. In one word, she is exquisite.

  “Lovely to meet you, Claudette.” I’m not sure what to make of her. She’s way too pretty to be real. Past her, I see the other person is a man, thin and tall, with dark hair. He is still standing in front of the fireplace, dressed in a suit like Lance.

  “I am so happy you are here, I have heard so many wonderful things about you. I know we will be good friends!” Claudette grabs my hands in hers, her fingers cold and dry, her body tense with excitement.

  “I’m sure.”

  Henri walks to who, I’m guessing, is Aydin. I watch them embrace, the man cups Henri’s cheeks and kisses each one lightly, Henri holding his thin arms. This is odd, I have never seen Henri show affection toward another man, not even my father.

  “I am so sorry Abigail is not here to welcome you,” Claudette says. My mother. Had she cared for Claudette as well? She is certainly young enough. I hate to think that Abigail had come to France and cared for other people. The thought sickens me. When I laid in the hospital, I had thought of her almost constantly, her face the last thing I saw before Emily crept into my dreams.

  “I understand,” I say, though, secretly glad she isn’t.

  “Aydin,” Claudette calls and leads me toward Henri and the man he had embraced. “Come say hello to our Charlotte.” Then, turning to me, she leans in to whisper, “He can be so uncivil.”

  The suit he is wearing is a light gray. The fabric is expensive and soft. As he extends his hand, my eyes move from the lapel of the jacket down to his arms. The suit is tailored perfectly to him, but it fails to conceal how thin he is. My eyes travel down to the hand he has outstretched, the fingers are long and thin attached to a large hand. My pulse starts to pound and my throat thickens. Anxiety wells up and I swallow desperately to get past it. I lift my hand and place it in his. The shock of his skin burns me to the core and I clamp my mouth shut to keep from calling out. His fingers grip my hand and my eyes raise to meet his. A cool steel gray, like liquid metal, look back at me. His brows are turned down slightly as if he is gauging my reaction. The air catches in my throat. The world begins to spin, my place in it lost.

  Chapter Twelve

  Silence envelopes me, like someone has trapped me inside a glass box. Muffled sounds penetrate the thick walls and touch at my ears, but I can’t make out the words. Aydin’s skin burns in
to mine, but his fingers are cool. Time slows, capturing every detail around us: The particles of dust in the air, the smell of charred metal, and exotic spices. The thin material of his suit and the specks of lint on his tie. Henri is talking, but I don’t care what he is saying. Nothing else matters. Only this very moment and the cold liquid eyes that watch my face. Aydin’s long lashes and dark brows. There is nothing else, but his skin touching mine and the sweet metallic taste in my mouth.

  I blink and I’m thrown back to Earth. My senses are jarred as our private box is shattered. Noise crashes back into my ears: my heavy breathing and the fire crackling in the background. Aydin releases my hand and I avert my eyes trying to recover.

  “Charlotte.” Henri’s voice is far away, like I am underwater. My hands start to shake and I grip the hem of my dress to steady them. “This is Aydin Thanos, he is in charge of the security team here.”

  I clear my throat, my eyes meet his again and I can barely breathe. His presence tickles my skin, hot and energizing the air. I swallow, my voice gone, and nod my head in greeting.

  “Claudette, why don’t you show Charlotte to her room, she can get cleaned up and meet us later in the dining room,” Henri says and drags me across the room towards the door. I tear my eyes from Aydin, and look at Henri whose face is unreadable.

  “Charlotte, come,” Claudette says and ushers me from the room, back to the main entrance and up the broad winding stairway.

  “You will be staying next to Henri. The chateau is so big, he feared you would get lost, very easy to do.” She talks excitedly as we walk; until we reach a hall with thick red carpeting and a series of doors. The last one we come to she opens, revealing an enormous suite.

  The floors are a smooth beige stone covered in large oriental rugs. Heavy ornate furniture fills the space. A four poster bed sits in front of leaded glass windows, sheer fabric winding around the frame. A set of doors leads into an extensive and surprisingly updated bathroom. Relief falls over me seeing the carved walls of the step in shower and soaking tub. Another set of doors leads out to a wide private terrace.

  “This room overlooks the gardens; beautiful in the day,” Claudette smiles, opening the double doors letting in a fresh scented breeze. She points to an armoire. “Your clothes are there, we will meet in an hour, do not worry someone will come get you. I am so happy you are here.” She comes forward and pulls me into a tight embrace before walking from the room. It is then I notice, her touch holds nothing.

  I am accustomed to sensing the undercurrent of desires and secret thoughts of everyone I meet. Oddly, Claudette lets off nothing. No energy, no emotion, not the tell tale hints of some former heartbreak or lifelong hope that every person carries around like an extra skin. The man Aydin is fire, pure energy like I have never experienced. The traces of his touch linger under my skin. His eyes flash into my mind, clear and liquid. His gaze had been piercing, like he had known every demon that claws at my back, every desire that passes through my thoughts.

  My brain is jumbled and unnerved. I have to pull myself together. There is still dinner to get through, and no doubt be forced to answer their questions. My new phone says it’s just past 8’o clock at night, only an hour before I am expected to join them. Peeling of my clothes I stand in the shower letting the water soothe my aching body.

  When I dry off, I pull the clothes from the closet trying to decide what to wear. With few options I dress in the thin undergarments from the boutique, a sheer set completely see through, which leaves me uneasy in my skin. I slip on a little black dress with a sheer overlay and strappy heels. My hair is pinned back loose at my neck with a large enamel flower clip.

  When I’m prepared, I walk onto a large terrace. Small dots of flames flicker below, lighting up paths winding through low bushes and rose gardens. Fragrant air blows over my skin, filled with the scent of lavender and roses.

  Claudette and Aydin must know the details of Henri’s life. That must mean they know the events that had lead up to my unexpected trip to France and what has kept Abigail away. The thought doesn’t sit well with me.

  Henri knocks lightly at the door before he enters. “You are stunning,” he says as he joins me on the balcony. He leans in and brushes a kiss over my cheek.

  “I’m going to take an educated guess that this Aydin and Claudette already know the details of our past,” I say.

  “Yes.” Henri rubs his eyes with his fingers. My anger softens, he must be just as tired and strained as I am.

  “That is just lovely.”

  “Charlotte, of course they do, they know everything about me. Abigail has lived here for the past twelve years.” He speaks kindly, thankfully ignoring my harsh tone.

  “I’m nervous,” I admit.

  “Don’t worry, they already adore you.” Henri takes my hand. “I’m forewarning you though, Claudette is a complete gossip.”

  -----------

  “Vous êtes belle! No wonder Henri has only eyes for you!” Claudette coos. She pushes a glass of wine into my hands, flashing a pretty smile.

  The dining room is similar to the parlor I was in earlier. Pale blues, flowers and paintings. An ornate chandelier hangs over the dark polished table. Henri pulls out a chair indicating for me to sit and does the same for Claudette, next to me. Aydin enters the room. I take a deep breath as he takes a seat across the table from me. His every move is graceful, like it’s been choreographed. I blink and glance at his face.

  Aydin’s features are dark and angular, like a male model, but more pronounced, almost gaunt he is so thin. He is obviously of Mediterranean descent, but his olive skin is cast a sickly pallor. His face is hidden behind a beard, making it hard to tell his age. His onyx black hair shines almost blue, and he keeps its long, the thick waves touching his ears. Dark brows and long black lashes give his large, almond eyes a menacing look, but it is his lips I keep watching. They are wide and full, with well-defined peaks. The kind of mouth that carries around promises and soft kisses.

  Altogether he is stunning, but not in the beautiful way handsome men are. But, in a hard and very masculine way, like he can be cruel. Everything about him screams bad boy, but controlled and coiled up in a business-suit. The cool, mercury gray of his eyes hold secrets, I can almost see them moving about, wanting to break free.

  I want to run from the room to collect myself. He is amazing, charismatic and sleek like a predatory cat. The fact that I’m staring is obvious, and I try to focus on the paintings and flowers, but my eyes keep finding Aydin’s. My breaths are short; the air is so thick with him. It is as if he has sucked up the oxygen and replaced it with pure lightning.

  “Henri, no doubt has drug you across the Atlantic telling you little of your situation.” Aydin’s voice is deep and masculine. His accent is strange, American, but with the undertones of something I can’t place.

  “I wasn’t even aware there was a situation.” My words are forced and breathy. I suck in a deep breath, biting my lip.

  Get a grip.

  Aydin raises an eyebrow at my response. His arms rest on the table; the fingers rub together, like he is feeling the air in the room.

  “I have just discovered, whatever Henri is up to, leaves me in a rather precarious situation,” I say.

  “Yes. I am afraid it does,” Aydin responds, coolly. “Henri takes his work seriously. As do many other people.”

  “He also seems to think, a group of people would like to get their hands on me. Though, why I am so desired, remains a mystery.”

  “That is no mystery,” Aydin says.

  I swallow hard. Aydin picks up his glass and touches it to his lips; the corner of his mouth pulls down. He may be hiding a smile, but it is hard to tell. This guy is definitely not subtle. My eyes drift over to Henri, who sits glaring. Actually glaring.

  “Oh, Aydin,” Claudette grins shaking her head. She turns her attention back to me, “We want to hear all about you! I have always wanted to visit the states, but my father refuses.” Her lips turn down in
an exaggerated pout before breaking into a mischievous smile. I doubt anyone denies Claudette anything. Ever.

  “From what I understand, you know everything about me,” I smile, forcing my eyes to stay on her. “So maybe you should tell me about yourselves.”

  Henri catches my eye; his brows turn down. I am not usually this straightforward, at least not toward people whom I have just met and are my hosts, but I am not in the mood for pleasantries. I want answers. And to get away from this Aydin.

  “I’m sure there are plenty of things we don’t know, Miss Charlotte,” Aydin says.

  His tongue rolls out my name like it is a rare jewel. It flows over his lips and spills out, a musical ring to it. I have always hated my name. In order to pronounce it, you almost have to be from the South. Only a deep southern twang can string the syllables together for them to come out right. Yet, when Aydin says it, my name sounds enchanting. My skin flushes all ridiculous, which makes my already frazzled nerves, that much worse.

  Dinner is served, interrupting the uncomfortable silence that has settled. It is a lavish display, but I can hardly eat. The warm scents of rich meats and fresh vegetables make me queasy. Everyone seems nervous, picking at their food. I try to steal looks at Aydin, and each time, he catches me, his steel eyes burning into mine, forcing me to look away, embarrassed.

  “Henri tells us you are a photographer. I would love to see some of your pictures,” Claudette says, interrupting Aydin and I’s not-staring contest. Her fingers brush over my arm, forcing my attention back to her. Henri has been watching me, his mouth a hard line.

  “I would hardly call myself a photographer. I barely spent any time with an actual paying job. But, I do enjoy taking pictures.” I am being so obvious; it is painful.

  “A photographer none the less,” she says, smiling and revealing straight white teeth. She is perfect. Too perfect. I don’t think I like her.

  The sound of Claudette’s chair squeaking across the floor startles everyone.