by Amira Rain
We talked some more about Gifted things, then Christy got up to refill her coffee mug, insisting that I not get up. While she poured, she glanced over at a pile of wrenches adjacent to the coffeemaker. "Mark sure loves to leave his tools all around, doesn't he?"
I agreed that he sure did.
Christy returned to the table and sat down with a snort. "Just like Nolan. He's always leaving tools everywhere, too. He's done it for the entire two years of our marriage. I always tell him, 'I appreciate you fixing everything around our home, but I'd appreciate it even more if you could put your tools away afterward.'
“Then he usually pulls me close and says in a mock-serious voice, 'Oh, I get it. You're regretting your choice in husband. You wish you'd picked a neat freak. Well, at least let me take one last kiss before you kick me out of the house.' Then he kisses me until I forget all about the tools strewn everywhere." With sunshine making her peachy-golden skin even more golden, Christy laughed. "God, I miss that."
She laughed again, but with her eyes suddenly filling with tears, alarming me, because it didn't seem like she'd exactly laughed hard enough to produce tears.
Before I could even ask her if she was okay, she grabbed a paper napkin and dabbed at her eyes with it, smiling. "Sorry. It sneaks up on me at the weirdest times...missing him. See, everyone thinks he's dead. I don't, though. I just don't feel it in my heart. Mark doesn't feel it, either...and a few others here in North Haven still have hope. Most people just feel sorry for me, though...they say I'm in denial."
Always one to mist up when anyone else did, I blinked back a little moisture, asking Christy what had happened.
"Well, in a nutshell, Nolan volunteered to infiltrate one of the Angel defense camps far north to try to gather some intelligence. He was supposed to pretend like he was interested in becoming an enchanted Angel shifter, hang around for a while, then just kind of disappear and come back home after two or three weeks.
“That was three months ago. So, everyone thinks he was probably found out and killed, but Mark and I and a few others think it's possible that maybe the Angels are just holding him prisoner, trying to get information out of him, or maybe just holding him to use as some kind of a bargaining chip in the future."
Dabbing her eyes again, then crumpling the napkin, Christy paused. "Periodically, there's talk of sending some kind of a 'rescue party' to try to find out what happened to him or free him if he's being held, but before he left, he made Mark swear on his life that he wouldn't do this if anything went wrong on the mission and he didn't return.
“He was adamant that no one else be put in harm's way. Mark says he'll go up there himself if Nolan's not back in a month, though. He says Nolan made him swear not to send a rescue party, but surely a party of one can't really be considered a rescue party. Maybe just a 'rescue person.'"
Christy gave me a small smile, and I returned it.
After a sip of coffee, she continued. "Anyway...since you just came from the Angels, you wouldn't happen to know anything about a lion shifter that tried to infiltrate their ranks at a defense post about fifty miles west of Traverse City, would you?"
I shook my head, desperately wishing I did. "No. I'm so sorry, but I really haven't heard anything about it. I generally stick to myself and don't talk to the other Angel fighters or their women very often, so I miss out on hearing a lot of things. So, it's completely possible that Nolan is alive and just being held somewhere, and I just never heard about it."
Christy looked into my eyes, moving her head in a slight nod. "I believe you...when you say you haven't heard anything. I also believe deep in my heart that Nolan is alive and just being kept prisoner somewhere. I can almost just hear him sometimes...saying, 'Don't worry about me. I was trained to survive things like this as a SEAL...and now I have shifter strength, too, so just relax.'
“I swear I can really hear him sometimes. 'Don't worry...I'll come back to you.'" Suddenly misty again, Christy dabbed at her pink eyes with her crumpled-up napkin, then tossed it on the table, giving me a smile. "Anyway...enough about me. I don't like dwelling on this stuff too long. I just like to stay busy and distracted. So, back to you. How are you and Mark getting along so far? Seeing that zap mark on the wall to the left of the stove, I'm guessing maybe there was a bumpy moment or two yesterday."
Unaware that I'd created any zap marks, I looked at the wall in question and saw that she was right. Marring the pale yellow paint, a tiny hole surrounded by charred plaster stood testament to my out-of-control tantrum of the previous day.
Embarrassed that I'd actually damaged someone's property, I lifted my shoulders in a feeble shrug, returning my gaze to Christy. "I guess there was a bump or two yesterday. I'll fix that sometime for him...maybe with some caulk or putty or something."
"Or you could make him a meal to make up for that. See, Mark has a lack of home cooking in his life. His parents are down in Texas, one of the few states in the nation still completely free of Angels; he's not that great of a cook himself and without a girlfriend or wife, he just doesn't have anyone around to cook for him. You wouldn't happen to be a good gook, would you?"
Having cooked big breakfasts and frequent dinners alongside my mom at our family's bed-and-breakfast my entire life, I was actually an outstanding cook, from what many guests had told me. However, I didn't want to sound cocky about it.
"I'm...a pretty decent cook, I guess."
Christy gave me a small little sly-type of smile. "Good. So, you should cook for Mark sometime. He's very single, and I'm sure he'd love it. He actually hasn't had a girlfriend in about a year...just hasn't found the right one for him, he says. The last one couldn't handle that she wasn't his 'right one,' and after a while of the two of them trying but failing to remain 'just friends,' with the failure more on her part, I think, they decided it was best that she relocate to a shifter village in Indiana.
“And, actually, I think that's where his other girlfriend here in North Haven went, too. She was kind of stuck on herself, and nobody much liked her, although a lot of that might have had to do with many of the single women here being jealous, because Mark is not only our leader, but North Haven's most sought-after bachelor, too.
“He always strikes me as kind of picky, though...which is why I was listening so carefully when he called me today...just to see if I could pick up on him feeling any particular way, or thinking any particular thoughts, about you. That's why I picked up on the way he said 'my prisoner'...like maybe a little part of him is glad to have you as his prisoner."
I suddenly wanted to change the subject to anything other than Mark's singleness, his romantic life, or what he might think about me as his 'prisoner.'
I picked up my coffee, took a sip, and set the mug back down, avoiding Christy's eyes. "Well, I bet he's planning to try to get information about the Angels out of me, and I'm sure he's pretty glad about that."
"Well...maybe. But he has his own scouts to gather information about the Angels for him. I'm sure he'd appreciate some intel from you, but I don't think he's hanging on it, if you get me."
I said I thought so, and just then, Rocky came out of his doze with a startle, jumped to his feet, and immediately began whining next to my chair. It was as if he'd been having some dream that suddenly reminded him that breakfast was on the table, and that he'd better hurry up and get some before it was gone.
Laughing, I fed him a bite of scrambled egg off my hand. "He really is a funny little fellow."
Christy smiled. "I bet you love him already."
I sure did, a fact that was making me increasingly uncomfortable. In fact, a lot of different things were making me uncomfortable. Such as how I felt whenever Mark was mentioned, and such as how much I liked Christy. I hadn't even been out in it yet, but I had a feeling I might like living in North Haven a lot. I also had a feeling that the longer I remained, the harder it was going to be to leave when I finally made my escape.
*
After cleaning up from breakfast, Christy sug
gested that we take a walk through the village. "We can take Rocky, and I'll show you around."
"Well...I think I'm pretty much under house arrest. Last night, Mark even forbade me from taking Rocky out to the backyard."
Leaning against the dishwasher with her arms loosely folded across her chest, Christy sighed. "Yeah...he told me that, too. And then I said, 'Come on, Mark. I need something to help keep me busy, and your prisoner will probably be starting to get cabin fever.'
“And then after a very long pause, he said, 'Bring no fewer than ten guards...from the ones around the house that I've already briefed about Paulina. They'll know what to do if she tries to make an escape.' So...I guess we were given the green light for a brief village tour of about an hour...although with an entourage of guards."
I wondered if the guards would be bringing a chair to tie me to if I attempted zapping again, like Mark had threatened. Although, at this point, I had no intentions of trying to zap my way out of North Haven, even if I did happen to see a possible fairly clear path out. This was because once again, I was in a position of not knowing if Dylan was dead or alive.
If he was dead, my escape would have no point. My life itself would have much less of a point, if it were impossible for my family to ever be resurrected. At present, I could only continue to cling to the hope that my little fit of the evening before had delayed Mark leaving North Haven for just long enough to allow Dylan to retreat from wherever he'd been when Mark's scouts had spotted him and his shifters.
While we were putting Rocky into his harness leash, which was no easy task since he was twisting and jumping with excitement, I asked Christy if she knew exactly where Mark was, and what he was doing.
Trying to pet Rocky into stillness, she shrugged. "I don't know the answers to those questions exactly, but I do know that Mark and the couple of elite pride members that he took with him last night didn't kill Dylan Darringer...they only got one of his wolf shifters and one of his lions.
“Mark said they're going to 'hang around' for a while, wherever he and his men are, just to see if Dylan might try to venture close to North Haven again, though Mark doubts he will. Mark figured he's probably retreated all the way back up to New Bad Axe by now...where Mark is definitely not going to follow him at the moment with so few of his men with him."
"Oh. Well, that's understandable."
I went back to trying to wrangle Rocky into his harness, breathing an inward sigh of relief, not wanting to do an outer sigh that would make my extreme relief obvious.
Now that I knew once again that Dylan was alive, I realized I no longer had a reason to not try to make a break for it if a clear path presented itself while Christy and I were out and about. The prospect of being restrained by guards if I failed in an escape didn't trouble me much, because if they were anything like Mark, which I was pretty sure they were, I knew they wouldn't hurt me in the process.
However, what did trouble me was that if I tried to escape but failed, I knew I probably wouldn't be allowed out of the house again for a very long time, months maybe. Maybe Mark would even have some kind of a jail constructed in the village, specifically for me.
Either way, whether the end result was house arrest or actual jail, I knew that if I tried to escape but failed while Christy and I were out, that would likely be the last chance I'd get for a very long time. And by the time I was finally able to make another attempt, Dylan might be dead.
Still trying to wrangle Rocky into his harness, I decided that even if a possible path presented itself, I wouldn't try to escape on this particular day. There would be too many guards around for any plan to go off without a hitch, not to mention that out in the village, there would probably be plenty of other Gifteds around as well.
Since Dylan being killed didn't exactly seem imminent, I figured it was probably best for me to just wait a while before I made any attempt to escape, maybe until Mark trusted me and pulled all the guards off the house. Probably best to just wait until nobody suspected me anymore. That way, when I finally did make my escape attempt, I'd have a much better chance of it being successful. Maybe I'd do it late at night, under cover of darkness. Just slip right out of the house and head north. Then I'd only have to worry about getting past the guards that surrounded the village, and I didn't think that would be too difficult for one Gifted to do. After all, it wasn't like there was enough of them that they could stand shoulder-to-shoulder.
Once Christy and I finally had Rocky in his harness, we left the house, stepping out the front door into an extremely warm, sunny April morning. This was was the first time that I'd been able to take a look at the house, since I'd been unconscious when I'd arrived.
However, pausing about halfway down the front walkway, I saw that the house was pretty much just as I'd seen it in my mind's eye. An average-sized ranch-style house with tan siding and white shutters and trim, it was unassuming and fairly nondescript, just the same as the inside of the house was.
The only remarkable thing about the house was the gorgeous towering trees, mostly evergreens and sycamores that surrounded it. I supposed it was also remarkable for what it wasn't, which was palatial and ostentatious, like I might have imagined the home of the North Haven lions would be like.
In contrast to Mark's apparent preferred aesthetic, when Dylan finally conquered the village and took it for his own, one of the first things he planned to do was have a mansion built for his own personal residence.
And not a residence where he and all his women and children would live; this would be a residence where only he and his staff would live. He planned to have a smaller-scale, much less grand house for his women and children somewhere behind his mansion.
While I surveyed Mark's house, Christy knelt and began petting a very rowdy Rocky beside me. "When all our houses were built a few years ago, everyone kind of got a little crazy building their dream homes, but Mark just wanted a few rooms with some nice trees surrounding them. He's really a simple kind of man.
“Although a few months ago, he did tell me that if he ever meets the 'forever' type of woman he hasn't met yet, he'd like to build something more spacious with a few more bells and whistles...maybe several additional bedrooms and a big playroom for kids."
Kids. I knew that at some point in my life, I'd wanted kids, though they hadn't even crossed my mind in three years. Living among Dylan and the Angels, I'd been too focused on surviving each battle and each day to see a future beyond the eventual joyous reunion with my family.
For some reason, I didn't want to dwell on Mark and what kind of a future he wanted, so I abruptly turned away from the house and gestured for Christy and Rocky to follow me. "If we only have an hour, we better get going! Who knows if all Mark's guards will be carrying stopwatches, but I wouldn't put it past them."
Just then, as Christy, Rocky, and I began continuing on down the walkway, several lions who'd been pacing around the trees at the front of the house slowly began stalking over to us with their golden manes glinting in the sun.
By the time we reached the end of the driveway, we were being followed by no fewer than ten lions. With watchful eyes and unusually large forms, they all confirmed my thinking that it was best to bide my time and wait for a more ideal chance to escape.
Mark's house was situated in a densely wooded area, so densely wooded that really, it was in the middle of a forest. A vast swath had been cleared to make a sizable front yard, and the same in the back, but beyond these open spaces, it was just trees as far as the eye could see. They lined a narrow dirt lane that connected with the paved driveway in front of the house, and it was this lane that Christy said would take us into the village.
While we started strolling down it, I glanced back at the driveway, admiring an obviously-not-brand-new but still shiny pickup truck parked just outside the closed garage. There was something about Mark's possessions, his general style, that was appealing to me on some profound level, though I couldn't articulate, even to myself, exactly what kind of a level.
>
Seeing my glance back at the truck, Christy smiled, gripping the leash connected to Rocky's harness tightly, because he was trying to pull her down the lane. "You want to know why Mark can't park in the garage? I'll give you one guess."
Not needing any more than one guess, I smiled in return. "Could it be that the garage is filled with too many tools?"
Christy grinned, making her honey-brown eyes sparkle in the sun. "You know him well already. He's got about two tons of tools in there, and it also serves as his carpentry shop. He loves working with his hands...says it relaxes him."
Despite not really wanting to, I thought of Mark's large, long-fingered hands. I thought of how strong, yet somehow gentle at the same time, they'd felt around my wrists while he'd been restraining me to prevent me from trying to zap him again.
His grip had been incredibly firm, there was no doubt about that, but it had been clear that he hadn't wanted to cause me the slightest pain. He'd been right when he'd said that my brief shoulder pain was because of all my wild struggling to get loose.
