Claiming Trinity

by Kali Willows

  The first guy she knocked down had gotten to his feet. There stood a strapping, six-foot-two, rugged man—perhaps six inches taller than her—with broad shoulders and sculpted arms. His skin-tight ebony T-shirt left little to the imagination as muscles rippled beneath the flimsy material. His fitted cargo pants showcased muscular thighs. Black work boots added to the rugged appeal of this virile stranger. Streams of black ink peeked out from beneath his collar and both sleeves—possibly some serious tribal tattoos? He had the face of Adonis, shoulder-length hair as black as night, and full lips.

  “Trinity.” A third man approached, another unfamiliar face, with piercing amber eyes, dark hair, and dressed all in black with work boots. “I’m Rekkus, head of security.”

  “Oh…hello.” The Rowans’ description of the large tiger with an edge was bang on. “I’m sorry to crash your party,” she muttered as her cheeks blazed.

  Trinity glanced around the small room, horrified to discover her suitcase had tumbled, too, along with a few duffle bags. Her belongings lay strewn across the floor. She scampered to gather her clothes and stuffed them into her case. All three men helped.

  “Thanks.” She bit her lips and held her breath. The crash victim handed her a collection of her bras and underwear. “Guess I’ll need those, too.”

  She shifted her gaze to the floor to avoid their penetrating stares and found she had also managed to destroy a rack of brochures. “Good grief, I’m on a roll.” Trinity sulked and reached to pick up the scattered papers.

  “It’s okay.” Rekkus gripped her wrist. “I’ve got this. Let’s get you checked in before you take out any more of my trainees.”

  “Trainees?” She blinked at the men. “What are you training for?”

  “We work…in the forces….” Hunk Number Two stammered.

  “We’re here for extra ass-kicking by the drill sergeant-major here,” the first one chimed in and waved with a smirk to Rekkus. “Hi, Trinity, my name is Arawn.” He held out his powerful hand.

  “It’s so great to…um, bump into you.” She accepted his handshake.

  “The pleasure is all mine.” He didn’t release his grip but locked his hungry gaze on hers.

  Her core rippled as she penetrated his mental shield, his lustful wishes an open book to her. It felt a little dirty to explore his thoughts without his consent, but oh how easy he made it to read him, more so than most paras she’d encountered.

  Rekkus cleared his throat with a tinge of impatience. “And this is Kane.”

  Trinity turned to the second man who had helped her up. “Kane.” She accepted his handshake as well and drank in his enchanting stare. Clothed in the same attire as the first guy, he sported a similar physique, just a tad taller and a little leaner, but every muscle as defined and chiseled as the first one. Damn!

  He inspected her from head to toe with wide eyes. “Wow, you’re gorgeous.” He cleared his throat. “I mean…your glasses…gorgeous.”

  Butterflies pole-vaulted in her stomach with the simple touch of his hand. His continued gaze into her eyes caused the apex between her thighs to warm. Oh, Hades, another one filled with lust? What had she stumbled into, a sailor’s shore leave? Two horny men with forward, wanton desire oozing from their pores, both easier to read than clients who sought her out and paid for her intuitive services. If only she could not know everyone else’s thoughts, she might actually get to relax on this island.

  “I’ve, uh, wow! I gotta go.” She snatched up her suitcase and bolted from the room.

  “Down the hall to your right. Check in with Myron,” Rekkus grumbled after her.

  No way could she handle any more run-ins with gorgeous, testosterone-filled muscle men. What she wouldn’t give for magical headphones to drown out the thoughts she eavesdropped on, especially because she couldn’t turn her ability off when she needed to most. Luscious hunks from the forces here for training, probably for a quick lay for the week. Work hard, play harder. There was no way these perfect specimens of virility would have any interest in her. The island, she was sure, would be filled with beautiful women they could pick and choose from, and that would be the end of it. Their internal lust had to have been momentary. She’d been the only woman in the room, and, in absence of any other females, the math worked in her favor. Besides, she wasn’t here to get laid, she was here to heal and get a grip on her unmanageable abilities.

  Trinity reached the reception desk to find a short line. She took her place at the end and waited. Three attractive ladies crowded around the desk, speaking to a woman with fire engine-red hair, who sat in the chair and flipped playing cards.

  “Who made these arrangements with you? I didn’t take this reservation.” The woman narrowed her eyes at the trio of women making up the short line. Their curly locks of blonde, copper, and brunette fell to above their waists. These three would catch the sailors’ eyes without a doubt.

  “We spoke with a woman. Not sure who she was.” The brunette flashed a mischievous grin over her shoulder at Trinity then returned her attention to the receptionist.

  “All right, everything you need is here. Your classes for the week, all booked together. You’re in rooms four, five, and seven. Take elevator number two, only. Be sure to come down on time for dinner.”

  “We are gratified with your assistance,” the blonde replied. They strolled off to the elevators. The sassy redhead pushed the button.

  Trinity readied herself to approach the desk, and the woman held up a finger. “One moment please, miss.”

  “Sure.”

  The receptionist walked to a door behind the desk and stepped into the room. Words were somewhat muffled, until Trinity overheard a brief raise in volume. “Who are they?”

  “Sisters,” another woman’s voice replied, irritation tinging her voice.

  “I saw something dark in the cards, but it was blocked. I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” the receptionist said.

  “We need to tell Rekkus,” the second woman ordered. “He’ll be back in a few minutes. Talk to him when he’s done at the portal.”

  While the back office debate went on, the trio of women gathered at the elevator whispered to each other. They glanced in Trinity’s direction and giggled like schoolgirls. Each had high cheekbones, eyes dark as night, and the perfect features cover models would kill for. Their spilling cleavage bested any competition that would vie for the attention of any man or living creature on the island this week. Just when Trinity didn’t think it possible to feel any worse about herself, they proved her wrong. These women were magnificent. She hated them.

  Trinity tried to push the internal rumblings of insecurity in her head away. How could it be she was able to read everyone’s thoughts on this island, except these rude women? Even worse, why did she care? On a good day, Trinity wouldn’t have given it a second thought, but their bad-mannered stares and giggling haunted her. A dark veil shrouded them from her acute perceptions. The lack of perception proved a new experience for her—one she had always fantasized to be a blessing—but her wish had quickly been proven wrong. This circumstance befuddled her, and their incessant stares and laughter annoyed her. What in the world could she have done to warrant such catty behavior? Was it her white hair, or perhaps her rose-colored glasses? The elevator dinged, and they crowded into the box, much to her relief.

  “I can help you now.” The lady at the desk waved her over.

  Trinity approached and peeked at her name tag. She scrunched her nose with confusion. “You’re not Cemil?”

  “Oh goodness, no. It’s the only name tag I could find today. I’m Myron, and you are Trinity McWraith.”

  She nodded.

  Myron flipped another card. “You’re well named, for sure.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Trinity? You’re surrounded by the number three.”

  “I am?”

  “You are. In fact, you’re a triple threat.”

  The words stung a l
ittle. “What do you mean?”

  “Smart, beautiful, and funny. Those guys don’t stand a chance in your presence.”

  “Oh.” What guys? And beautiful? With stark-white hair, pale skin, and a bit more buxom than the average para woman, Trinity never viewed herself as beautiful.

  Her uncle had argued against her view every time he tried to encourage her to get out and find herself a mate. The one thing he didn’t want was for her to find another banshee. He went as far as to outright forbid it but never explained why. She avoided men in general. The only person she’d allowed herself to care for since her parents died was her uncle, and even he had met a brutal and untimely demise. Her life experience had taught her the ones she loved would die a horrible death and she was cursed to foresee it. Besides, she was no siren—her talents didn’t include timeless beauty which lured men to her bed or their deaths. Trinity shuddered at the thought of romance.

  The redhead flipped another card. “Oh, my….” Her brows puckered and distress filled her eyes. “This won’t do, not at all,” she mumbled. “Sarka will see you in her office.”

  Trinity bit her lip. “I’ve only been here five minutes. I couldn’t possibly have done something wrong yet.” Then, she recalled her awkward arrival and a wave of regret shot through her stomach. “My mistake. Where is she?”

  “Right through this door, follow me.”

  Although the receptionist tapped her foot with impatience while she waited at the door, Trinity didn’t rush to see the curt oldest sister who’d snubbed her before she even had a chance to introduce herself. This sister chose not to arrive at all for the sibs’ first therapy session, which sent a very clear message of how much she valued Trinity’s professional services. She’d heard plenty about Sarka’s edgy side and dark demeanor, a bold contrast to her two more gentle siblings who persisted to find resolution with their grief.

  “Come in. Please, have a seat.” The woman at the far end of the room stood with her back to them. Her sultry voice carried through the office.

  “Sarka, I’m going to find Rekkus…right now.” The receptionist’s tone held discreet urgency.

  Trinity glanced at her, reading the hidden blanket of concern shrouding Myron. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine, just some business to tend to.” She lifted her chin.

  Trinity faced Sarka, whose silky waist-length raven hair and black attire created quite a dark appearance.

  The woman spun toward her.

  “If you’ll excuse me?” Myron offered

  “Certainly.”

  When Sarka caught Myron’s attention, her neutral expression morphed into a grimace. “He’s in the portal room.”

  Myron rushed out of the office, leaving Trinity to face Sarka alone.

  “I’m sorry about my arrival,” she blathered and plopped into the wooden office chair in front of the desk.

  “The portal is different for everyone. Those clumsy ogres should have been better prepared for you. It’s not your fault.” Sarka settled behind the desk.

  “Oh?” Her unexpected response loosened some of the tension in Trinity’s shoulders.

  “Cyrus and I met with Cemil and Sage. We discussed the best use of our facilities for your needs.”

  “Come again?” Caution spiked up her spine. “Which needs would those be?” Her inability to read Sarka’s emotion, short of cold, made her uneasy.

  “Your circumstances are a little different than many paras who come here.”

  “How?”

  “You always start without me?” A tall, dark stranger strutted in the door. Those piercing eyes Trinity recognized. Dressed all in black, with short dark hair, bronzed skin, and icy-blue eyes stood the fourth sibling. He never left the island, a fact she’d learned all about in her sessions with Sage and Cemil.

  “You must be Cyrus.” She held her hand out but glanced at the gloves he wore, and withdrew the friendly gesture. “Right…you don’t like to touch.” Her discomfort grew when she noted his similar demeanor to his sister’s.

  “We discussed your talents and how overwhelming this island could prove to be for you, unless we put some precautions in place for your well-being.” He grabbed a folding chair from the back of the office, and set it down beside his sister, and took a seat across from Trinity.

  “Are you gonna lock me up?” She hunched her shoulders. Surely, the crash landing hadn’t been so tragic….

  Sarka scrunched her nose and narrowed her eyes. “Not at all. We have many guests, both human and para, all with their troubles, emotions, and traumas. We need to make sure we don’t put you in harm’s way, or, for lack of better phrase, empathic overload.”

  The phrase struck a chord and then, to her relief, she realized she couldn’t see their auras. “Oh, I wanted to thank you for the glasses, Sarka.”

  “No problem.” The ebony beauty waved off the gesture.

  Sage sauntered into the room and sat down beside Trinity. “Good evening.” She grinned. “We have less-populated cabins by the water. They’re more spread out than the rooms here in the Haus. The distance from the energies of the other guests will give you a little tranquility.

  “The one exception we cannot waver on is the expectation to join everyone for dinner each night,” Cyrus affirmed with a stern glare. “It’s the one way we can make sure everyone is accounted for.”

  “Sage will do some herbal work with you and, before we even consider massage, we will start hydrotherapy, as water will neutralize the negative side-effects you might experience while you heal,” Sarka interjected.

  “Okay.” Trinity waited for the bomb to drop. Although the two dark ones were difficult to read, she could sense they treaded carefully with her. She glanced at each of the siblings with distrust. “What are you not telling me?”

  Cyrus shot a hardened stare at Sage.

  “Go on,” she encouraged him. “She needs to hear it.”

  “What?” Frustration amplified through Trinity.

  The oldest brother exhaled a heavy breath and stood. He removed his gloves and held out his palm. “Your mother’s wedding band?” He nodded to her right hand.

  Trinity gazed down at the white gold Celtic ring and hesitated. “You’re a retrocog,” she recalled aloud and then shook her head. “But you hate to read objects, especially ones associated with….” A whimper festered in her chest.

  “For you, I’ll make an exception because Sage and Cemil are convinced it’s necessary.” He waved his hand, edginess tinging his voice.

  Trinity stared at her ring finger. She knew the object housed horrific pain. If Cyrus read it, she would likely feel his reactions. Coupled with her searing memories of those two fateful nights everyone she loved was butchered, Trinity doubted she could handle much more. Against her better judgment, she tugged the ring off and placed it in his palm. It would be a roll of the dice, since her perceptions were skewed. Sometimes, they were overloaded, as Sarka mentioned, and other times, she couldn’t make them work for the life of her.

  Cyrus cupped his second hand over the first as he read her ring. He winced and recoiled, his eyes squinted shut, and sucked in a shuddering breath. “Part of the problem you have is you can’t control your second side.”

  She reeled with astonishment. “What do you mean second side?”

  “You’re part banshee.”

  “I am a banshee. What is this business about part?” She shrugged with annoyance.

  He cocked his head. “You’re part empath.”

  “Empath?”

  Sage nodded. “It’s why you can read people as deeply as you do.”

  “Did you not know your mother was half empath?” Cyrus asked.

  She sucked in a sharp breath as her chest tightened. “No.”

  “That’s why the banshee drove her crazy. She suffered the grief of all the deaths she called for; it pushed her over the edge.” Cyrus clenched his teeth and quickly handed the ring over to her, clearly shaken. “Bu
t there’s a great deal I can’t see.”

  Sage jumped up and hustled to the counter at the back of the office where she poured a cup of tea then brought it to her brother.

  Trinity’s mouth grew dry with shock.

  “You were right, Sage.” He let out a heavy exhale. “She has no idea.”

  “Best to tear the Band-Aid off, brother.” Sarka folded her arms across her chest.

  “There’s more?” Trinity gripped the armrests of the chair and braced for impact.

  Cyrus put his gloves back on. “Your family wasn’t murdered by humans, I’m afraid.”

  “Of course they were. They slaughtered my parents because . we were banshee. They had called for the deaths of their loved ones over the years. I saw them, their necks….” The gruesome images sliced through her brain.

  “I’m sorry, but you saw the aftermath of a murder-suicide.”

  His words pierced her heart. “No!” She shook her head. “Mother never would have—”

  “Your father knew she had lost her mind. He had his brother take you out of the house after he had foreseen what was to come. Your mother gave the banshee cry, not only for his death, but her own, too.”

  Numbness washed over every muscle of her body. “Are you saying because I’m part empath and banshee, I’m going crazy like my mother did? Is this what’s happening to me right now?”

  “That’s not what I meant. Your stress is legit, and the death of your uncle has triggered—”

  “Never mind. I don’t want to know,” she snapped.

  Deep down, she knew she had blocked a great deal of trauma after she fled her uncle’s grasp and bolted into her family home. What she found, she could never un-see, no matter how hard she’d tried over the years. At the ripe young age of six, Trinity had cried out for both their deaths the night before they perished. Tears of blood had streaked her face. Her mother tried to convince her she’d only had a bad dream, but the next day proved her mother had lied.