For years, she had suppressed her personal needs in order to take care of Alex, and to build them a safe life. But now, she felt a longing for male companionship. For all the things a relationship entailed—adult conversation, holding hands, kissing and being held, sizzling sex, the daily ins and outs of sharing lives.
She missed the feel of a man’s hands on her, of his physical possession of her body, missed the intimacy of bed talk and cuddling in the dark hours of the night. While she had convinced herself over the past seven years that her life with Alex was enough, now she found herself envying those couples who had normal, loving relationships.
But there was nothing normal about Damien, or about the situation that had brought him to Zorro. She must remember that. Her loneliness was causing her attraction to him—a futile and dangerous attraction, at that.
Besides, this wasn’t about her, or her needs. It was about a monster without conscience, and the threat to Zorro—and her son. If the Belian Damien was tracking stayed true to form, there would be more murders.
Then she would have to decide how far she was willing to go to help Damien hunt down this monster…
And how much of herself she would sacrifice.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Damien did his daily meditation on Sunday morning. Then he worked out, using the free weights he always carried with him, and doing lengthy sets of abdominal crunches and push-ups. He also worked through several of his martial arts kata routines, repeating them until his moves and kicks were flawless.
After that, he ran five miles, most of it along River Road. He kept his senses tuned as he ran, but he didn’t pick up anything, nor did he see the lightning-damaged tree that he’d envisioned during the conduction.
Returning to the bed-and-breakfast, he showered and spent the rest of the day researching all the murders in central Texas over the past year, and compiling a progress report for Adam. When he got to the part about Alex, he sat back, considering that aspect of this current assignment. He’d never before been appointed a mentor to a developing Sentinel; perhaps because most children who needed a mentor had lost their Sentinel parent.
Damien had not only lost his Sentinel mother, but his human father as well, in one vicious Belian act. Even now, he had to work to keep the pain buried, and maybe that’s why the Sanctioned had never marked him for mentor duty.
He’d had no siblings, so he had little experience with kids. But damned if Alex wasn’t getting to him. The boy was incredibly bright, with a mischievous grin that could probably melt the strongest Atlantian alloy.
Alex’s powers were strong and true, like a pure, bright beacon against a murky Belian soul, assuming the foul beings even had souls. The Law of One said they did—that every being had a soul, every being had the spark of The One inside them, awaiting awakening and guidance. With Belians, that spark had become enshrouded in a darkness that was fed by violence and fear and chaos.
Nothing new there, Damien thought. But his growing fondness for the boy, and the previous day’s events, were a unique experience. He, Damien, had actually played soccer yesterday. He couldn’t remember playing any game since he’d been about ten, and certainly not with such abandon.
And Kara—well, there was another aberration. It was hard to tell for sure, because of the ever-present chemistry that hummed between them, but he felt a growing bond with her. She was a good mother—firm but loving, devoted to her son. She had spunk and personality, and a surprising sense of humor.
He wasn’t used to laughing, but he found himself often doing just that when he was around her. He also found himself looking forward to seeing her, found himself waiting to hear the next quick-witted remark she uttered. That type of bond wasn’t a good thing to allow, for myriad reasons.
At this point, there was nothing to be done but to keep his emotional distance as much as possible. He had to work closely with her; their Sentinel/conductor link was the most precise and most charged one he had ever experienced. He might never again find such a good match.
The Belian he was tracking was quite possibly the most powerful one he’d ever encountered. He could request another conductor be sent to Zorro, but he didn’t believe the conduction results would be as productive as they would with Kara. So he would resist the human attraction, repressing the part of him that was simply a man.
He finished the report and e-mailed it to Adam. It might seem incongruous that a group of beings whose roots could be traced back over thousands of years so enthusiastically embraced the Internet age—except that before Atlantis was destroyed, its technology had far exceeded current Earth technology. Coming back full circle, Damien mused.
That done, he powered down his laptop and headed out to find something to eat, since he only got breakfast at the bed-and-breakfast. His room there was nice enough, with a real fireplace, a tall four-poster bed, and a huge claw-footed bathtub that also had a shower. Belle Williams served a great breakfast, and had quickly learned he ate a lot and increased his portions.
He walked down a curving staircase carpeted in a burgundy floral pattern, to a foyer that smelled faintly of beeswax and potpourri. The stately old mansion had once belonged to Samuel Williams, the founder of Zorro, and the great-great grandfather of Belle’s husband. She was just coming in from outside, juggling two Wal-Mart bags. “Here, let me help you with those.” Damien commandeered the bags, and Belle gave him a small smile.
She was an attractive woman, although she’d passed middle age and was heading toward senior status. She had honey blonde hair, fixed in a midlength, full style that was probably the product of the local hair salon. Her eyes were an alert blue behind bifocal glasses; she was of average height, with a thickening waistline and extremely generous breasts.
Her one outstanding asset was her legs, which were shapely and surprisingly youthful. Today she wore a soft floral skirt, and stylish red pumps that showed off her legs.
“Where do you want these?” he asked, hefting up the bags.
“The kitchen,” she said briskly. “I believe you know the way.”
“Sure do. It’s my favorite room in the house.” He started through the antique-appointed dining room to the swinging door into the kitchen.
“That’s because you like what comes out of it,” she said, her footsteps echoing behind him. “I figured I’d better stock up on more food to keep you fed. And I have three new bookings next week, which is unusual for this time of year. Probably want to see if the fish are biting in the Blanco River.” As they entered the big, gleaming kitchen, she pointed to the long, spotless tile counter. “Put the bags there.”
Damien did, inhaling the pleasant scents of coffee, cinnamon, and the ham steak and eggs he’d enjoyed at breakfast. “Got anymore to bring in?”
“Yes, and I’d thank you to get them from the truck. I’m feeling a little under the weather.” She began unloading the groceries. “The dear Lord willing, I’ll be better soon.”
He’d noticed she’d looked a little pale and tired the past few days, but had been too distracted to give it much thought. Now, however, his instincts kicked into full alert. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh,” she paused, seemingly flustered, and then waved a hand in the air. “Just a medical problem needing regular treatment.”
While he didn’t like badgering or embarrassing older ladies, he needed to know about any serious medical conditions among the residents of Zorro. A weakened body was the easiest point of entry for an incorporeal Belian soul. Since Belians worked only out of the four lower chakras, they didn’t have the ability to heal the bodies they possessed.
Sometimes the original soul inhabiting the body remained, so the person retained their basic personality, with only blips of erratic behavior that might or might not be noticed.
Even if the original soul fled the onslaught of the dark Belian soul, Belians were crafty and very clever, often impersonating the human they took over with amazing accuracy. They could maintain normal behavior a
nd mannerisms for long periods of time, while secretly wreaking havoc on innocent lives.
“Mrs. Williams, what is it you need treatment for?” Damien persisted.
“Well, it’s a little personal.”
“Is it cancer?” he asked quietly.
She looked annoyed. “Well yes, if you must know—” She hesitated, sighed. “Breast cancer. They found it five months ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Are you undergoing treatment?”
“Yes. My doctor recommended chemotherapy. We did it for three months, then took a few weeks off. We started another round last week, and it’s making me feel a little puny.”
“I hope you have a full recovery,” he said, eyeing her hair and thinking it could very well be a wig. His gaze wandered to her ample breasts and he wondered if one might be a prosthesis. He’d be researching breast cancer in the near future.
“Well.” She nodded briskly. “Thank you. My daughter Nancy takes me to Austin for the treatments, and my doctors say the prognosis is pretty good.”
“I hope they’re right. Let me get the rest of your bags.” Damien spent the next fifteen minutes helping Belle put away her purchases, then accepted her offer of a cup of coffee.
She’d been fairly reserved when he arrived ten days ago, but had warmed up to him, becoming more talkative. Now she piled some of her homemade oatmeal cookies on an exquisite china plate, poured them both coffee, and sat at the table with him.
“Did you know Doris Burgess?” he asked.
“Yes, I did. I’ve known her all my life. We saw each other at church most every week.” Belle shook her head, stared at her coffee. “Such sad news, her passing. She seemed to be in good health.”
“Did you know she had diabetes?”
“Sure did. Probably what killed her.”
“Why do you say that?” Damien asked.
“Well, havin’ diabetes and havin’ to take insulin wears out a body. And Doris had been taking insulin awhile. At least ten, maybe twelve years.” Belle considered. “I can’t remember for sure.”
So Doris’s condition had apparently been common knowledge.
“My Aunt Susan also had diabetes,” Belle continued.
“Did she? What happened to her?”
“She died in her sleep when she was sixty-two. The doctors said her heart just stopped beating. Said sometimes when a person has diabetes, the body just gives out.” She offered him the plate of cookies. “Have another one.”
“Thank you.” He took a cookie, considered the fact that Belle had so much knowledge about diabetes.
“How much longer will you be staying in Zorro?” she asked.
“A little while,” he replied evasively. “I’m not sure yet. I’m still working on several articles for my magazine, and I need a quiet place to write. Your bed-and-breakfast suits my purposes very well.”
“Seems to me you’d be wanting to investigate those murders in Fredericksburg. Nothing to write about in Zorro.”
“I don’t know. I’ve learned that wherever there are people, there’s usually crime. Can you tell me anything about past crimes in this area? Any murders? Suspicious deaths?”
She chuckled. “Not really. But we do have some colorful folks around here.”
“Tell me about them,” he invited, and they chatted as they drank a second cup of coffee, and he devoured the rest of the cookies.
Belle was a great source of information about the citizens of Zorro, and he made several mental notes on people he wanted to investigate more closely.
“Thanks for the coffee and the cookies, which were great,” he said thirty minutes later, taking his cup to the sink and rinsing it out. “Any ideas on where I should go for dinner?”
“You just ate an entire plateful of cookies!”
“That’s just not enough for a growing boy like me.” Damien patted his flat midriff. “I need some meat and potatoes.”
“You and that appetite of yours. I don’t know how you stay in shape.” Belle stared at him thoughtfully, and he hoped his eating habits hadn’t exposed him. “Well, if you want something besides the Busy Bee, which closes at eight on Sundays anyway, you can head up 165. the Country Kitchen has good food and stays open until nine, every day of the week.”
“Thanks. I’ll head out now. You have a good evening.” Damien went back upstairs to get his duster and left the house.
He drove north on 165 and found the Country Kitchen. He had some great chicken-fried steak with mounds of mashed potatoes and gravy, and flaky biscuits dripping in butter, then some excellent homemade apple pie, which he ordered with Blue Bell ice cream. The ice cream reminded him of the night before, sharing the dessert with Alex.
Thinking back, he couldn’t remember when he’d last shared a meal with anyone other than another Sentinel. Belle chatted with him a few minutes at breakfast every morning, but then left him alone with his food and a newspaper. Their visit in her kitchen today had been unusual, but fairly brief and impersonal.
Last night, however, he’d actually spent a social evening with someone, had laughed out loud and acted like a regular human being. Maybe that was part of the attraction he felt toward Kara and Alex; it appealed to the human side of him. But it was ill-advised, and he couldn’t allow it to become a habit.
He got back to Zorro around ten and decided he’d have a beer at Jim’s Tavern. It was another good place to hang out and possibly hear some useful information. Besides, he needed some time to digest all the food he’d eaten. The bar was relatively busy for a Sunday night, with about ten cars in the gravel parking lot behind the building.
Damien parked and got out of his car. He saw a man and a woman standing beside an oversized, king-cab pickup truck, but it looked like they were just talking, and he didn’t give them much thought.
He was headed around to the front when he heard the woman’s voice hitch up. The tone alerted him, and he turned back. With a Belian loose in Zorro, he had to be aware of any possibility. His superhuman hearing made it easy enough for him to eavesdrop.
“Matt, you’re too drunk to drive,” the woman said. The voice was familiar—he’d heard it before. She had her back to him, so he couldn’t see her clearly.
“Let go of me,” the man said, his words slurring. He shook the woman’s hand off his arm. “I didn’t ask for your company tonight.”
“What’s wrong with me joining you for a drink? I shouldn’t have to wait for an invitation from you.”
A faint accent, a slightly husky voice…Luz. It was the curandera who worked for Kara.
“And a man shouldn’t be bothered when he just wants to have a drink with the guys.” The man grabbed the door handle, tugged on it, but it didn’t open. “Son of a bitch!”
“It’s locked,” she said. “Let me drive you home.”
“Leave me alone!”
“Give me the keys, Matt.” She reached for his pocket.
“Fuck you!” He shoved her, and she staggered back. Damien started toward them.
“How dare you talk to me like that?” she hissed. “¡Cabrón!”
She lunged at him, and he slapped her hard, the sharp sound of the physical contact carrying across the night air. The white haze descended around Damien, throwing him into Sentinel fight/protect mode. Power, and the instinctual need to protect this female human, roared through him.
Luz let out a screech and drew back her fisted hand. Damien was already there. He stepped between her and the man who’d hit her. He backhanded Matt, sent the man flying against the truck. Matt slid down to the ground in a crumpled heap. Reaching for control, Damien called upon the Light to sweep the haze away, to focus on his vows that he wouldn’t harm innocents. Although he didn’t know how innocent a man who would hit a woman could be.
“Jesús.” Luz knelt by Matt, ran her hands over him. “He’s never acted this way before, even drunk. It’s like he’s possessed.” She made the sign of the cross over her chest.
Matt groaned, looked
toward Damien, his eyes unfocused.
“You have no business striking a woman,” Damien growled. “You want to pick a fight, you do it with someone your own size. And next time, I won’t be so gentle.” He turned his attention to Luz. “Are you all right?”
“Soy bien.” She shoved her hand into Matt’s coat pocket, pulled out a set of keys. Rising, she faced Damien, her attitude anything but grateful. “You didn’t need to interfere. I can take care of myself.”
She glanced down at Matt, her expression hardening, her eyes glittering fiercely in the moonlight. “He will be sorry he treated me this way, el pendejo” Pivoting, she threw the keys out into the field behind the parking lot. “I don’t want him to kill himself or anyone else trying to get home tonight. I want him alive so I can make him pay.”
She straightened her red coat, bent to retrieve her purse off the ground. Without another word, she stalked to a white Ford pickup truck, got in, and drove away.
Damien stared after her, sensing barely restrained fury and other emotions that had nothing to do with healing. He also felt a flare of power. He considered her words about Matt acting possessed. Interesting.
He pulled out a small notebook, wrote down the make, model, and license tag of Luz’s truck, and then did the same for Matt’s vehicle. He watched impassively while Matt struggled unsteadily to his feet. Satisfied that, for now, the man was no danger to anyone but perhaps himself, Damien headed for the bar entrance.
He’d have that beer, and maybe pick up some new tidbits of information, but he had already learned a lot today—and tonight.
* * * *
Alex didn’t mind going to school, and he usually liked Mondays, because he had his two favorite subjects, math and art, on Monday. But he was having trouble focusing today. He kept thinking about stuff—the ghost on Wednesday, then going into Mrs. Burgess’s house and that awful feeling inside it. Then there was all that neat stuff Mr. Morgan was showing him.
Touched by Darkness – An Urban Fantasy Romance (Book 1, The Sentinel Series) Page 15
