Dark Redemption Page 10

  Dalair stared into his beer glass, the compliment bouncing off of him like pebbles upon an armored tank.

  He appreciated the presence of the female by his side, however, because her being there effectively discouraged others from approaching.

  As beautiful as some of the women in the bar were, they didn’t compare favorably next to the inhumanly gorgeous creature on the stool beside him.

  Too bad Dalair still wasn’t interested.

  Besides, it wasn’t as if Pure Ones and vampires mixed well together, given that the latter used to enslave the former until the former rebelled and wiped out most of the latter in the Great War and the Purge of the aftermath.

  “I’m not particularly well-read,” he replied. “I don’t know about much beyond leading military campaigns and charging into battle.”

  He was a soldier through and through. All he did was follow orders.

  He’d only questioned what he was told to do twice in his life. The first time, he’d done it anyway, with disastrous consequences. The second time was when he requested to be rotated out of Sophia’s personal guard, despite having been her closest protector since he found her as an infant and brought her into the Pure Ones’ fold.

  Now, he was kind of AWOL. Still formally part of the Elite, but he hadn’t been physically in the Shield for a long time.

  He constantly battled his own need for revenge upon the creature who’d attacked the Pure Ones’ base a couple of years ago, including the abduction of Sophia, and his loyalty and duty to the Dozen. As a compromise, he took on missions that enabled him to do both—get closer to hunting down the creature and help the Dozen however he could.

  He turned to face his contact fully.

  “But we’re not here to talk about my linguistic ignorance. I hear from Seth Tremaine that you need my help in tracking Sergei Antonov’s movements during daytime, since I’m already in the area.”

  The female fighter downed her first shot of vodka with ruthless efficiency, not so much as a wince twitching on her face as the 160-proof liquid set fire to her esophagus.

  “Anastasia Zima, at your service,” she formally greeted, followed by, “and I don’t need your help, Pure One.”

  Then she tipped her lips up higher as she regarded him fully.

  “But I will happily take it if you’re offering. I am strong, but I would be lying if I said I enjoy hunting prey while the sun is high in the sky.”

  He nodded once. “Just tell me where and when. Do I intercept or simply observe?”

  “The day after tomorrow at noon, Novodevichy Cemetery. Observe first,” she said, “but do whatever it takes to prevent the exchange of goods from taking place, if it looks likely.”

  “You don’t know that it will happen?”

  She shook her head. “Antonov is to meet with a Chinese contact about the arms deal. That’s all I was able to gather these last couple of nights. I could not ascertain whether he has prototypes with him and whether he will show them to the Chinese. We cannot let the weapons or designs change hands. The Chinese will mass produce and distribute them through all of their networks literally overnight.”

  “How many are involved in this get-together?” Dalair asked

  “Besides Antonov and his contact, I’d estimate five or six armed guards on each side.”

  Definitely odds Dalair could handle alone. Unless…

  “Are they all human?”

  Ana’s brows furrowed slightly.

  “That, I do not know. You should expect at least a couple of warrior-class Pure or Dark Ones as Antonov’s protectors, despite the daytime. If they are mind-controlled like the others, they will be less sensitive to the sun’s effects. He’s too important an asset for Medusa not to guard closely.”

  Dalair accurately translated what she said into, proceed with caution.

  He and Aella, another warrior in Sophia’s inner circle, had fought against Medusa’s mind-controlled warriors before. The Pure Ones had lost one of the Elite in the same manner.

  These soulless warriors were even more lethal because they retained all of their fighting abilities but had no fear, no compunction, felt no pain. Whereas, those they fought against might have once considered them comrades and friends and therefore felt even more fear, more doubt, and a hell of a lot more emotional pain when confronted with the turned foes.

  Aella had almost lost her life because of a momentary recognition and hesitation when she fought against a familiar face.

  Which was why Dalair had to get to everyone on the list of names Seth gave him as fast as he possibly could. He had to warn the Pure warriors to stay vigilant at the very least, and perhaps he might succeed in recruiting one or more of them into the Elite if they wanted to take a more active stance in the war with Medusa’s subversive empire of humans, Dark and Pure Ones alike.

  This was his new mission since members of their erstwhile Dark allies, the Chosen of the New England vampire hive, had gotten hold of the list some weeks ago.

  It wasn’t easy, given that the targeted warriors were spread all across the globe. But if he didn’t get to them first, they might become the next recruits into Medusa’s army.

  Dalair finished his beer and left a few bills on the counter.

  “I’ll contact you on rendezvous night.”

  “And if I don’t hear from you?” Ana pushed.

  “You will.”

  She smiled that appreciative smile again.

  “You are very sure of yourself, Paladin.”

  He simply looked at her.

  She tilted her head and pierced him with her shrewd gaze.

  “I thought the Consul would have sent Tristan, Aella or Cloud, maybe even Valerius.”

  She shifted closer and smiled.

  “Personally, I was looking forward to seeing the human Chevalier again, but Antonov’s crew might recognize him from the fight clubs. I’m surprised that we are working on this together when, from what I’ve gathered, you have always been an indispensable part of the Pure Queen’s personal guard.”

  Dalair didn’t wonder why the New England Dark Queen’s head of security knew so much about his team. He’d be surprised if she didn’t know.

  “The Queen has all the protection she requires,” he said flatly and turned to leave.

  Anastasia stared at him for a few more beats before saluting him with her second shot of vodka.

  “Udachi. Good luck, Pure One,” she called out to his retreating back.

  And Dalair had the strangest suspicion that she didn’t mean it for his mission.

  *** *** *** ***

  “It’s not what it looks like.”

  Well, it kind of was what it looked like, actually.

  It looked like Clara had her arms wrapped possessively around a large, naked male body, thankfully covered up to his waist by a light quilt, his long, dark mane shielding most of his face from view.

  Annie blinked down at her new mommy and her mommy’s friend and wondered why adults always chose to prevaricate when caught red-handed with the truth.

  Clara eased clumsily away from Eli, her hand getting tangled in his hair in the process. She struggled with it like a besotted fly trapped in the sticky web of a spider, creating more knots she’d probably have to hack off in large sections later, and finally rolled inelegantly off the bed into a standing position.

  Surely Rapunzel’s Prince Charming never struggled as ineptly as she did with the luxuriously maned Eli.

  Clara hastily pulled the cover a bit farther up Eli’s body as he slumbered obliviously on, then led Annie away from the crime scene and pulled the French screens more securely closed around her makeshift bedroom.

  The moment they were alone in the common area, Annie crossed her arms and looked up at Clara with pursed lips, her large blue eyes drilling into Clara’s like an army sergeant with a new recruit at boot camp.

  “Um,” Clara began inarticulately, “that was Eli with me back there. You know, our Eli, the one we both like.”

&nb
sp; The little girl continued to stare at her, her look saying, so?

  “Well, he needs our help right now,” Clara explained, ushering Annie toward the small kitchenette in the opposite corner of the loft.

  “He doesn’t have a home, and he doesn’t have many friends. We’re all he’s got, Annie, just you and me.”

  The girl scooted on top of a stool, one of three tucked under a small flip-down breakfast table, and blinked some more at Clara, as if to say, I can see that you were being very friendly.

  Clara was pretty sure she was making more of Annie’s inquisitive looks than the little girl actually thought, but she was feeling rather guilty this morning, given that she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar, so to speak.

  “Eli needs a lot of hugs,” she told her soon-to-be-adopted daughter solemnly. “He’s been feeling down.”

  And suddenly, Annie’s expression cleared, as if everything had finally been explained to her satisfaction.

  She smiled shyly and nodded, giving her approval of Clara hugging Eli. Everyone needed hugs, after all. And Clara gave really good ones.

  Relieved to have passed a first test of sorts with her young charge, Clara inhaled deeply and focused on the day ahead.

  “We’re going shopping, Annie,” she said brightly. “I’ve been hankering to spend my paycheck on something special. We’re going to pick out a whole new wardrobe for Eli. We’re going to be his very own fashion gurus, you and me, partner.”

  Annie grinned and kicked her feet under the table with excitement.

  Eli already looked like a fairy-tale prince. Now he was going to look like every girl’s dream come true.

  He was going to be just perfect for Clara, who was the prettiest fairy-tale princess in the whole wide world.

  As Clara hummed cheerfully, preparing their breakfast, Annie began to imagine the possibilities.

  Every family had a mommy, a daddy and a baby, and sometimes the baby had a brother or a sister too. Clara was Annie’s new mommy.

  Maybe, if Annie was extra good, if she wished every night upon the brightest star in the sky, she’d get a wonderful new daddy too.

  *** *** *** ***

  After a couple of private lessons for privileged youths in the morning, Clara took Annie to the pediatrician a few blocks away as planned.

  As Annie watched Octonauts in a small waiting room with other children, Clara conferred privately with the doctor.

  “I couldn’t find anything physically preventing her from speaking,” the young female physician said.

  “There’s nothing wrong with her throat and vocal cords. Nothing wrong with her tongue and the rest of her mouth. She hears just fine, and she understands perfectly well. She can also form complete sentences with her lips. She just can’t seem to find her voice.”

  “So you think it’s psychological, then?” Clara asked.

  “I believe so, yes. But, of course, this is not my area of expertise. Has Annie experienced any trauma in her past?”

  “Being orphaned is pretty traumatic,” Clara answered.

  “I’m sorry to hear it,” the doctor murmured.

  She took out a small pad and scribbled a name and number on it.

  “This is the contact for a psychotherapist who specializes in children. She comes highly recommended.”

  Which meant her rate would be highly expensive.

  The doctor seemed to correctly interpret Clara’s hesitation.

  “The first consultation is free if you decide to give her a call, and I would strongly suggest you bring Annie with you for a visit in-person. But honestly, Ms. Scott, time might be the best therapy for Annie. Time, love and stability.”

  “I’m adopting her,” Clara blurted out.

  Sometimes, she had the insane urge to shout to the world that Annie was hers, so filled with maternal love and pride.

  The doctor smiled.

  “How wonderful. I’m sure Annie will eventually find her voice. But if you want to help her along a bit, make an appointment with this therapist. Maybe one free session is all it takes.”

  Clara left the doctor’s office feeling optimistic. She’d give the psychotherapist’s office a call and book an appointment. It couldn’t hurt.

  In the afternoon, she toured a few schools with Annie and see which one she liked best. The public school they were assigned to based on where they lived wasn’t very good. So Clara selected a few private schools nearby as well. She wanted to give Annie the best education and learning environment.

  But that also meant that she needed to quit her low-paying, almost volunteering part-time job at the orphanage and pick up more private art instruction to pay for the bills. Even then, she’d have to scrimp and save every penny.

  The good news was that one of the schools was a chartered Gifted Academy. The Director of the school and the teachers that Clara and Annie met all seemed to like Annie quite a lot despite her muteness. They had her sit with one of the teachers to draw and do some simple math while Clara conversed with the Director.

  “How old is Annie?” the Director asked.

  “She just turned five a few weeks ago,” Clara answered.

  “Her control and coordination with various art media and her math abilities are quite advanced for her age. She hasn’t written any words, but she can obviously read just fine. When we asked questions to test her reading comprehension, she got all of the answers right. Has she had private tutors?”

  Clara noticed too, almost from the first day Annie was brought to the orphanage.

  “I believe so,” Clara answered, especially given Annie’s privileged background before she lost everything.

  “She’s a very smart and talented little girl,” she added proudly.

  “Indeed,” the Director agreed. “I think she’d be a great fit here. Why don’t you bring her back tomorrow for a few short tests? If she passes them, she would be able to enroll here with her tuition waived. The tests are multiple choice, so her inability or, I suspect, unwillingness, to write and speak will not hinder her. We just got an opening when one of our students moved out of town.”

  Free tuition at a top-tier school! Clara could hardly believe her good fortune.

  Well, Annie earned it with her smarts and skills. But still. It would make life a lot easier if all Clara had to worry about were the school supplies and lunch fees. Though not insubstantial, the costs would be a lot more manageable than paying full tuition.

  To celebrate Annie’s potential admission to the Gifted Academy, they went on a shopping spree at Marshalls and splurged on clothes for Eli, a new sundress for Annie, and some intimate lacy things for Clara.

  Because, well, with the most beautiful man in the world sleeping in her bed at home, Clara thought it would be prudent to get her sexy on.

  *** *** *** ***

  Eli drifted into wakefulness with the most luxurious sensation pulling gently and methodically at his scalp, sifting through his long, straight hair.

  Involuntarily, he sighed. It felt so good to be petted and stroked without expectation of something in return. He couldn’t recall the last time someone touched him for his benefit rather than their own selfish purposes.

  Except Clara.

  Clara touched him because she enjoyed it. Because she wanted him to enjoy it too.

  He slowly opened his eyes and expected to find her beside him on the bed, perhaps stroking her fingers through his hair, maybe smiling sweetly at him while she did it, or—

  “Arrgghh!”

  He couldn’t help the gurgle of dismay and his uncoordinated reaction to get away, flailing straight into the wall the bed was pushed up against on his side of it.

  No escape! He had to roll back the other way and face the enemy:

  A red-haired little girl who looked like a miniature version of Clara, armed with a tiny little brush and saucer-sized blue beacons for eyes.

  Eli scooted to a sitting position and hastily pulled the sheets around him, wrapping himself tightly like a mummy u
p to his chin, before confronting the silent girl.

  They stared at each other for long seconds, sizing one another up.

  The little girl made the first move.

  She took a hunk of Eli’s hair and began to brush that tiny little leprechaun brush through it again.

  As if the hair wasn’t attached to a ferocious, serial-killing, blood-sucking male who could eat her whole for breakfast.

  Eli darted his eyes around to locate Clara, but the half-closed French screens blocked his view.

  The little girl scooted closer and tugged on his hair to make him lean more towards her.

  Like a well-trained pet, he did so, and she began to weave a thin braid from his scalp down to the ends of his hair.

  Eli held his breath.

  Was this a new form of torture? But it actually felt good to have his hair brushed and braided. Apart from his masculine pride, nothing else was hurt.

  It was kind of eerie, though, the way the little girl worked at braiding his hair, so concentrated and silent. And wherever did she get that tiny little brush? Something very odd was—

  “Oh, you’re awake!”

  Clara popped her head in through the gap of the French screens and smiled at the domestic scene they made.

  “I told you Eli’s hair is much better for braiding than Miss Melanie’s,” she said to her mini-me, nodding toward something sitting against Eli’s pillow.

  Eli looked down and saw a plastic doll, presumably named Miss Melanie, with long, straight hair down to her ankles.

  “I got the Barbie for Annie yesterday,” Clara explained, “and though Miss Melanie has enviable hair, it’s not nearly as fun to braid as yours.”

  A light bulb went off in Eli’s head. Now that tiny little brush made sense. It was for the doll!

  And just how long had the girl been at it?

  A glance told him—a good long while. Because a third of his hair had been meticulously woven into dozens of tiny braids already.

  He shot a slightly pleading, greatly panicked look at Clara.

  Whoever and whatever Eli was, he knew with absolute certainty that he was useless around children. And given his “skills” and proclivities, he feared he might be a danger to the girl’s health.