“You guys know you can’t just walk in there with me, right?” I ask. “You have wings.” I let out a breath and roll my neck, trying to stretch out a knot in my shoulder. “It’s pretty isolated out here. But in town…it’ll be culture shock.” I unfold my legs and yawn. It’s a little after ten and I’m ready for bed.
“Magic,” Jacques starts. “It takes a lot out of you.”
I’m still not convinced I actually possess magical powers, but it would explain the total depletion of energy I’ve been feeling.
“You should rest.”
“Probably. I have to work in the morning again too.”
“We’ll guard the house.” He eyes the couch. “Are you sleeping here again?”
“Yeah. It’s too cold for me upstairs.” I get up, muscles aching from my scuffles with the vampires yesterday. “Do you want me to show you how things work around here? Like the water and lights? I brought more food, too, in case you’re hungry later.”
“Sure.” Jacques follows me into the kitchen. I turn on the water, showing him which way to turn the faucet to get hot or cold. The bathroom is next, and his fascination with indoor plumbing makes me realize how much I took it for granted.
We walk past the library, and Jacques slows, looking inside. “I used to read every night.” I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or himself.
“You can read tonight,” I gently offer, and step in, going to the lamp near the window. I pull the chain and the bulb flickers on. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but can you read English?”
“Yes, and I think you were right about absorbing information we heard over the years. Though back when I was a man, I could read and write in several languages.”
If what I know from the few historical movies is correct, highly educated men came from rich families…and didn’t turn to the priesthood.
“Why did you become a Templar priest?” I ask, running the risk of being too frank.
“I believed in the message of the church.”
“Believed?”
He lowers his gaze. “I don’t anymore.”
“Because of the curse?”
“No,” he says, and turns away. “I stopped believing before that.”
Away from the fire, I’m cold again. Jacques steps to the bookshelf, scanning the volumes in front of him. He pulls one down and runs his finger over the title.
“Emma,” he reads, and the word sends a chill down my spine. Out of all the books he chooses that particular one. “Have you read it? It’s a strange title.”
“I have. More than once.” I curl my fingers in, pressing my nails into my palms. “Jane Austen is a great author. She’s pretty well-known now.”
Jacques’s lips move into a smile, almost mirroring the one from my dream. “I’ll start with this one then. Maybe I’ll learn something of value.”
I smile back, kicking around the thought of leaving a copy of Fifty Shades of Grey lying around for him to read next.
“There’s another light by the fireplace.”
Jacques tucks the book under his arm. “I can see in the dark.”
“Really?”
“Really. Part of the curse.”
“Oh, right. You’re only awake at night.”
His gaze goes to the dark window. “I forgot the feel of sunlight.”
“If I can break the curse, I will.”
“You should rest,” he says, acting as if he didn’t hear me. Maybe he doesn’t think I’m capable of breaking it. We leave the library, and I grab my bag to change into pajamas for the night.
Hasan has gone back outside to keep watch, Jacques is in the living room with the book, and I’m not sure where Thomas and Gilbert are. I unfold my blanket, fluff up my pillow, and settle in on the couch.
This time around, it takes me a good hour before I finally fall asleep, despite my exhaustion. I wake up not long after with a cramp in my neck. The couch isn’t comfortable at all.
The house is quiet and the fire has died down some. The room has retained enough warmth to keep the chill away, but not enough to shed my blankets. I press my fingers into the base of my neck, massaging my sore muscles.
Something shuffles behind me, and I jump up.
“It’s just me,” Thomas says, leaving the shadows. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah.” I sit back on the couch. “I woke up with a stiff neck, that’s all.”
“Let me help you.” He stands behind the couch, putting his hands on my shoulders. “You’re very tense.”
“I usually am.”
“Why?” With one hand, he moves my hair to the side, then starts kneading my muscles.
“Work, I guess.”
“Then why do you do it?”
My eyes fall shut. For a man with fangs, claws, and wings, his touch is gentle. “I like my job.”
“You like a job that makes you tense?”
“It doesn’t make sense, I know.” I let my head fall to the side. Thomas slides his hands down my shoulders. “I guess I just like getting the bad guys.”
He brings his hands back up and moves one forward, tracing my collarbone with one finger. I shiver from the sensation. The last time a man touched me like this was, well, never. I’m not a virgin, but the relationships I’ve had in the past never amounted to much.
I bring my hand up, placing it on top of Thomas’s. He feels human. Warm flesh, tender touch, and deft fingers. He might have vowed to keep it in his pants, but I know these hands have pleasured many women. He knows what he’s doing.
I tip my head back and open my eyes, looking at him. In one swift movement, he jumps over the couch, landing next to me. I angle my body toward him, studying his wings.
“Go ahead. Touch it,” he whispers.
Tentatively, I bring my hand up and feel the top of the wing. They’re much like bat wings, just sized for a large man. The bones beneath the webbed flesh is ridged and bumpy, with rough patches of thick skin along the top. The edges are outlined in barbs, reminding me a bit of the back of a stegosaurus. Gilbert’s wings look similar, much unlike Jacques’s, which are as detailed as a carefully carved statue, artfully formed with Gothic beauty. Even the razor-sharp talons at the top of his wings have Celtic symbols engraved into them. Hasan’s wingspan is the biggest, and his wings are plain and dark with no hooks, barbs, or talons.
“You all look different,” I start, then realize how stupid that sounds. “I mean, of course you do, but your wings vary a lot.”
“They’re based on our personalities. Well, the opposite of them. Gil and I prided ourselves on our looks and we got the ugliest wings. Hasan loved his weapons and has the least defensive wings of us all. And Jacques didn’t believe in material wealth and he looks like the King of Hell with those ornamental wings.”
I swallow hard, getting a better sense of the curse. Whoever cast it wanted the men to suffer in every way possible.
“What did you do to get cursed?”
Thomas stiffens and looks into the fire. “We were blamed for a murder we did not commit.”
“Who died?”
“The daughter of a pagan sorcerer. Her father cursed us.”
“Braeya?”
“Yes, that was her name.”
I think back to my dream. The intensity in Jacques’s eyes. The feeling of time running out. He said he stopped believing in everything he fought for before he was cursed. Was this woman the reason why?
He was a priest for the Templars. Braeya was the daughter of a sorcerer. If they had a thing going on…talk about forbidden love.
My head spins and I yawn. Thomas takes my hand in his and motions to the stairs.
“If the couch isn’t comfortable, you should take one of the beds upstairs.”
“I need the fire,” I remind him. “It’s too cold up there for me, but hopefully I’ll be able to turn the heater on tomorrow. It’s like a built-in fireplace in the walls. Kind of. It keeps the whole house warm.”
“Sounds dangerous.”
“This old one probably is, but upgrading to a new system would cost a lot more than I can afford.” I resituate my blankets. “The couch will be good enough. I have to get up in a few hours, anyway.”