CARA
New York City. Greene Street Loft. Thursday, May 23, 8:00 PM ET
A KNOCK SOUNDED FROM the stairwell door next to the elevator. Chloe raced over, wagging her tail and circling with excitement.
“I’ll get it,” Cara volunteered, leaving Simon to prepare dinner while Constantina and Paco kept him company in the kitchen over a drink.
Only one person ever felt compelled to use the stairs versus taking the elevator that opened directly into Simon’s fifth-floor loft.
“Hey Cara, it’s me, Michael,” Cara heard in her head.
“Like I had to guess. Remind me again why you won’t take the elevator like a normal person?” Cara pulled the door open.
Michael’s royal-blue eyes sparkled at her under his dark brows. “Because it takes too long, and I don’t mind the exercise like some people I know,” he said aloud, his voice rich and full, before leaning in and giving her a kiss on the cheek followed by a teasing jab to the ribs.
“Hey!” Cara chuckled and batted his hand away. “I exercise more than enough and see no reason to snub the elevator.” God knows she’d run enough today, and in sandals, no less!
“Uh-huh.” He arched his brow, unconvinced. “So, I heard I missed all the fun today.”
Chloe nosed his leg and demanded her own hello. “Hey, girl,” he said, bending down to give her a quick scratch behind the ears. Satisfied, Chloe returned to the kitchen and the source of all food.
Cara sniffed. “Excitement, yes. Fun? Um… no.”
“Have Isaac and Angel arrived yet?” Michael glanced over her shoulder toward the crowd in the kitchen.
“Nope, but they should be here soon. Why?” she asked, closing the door behind him.
“I have some news from the Angelorum.”
“Sounds ominous.”
He shrugged, frowning. “Let’s have dinner first. No use spoiling Simon’s meal.”
As always, Michael looked the right combination of stylishly casual and mouthwatering. Perfectly tousled near-black hair and a heart-shaped face punctuated by high cheekbones and a sexy cleft chin gave him a face that was equal parts masculine and beautiful. A white button-down with the sleeves rolled up revealed the corded muscles of his forearms and the Patek Philippe watch he’d inherited from his father. A flattering pair of dark Armani slacks and leather loafers minus socks completed the outfit.
The images Sienna had shown her from the Calvin Klein campaign came flooding back. Blushing, she shoved them aside and thought of the demon attack. Sometimes, she swore Michael could read her mind. Telepathic communication was one thing but true mind-reading was another. The last thing she wanted was for him to catch her visualizing him in his underwear. Or to reveal Sienna’s secret stash of photos.
Michael narrowed his eyes at her. “What?”
A good offense is always the best defense, she thought, and gave him a sweet smile. “I saw our mutual friend today.”
His energy spiked the moment she mentioned Sienna. “How is she?” he asked, raking his hand through his hair and avoiding her eyes.
Busted, she thought as he tried to move by. Grabbing his arm, she stepped in front of him to block his way. “You know I don’t like to meddle, but aren’t you both a little overdue for a chat?” Or as Zeke had said the night of the rescue, for “twenty minutes in a dark closet”?
He let out a sigh without meeting her gaze. “I know, and we will. I’ll talk to her Saturday at the party. I promise.”
Cara gently touched his shoulder. “Michael, relax and give each other a chance.”
This time she connected with his royal-blues. He nodded and gave her a bland smile. A wisp of lemony fear wafted toward her. But rather than ask, she held her tongue. Michael deserved his privacy. Sometimes her newfound perception was as much of a burden as it was a gift.
When it came to Sienna, his responses baffled her. Nothing and no one unwound him as much as Sienna did. Then again, knowing Sienna like she did, this time his fear might not be misplaced.
“What are you both whispering about out there?” asked Simon from the kitchen as he cracked open another bottle of Chianti.
“Nothing. We’re coming,” Cara said, letting go of Michael and heading back to the state-of-the-art kitchen. Simon had spent a fortune on the renovation long before they’d met, making it larger with sleek European cabinets, dark granite, and stainless, professional grade appliances. The hood vented up, disappearing into the fourteen-foot-high, black painted ceiling. The effect cleverly forced the eye to focus lower.
Constantina sat ladylike on one of the barstools sipping wine while Paco leaned on the island having a beer. Strong and silent with molten brown eyes, he tipped his chin thoughtfully as they approached.
Paco was under strict orders to keep watch over Brett until Angel arrived with Isaac. Last thing they needed was Brett slipping away again. Paco, Angel’s second-in-command, was a member of the Avenging Angel’s Biker Club, a front for a retired, and somewhat rebellious, group of Four Hundred–Class Guardians—with the exception of Brett who was a charge under their protection. For her and Brett, that last part had been today’s news flash. According to Paco, Angel had been in charge of secretly guarding Brett since the age of ten. The AABC took on special cases for the Angelorum at their discretion, and as one of the Wanderer’s children, Brett seemed to qualify.
The delicious smell of tomato sauce and fresh baked bread mixed with the scent of the sweet sausage as Simon sautéed it in the skillet. Chloe sat next to him in her “good dog” pose with one paw daintily held up, hoping for a second piece of meat as she licked her chops from the first.
“Smells incredible, Simon,” Michael said as he glided up to Constantina and gave her a double-cheek kiss followed by a solid handshake for Paco. “Good to see you again.” They’d met during the San Francisco rescue.
Greetings dispensed, Michael glanced around. “Where’s our new friend?”
“He’s in the guest room,” Cara said. “Simon filled you in?”
“Yup. Lead the way,” he said with a sweep of his hand, all traces of his angst over Sienna gone.
Acoustic guitar music grew louder as they walked through the living room, past Simon’s painting studio, and down a narrow hallway toward the guest room in the back.
“Michael,” Cara reached for his arm, and gently pulled him to a stop. She looked into the eyes of her Messenger, the pillar of her Trinity, appreciating the warmth and strength she always found there. “I want to thank you… for those early days with me. Now I understand what you went through. I feel it with Brett.” During these last few months, Michael had been her protector, teacher, and occasional shoulder to cry on. Now she considered him a close friend.
His lips turned up, and he kissed her forehead. “You made it easy.”
Sharp and enhanced by her heightened sense of the smell, the woodsy scent of his cologne embraced her. A lump rose in her throat when she tasted the loneliness wrapped inside his words. The spicy taste of cinnamon he sometimes gave off reminded her that as close as they were, there were some painful secrets Michael kept deeply hidden.
Cara knocked softly on the door.
The music stopped. “It’s open.”
She twisted the knob and walked in.
Clean and sparse with only a bed and a dresser, the small white room had exposed brick on the exterior wall, and one of Simon’s large oil landscapes over the bed. Propped up with a mound of pillows behind his back, Brett sat on the double bed, cradling his guitar on his lap. He seemed relaxed now… like before the demon attack.
“Brett, I’d like to introduce you to Michael, my Trinity Messenger.”
Setting aside his guitar, Brett got up to greet them. “Hey, man. Brett King, nice to meet you,” he said, offering a handshake and a smile.
“Michael Swift. Nice to meet you, too. I’m a big fan.”
Am I the only one who doesn’t recognize him? Cara wondered.
“Cara told me we probably have a few things in common,” Brett said.
Michael nodded. “I’m sure we do. I’m happy to answer as many questions as I can.”
“Good. Cara filled me in a little already.”
An easy and immediate rapport unfolded between them, flooding Cara’s senses with harmonious vibrations.
Constantina poked her head inside the door and politely interrupted. “Dear ones, may I take Cara away from you both for a minute?”
The guys nodded, and Cara excused herself to join Constantina in the hall.
“Cara and I will be on the roof deck,” Constantina said as they passed through the kitchen where Simon stood dumping the pasta from the pot into a strainer in the sink. The sausage had been transferred to the sauce and a row of glasses filled with wine stood breathing on the island. Dinner looked almost ready. Paco sipped his beer, offering silent companionship to Simon as he finished up.
“Don’t go too far. Dinner will be ready in about five minutes,” said Simon, casting a serious glance in their direction before checking the bread in the oven.
“Fear not, my dear. We shan’t be long.”
Cara tried to hide a smile at the subtle reprimand hidden in Constantina’s tone. Her “my dear” was the equivalent of Cara’s mother giving her a stern “Cara Catherine Collins.”
Constantina led Cara up the stairs and out into the roof garden, one of Cara’s favorite spaces. Set up to be private, three sides of the deck were surrounded by a high decorative wood fence while the fourth overlooked the street below and featured a view of the setting sun. A lavish container garden filled with plants, herbs, and fruit trees lined the walls beside the fence while a pergola stood over the raised dining area at the center of the deck. There was a bar at the far end, and lounge chairs circled the perimeter. The perfect party space for this weekend’s Memorial Day blast—their last hurrah before duty called.
The fading light brought with it a cool breeze. Cara shivered as they settled into two lounge chairs next to some fig trees. The scent of an early blooming gardenia bush filled the air with sweet perfume.
Cara drew the fragrance into her lungs, welcoming a few minutes alone with Constantina. Thousands of questions had been swimming around in her head ever since Isaac had announced her arrival.
“I can feel your distress over my visit,” Constantina said, taking Cara’s hands in hers. A gentle wave of cleansing energy rolled over Cara, enveloping her in comfort and clearing her head of worry. Cara gazed at Constantina’s Grace Kelly beauty, her eyes no longer bothered by the missing philtrum—vertical indentation—above Constantina’s top lip. The mark, placed by the angel Layela during the soul’s descent, erases memories of any past lives. Missing the distinguishing mark signified Constantina was “awakened,” and retained her memories of all her earthly lives, as well as her angelic existence in Heaven.
“I’m guessing Brett must be pretty important for you to be here. Can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“You knew I’d meet Brett in Connecticut on the day of my Calling, didn’t you? There are no coincidences, right?” Cara asked with a tilt of her head.
Constantina smiled and let go of her hands. “I think you already know the answer to both of those questions.”
Encouraged, Cara leaped right in. “He’s one of the Twelve, isn’t he? And the Wanderer is the connection…”
Folding her delicate hands on her lap, Constantina replied, “Yes, the Wanderer and his children are of importance to us.”
“So, Brett is one of the Twelve?” Cara leaned forward, barely able to contain her excitement.
“Again, you already know the answer. But I caution you, those revelations aren’t without peril or risk for those involved. They must be allowed to unfold as intended.”
“But there’s something I don’t understand,” Cara said.
“What’s that, dear one?”
“If Angel has been watching over Brett since he was a child, why wasn’t he the First, or even the Second? Why were Simon and I revealed before him?”
Constantina pressed her lips together and nodded before answering. “It’s all based on the laws of probability and the sequence of free will decisions reflected in the Trinity Stones.”
“How so?” Cara considered herself smarter than average yet struggled to understand some of the more subtle intricacies of the Angelorum.
“Hmm,” Constantina clasped her chin in thought. A moment later, her eyes lit up. “I know. Have you ever watched that game show on television, the one where they spin the wheel for profit and solve puzzles?”
Cara chuckled, surprised that Constantina even watched TV. “You mean Wheel of Fortune with Pat Sajak?”
“Yes! That’s the one.” Constantina clapped her small hands excitedly. “Think of the Trinity Stones as puzzles you’re trying to solve, and each letter as a free will decision. At the beginning, you choose a group of letters to start your puzzle. Sometimes many of the letters you choose are part of the puzzle. Once they light up and are turned over, you can guess the word or phrase right away with almost absolute certainty. Other times, your guesses may be off. The letters may not reveal one obvious answer, but rather many possible answers. It’s only when all the letters are turned over that you can see the final answer.”
“Uh-huh…” Cara said slowly.
“It’s the same with the Trinity Stones. Your place as the First was revealed on the day of your birth—all your letters were showing. Your puzzle solved. Whereas with Simon, only a few letters were visible. Although recognized as one possible member of the Twelve, many of the decisions that drove his final choosing were made only recently. There was an equally high probability that his decisions could have cast him out of the Twelve. Finally, as for Brett, many of the letters predicting his place had already been revealed when he showed up as a child. But it was his decision to leave his tour a second time and come back to Connecticut that sealed his fate, making him the Third of the Twelve.”
“Wow,” was all Cara could think to say. “What about the others?”
“They remain, as of now… possibilities. Some much closer than others.”
Cara shook her head to clear it. What she would give to buy a few vowels right now. “Speaking of Brett, how can I help him? This won’t be easy for him.”
“Just do what you’re already doing.”
Hmm, she thought. That could get her into trouble if she didn’t get a handle on her body chemistry. Then a thought struck her. “Is that why you called us to the Sanctuary next week? Is it about the Twelve?”
“Partially.” Constantina gently rested her hand on Cara’s shoulder. “More so because the Dark Ones are planning their next move, and we need to prepare.”
Cara’s whole body tensed. “I thought we had until after the wedding.”
“According to the Trinity Stones, that’s probably still true, but preparation takes time and we have much to do before our next skirmish.”
Probably? Cara had a lot riding on a “probably.” In the scheme of things, a wedding wouldn’t make much of a difference in her commitment to Simon—they were already mated per the High Council—but it gave her an excuse to avoid the inevitable. She wondered if she’d ever be prepared. As much as she tried, feelings of doubt and unworthiness continued to gnaw at her. Not to mention the constant knot of fear that ate at her middle. At least she hadn’t had any major panic attacks since the rescue. Thank God for small mercies.
Constantina captured her gaze, reading her emotions. “Worry not. You’re but one. There’s a reason why twelve will be selected. Together, your collective strength will drive your success. Doubt and fear are tools of the Dark Ones. Never yield to them.”
“I understand.” Cara hadn’t realized how much she missed Constantina’s day-to-day mentorship and support. Their discussions lately centered on the human side of their relationship and the upcoming nuptials to her son. That would change next week when she visited the Sanctuary. Constantina planned to begin the next phase of Cara’s training.
Cara hesitated. “May I ask you something else?”
“Of course.”
Swallowing, Cara prayed that Constantina would apply her usual sense of pragmatism without judging her. “Something has been happening to me lately… It may have to do with the vaccine.”
“Oh?”
Fingering the ring on her necklace, she told Constantina about the painful growth spurts and her increased appetites for food, sleep, and sex. “Another thing. I’ve been physically reacting to men… other than Simon.”
Constantina cocked her head. “Brett, perhaps?”
Cara’s mouth went dry, and she nodded.
“Who else?”
Frowning, Cara told Constantina what happened when Sienna had shown her Michael’s Calvin Klein campaign pictures. “I’m not even interested in Michael that way.”
Wearing a wide grin, Constantina said, “Ah! It sounds like you’re experiencing something similar to Nephilim adolescence. It’s not uncommon when a Nephilim reaches fifteen or sixteen years of age to undergo such things.”
Panic washed over Cara. “Please tell me I don’t have to go through puberty again.”
“Not in the way that you think. It’s the final transition into Nephilim adulthood, and lasts no more than four years.”
“Four years?” Cara’s eyes widened as she dug her fingers into the cushioned arms of the lounge chair. “I feel like a nymphomaniac, and if I keep growing…”
Constantina broke into sweet lyrical laughter and patted her hand. “Dear one, relax. I said similar, not the same. Your DNA was taken from adult Nephilim. Your body is most likely adjusting as it sees fit. In any case, modern medicine can help to regulate your overabundance of urges and the pain caused by the growth spurts. I can’t imagine that you’ll grow much more, dear one.”
“Dinner’s ready,” Simon’s voice echoed in her head.
“We’ve been summoned by the chef.” Feeling only slightly relieved, Cara pouted and moved to get up.
Constantina’s small hand grasped her wrist. “Simon can wait. I must explain something important to you regarding the Twelve.”
Cara sat back down, her gaze connecting with Constantina’s.
Shifting closer to Cara, she said, “The Trinity Stones of the Twelve are magnetically drawn together for a reason. They’re surrounded by powerful emotions. Sometimes those feelings and emotions will manifest when you physically meet one of the others.” She paused and gave Cara a contemplative look. “I think your reaction to Brett is a combination of both his relationship to the Twelve and an underlying attraction that could’ve existed anyway. If you weren’t betrothed to Simon, I believe you may have pursued a relationship with Brett. And him with you. But too many choices have already been made. Brett is now meant for another.”
“Good to know.” Cara blushed, embarrassed at Constantina’s accurate diagnosis of the situation. It’s true. Had Cara not met Simon, Brett would’ve been an attractive option.
“One last thought… at times love will be the Twelve’s greatest strength, and at others, their greatest weakness.”