Chapter 8
Bartol
The Russian landscape below was covered with snow, yet beautiful to behold as they flew over it. A few minutes before, the pilot had announced they would reach the city of Kirov in about half an hour. The journey had been long in some ways and short in others.
For most of Bartol’s life, he’d wished he could fly like the birds and the angels. Upon occasion, he’d gone so far as to flash to the highest mountaintops—surrounded by clouds—so that he could at least pretend to be in the air. Aviation was only getting off the ground when he’d gone into Purgatory, but he had been able to fly a couple of the early model planes. His favorite had been the SPAD used during the Great War—now known as WWI—and used by French fighter pilots. It had been an incredible experience, which had allowed him to briefly take part in the fighting without using his supernatural powers. Bartol had looked forward to the possibilities of the future back then.
All thoughts of flying planes soon left his mind after he arrived in Purgatory. There were no hints of civilization or technology in that dreadful, archaic place—one that was outside of this dimension. While it was technically on an island with mountains, they confined the nephilim prisoners deep underground in a tunnel network. It was freezing cold and always wet.
For most of his stay, Bartol had been given no clothing to wear, and he’d lived in a cell where he’d had to sit on an ice-covered floor that tore at his bare skin all while frigid water dripped on his head in an endless cycle. Sadly, that was not even the worst part about the place. His tiny prison cell was a haven against the sadistic guardian who loved to play games of torture on his prisoners almost daily. If it could be thought up, Kerbasi had done it to them in one form or another and often numerous times.
When Bartol had finally left the place months ago, planes and flying no longer interested him. He could have easily found opportunities, but it didn’t matter anymore. Only now that he’d been in flight for the better part of a day—if one included refueling stops—was he beginning to remember how much he’d loved the concept of aviation. According to Caius, the variety of aircraft and methods of flight in the twenty-first century were more than Bartol could imagine. A few movies and television shows gave him a reasonable idea, as well as the bush planes that flew over his cabin periodically, but it was still a lot to take in. He’d been in such a fog over the last few months that none of it had seemed to matter the way it once did.
It was only Cori’s presence that brought him out of his shell.
His chest tightened at the thought of her. At the airport in Fairbanks, she’d showed up the previous afternoon before takeoff, stood right outside the fence, and tried to say goodbye to him. The hurt and betrayal he felt was still raw. He’d let Lucas turn her away and tell her to leave. Through their mate bond, though, he’d sensed her despair. A part of him wanted to give her the farewell she desired, but he forced himself to push her away. There would be time enough to resolve their differences after he returned.
Rebecca settled into the wide leather seat next to him. “You look like you’re in deep thought.”
The female nerou was over three-hundred years old, but she didn’t appear to be beyond her mid-twenties. She had long, strawberry-blond hair that fell in soft waves almost to her slim waist, blue eyes, creamy skin, and a pert nose. There was something about her demeanor that told him she was likely the sweetest woman he might ever meet—as long as he didn’t upset her.
Bartol lifted a brow. “I could say the same of you. We’ve been traveling for over twenty hours, and you’ve hardly said more than a few words.”
“True.” She smoothed the khaki pants and blue blouse she wore. “I still can’t believe I agreed to meet my mother.”
He hadn’t been there the day Rebecca confronted Zoe, but Lucas had told him about it. The poor woman had found out how many people died or were hurt by her mother to get her out of Purgatory—where every nerou had been kept since shortly after their birth. The angels hadn’t wanted the hybrids free to roam the planet with their extraordinary powers. They might not be immortal, only long lived, but they were difficult to kill, and as they grew older, they developed talents unlike any seen before due to their mixed heritage.
Rebecca had also been shocked to find out a spell had been cast to manipulate who she would fall in love with, which turned out to be the alpha werewolf and supernatural leader of Fairbanks. The levels and depths Zoe had gone through to ensure this happened—over a hundred and fifty years of guiding the right pieces in place—were shocking.
Neither Derrick nor Rebecca realized they’d been manipulated into falling in love until after it was too late. They couldn’t bear to break up by that point, so they vowed to stay together regardless, but the female nerou swore she would never speak to her mother again. She’d said as much to Zoe last spring, and she’d kept her vow until now.
“Why did you agree to come along?” Bartol asked.
She pursed her lips. “I didn’t at first, but everyone made the argument that lives could be in danger. It irks me that my mother would ignore a potential disaster if I don’t do what she wants. And her methods for trying to draw our attention…” She paused and looked at him with regret. “I’m sorry Cori was nearly killed last month.”
“This isn’t your fault,” he said. From all accounts, the young woman didn’t have a cruel bone in her body. She might look similar to Zoe, but Rebecca wasn’t her mother.
“Still.” She sighed. “If I’d opened any of the letters my mother sent me, then I would have known there was trouble and could have warned someone.”
That was another thing. Lucas had told Bartol how Zoe was sending regular letters to the nerou compound—some to him and others to her daughter—but they both ignored them. Rebecca had let hers pile up without reading them until after Caius arrived and explained the problem. Lucas had burned the ones he’d received like they might be filled with anthrax.
Bartol shook his head. “The only person to blame is Zoe. If not for her past actions, many of us might have listened to her sooner, and this problem could have been resolved already. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve seen her shoot herself in the foot trying to get what she wanted. Although, I have to say, she always gets her way eventually.”
“Thank you for understanding.” Rebecca reached over to squeeze his hand. He stiffened at her touch, pulling away. She blanched. “Oh, sorry. They said you don’t like physical contact, but I forgot.”
“Everyone forgets sometimes.” He hated himself that he couldn’t control his reaction no matter who got close. Except Cori, who had a little more leeway than others.
Rebecca looked down and curled her fingers in her lap, likely sensing his discomfort with her abilities. “It must be hard for your mate, handling that problem. How do you…how do you make it work, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“It doesn’t work—at least, not very well,” he replied gruffly, reluctant to answer.
She furrowed her brows. As a woman in love herself, the issue must have disturbed her a lot. “But how do you show affection? How does she?”
“We’ve had few chances to do so, but I have progressed enough that I can touch Cori for short periods without…without too much difficulty.” Bartol had no idea why he was telling her these things. He didn’t like talking to anyone about his intimacy issues, least of all with a woman he’d barely met.
“But she can’t touch you?” Rebecca asked, eyes widening.
“No more than a brief caress upon occasion and even that is barely tolerable.”
Rebecca gulped. “What does it…what does it do to you if she goes any further than that?”
“It brings back the nightmares Kerbasi created in my mind of my past lovers torturing me viciously through sex,” he said, shuddering as those very memories came forth. It hit him that something wasn’t right about this conversation, and he narrowed his eyes on her. “Why am I telling you this?”
Tormod sauntered over. “I probably should have warned you, but she has a way of getting people to tell her their most intimate and dark secrets. The longer you talk to her, the more she’ll get out of you.”
No one had mentioned Rebecca carried a unique talent of any kind, but he should have asked. All the nerou developed something within their first century or two. She’d had plenty of time to discover hers and fine tune it now that she was several hundred years old.
“I’m sorry.” She gave him an apologetic look. “It’s just that I could feel your pain from where I was sitting across the aisle, and I’d hoped maybe getting you to talk about it would help.”
“That’s also her thing,” Tormod said, crossing his arms. “Helping people when they don’t want it.”
Bartol ground his jaw. “No more questions and no more talking.”
“We’re almost there anyway,” Caius said, joining them from the front of the plane where he’d been sitting on a leather couch. He gestured toward the aircraft window where a city could be seen below in the distance. “That’s Kirov.”
It wasn’t their final destination, but it would get them close enough to the nerou compound that they could flash their whole group as well as luggage. Bartol took a few deep breaths to cool his anger over Rebecca’s manipulations. He knew from dealing with Tormod that the nerou were still learning to control their powers around other people, and they didn’t always mean harm. For their entire lives until coming to Earth, they’d been secluded in Purgatory where they learned very little beyond a basic education in reading, writing, and ancient history. He didn’t think they’d ever been taught proper social behavior and had to create their own code.
Also, magic was severely repressed on the otherworldly island for anyone not born a full angel, so their abilities were much stronger now than in Purgatory. The temptation to use them often was great, especially with so many more people around to experiment on. Bartol knew he had to be patient when dealing with them, but it didn’t make it easy when one could force deep, dark confessions out of him.
The plane began its descent. Everyone settled into their seats and buckled in as the aircraft took them on a bumpy ride toward the ground. The winds were high, making it particularly uncomfortable. Bartol watched as they got closer to the airport. The grounds around the runway were covered in snow, but oddly none of it swirled across the tarmac. He frowned, knowing it wasn’t natural. Only magic could create such a phenomenon.
They touched ground and taxied across the runway toward a group of three individuals—one woman and two men. They stood alone and unafraid of being hit should the plane not stop in time. It did, of course, but no more than a dozen feet separated the nose tip from the group.
“Couldn’t the pilot have gone just a little farther?” Tormod asked, unbuckling his seatbelt and standing up. “He would have gotten some cool points for running over those three.”
Bartol lifted a brow. “Cool points?”
“Uh, it’s hard to explain.”
Rebecca shrugged. “I don’t get it, either. I think it’s something he got from that sensor girl, Emily. She teaches him stuff, and then he tries it out on us. Sometimes we like it and use it, sometimes we don’t.”
Bartol grabbed the duffle bag he’d packed and joined the others as they filed out of the aircraft. The co-pilot had already gotten the stairs down for them. Bitter cold hit him as he stepped outside and hurried toward the ground. It wasn’t as frigid as Fairbanks, but it was still cooler than Bartol preferred. If he was going to finally leave Alaska for the first time, it was too bad he couldn’t have gone to a warmer climate. Perhaps the demon could do him a favor and be hiding down in the south of Spain.
“Welcome,” Zoe said, moving toward them.
Her gaze was directed at her daughter with a happy smile on her face. It was the perfect expression for a mother who’d missed her offspring and was happy to see them again. She attempted to hug Rebecca, but the young woman stepped away, shaking her head.
“You haven’t earned that right yet,” the younger woman said.
A flash of hurt touched Zoe’s gaze before she collected herself. “Of course, you’re right.”
She turned her attention toward the rest of them, her back ramrod straight. The clothes she wore were simple and yet elegant with an azure sheath dress that stopped just below her knees and a cream overcoat. Zoe was thirty-two hundred years old, but she could have easily passed for thirty. She had long, strawberry blonde hair like her daughter’s, though she was slightly taller and better endowed in the chest department as well as having wider hips. The woman used her naturally sensuous body to her advantage every chance she got, as Bartol recalled from previous meetings.
He’d never slept with her, but she’d done a fair job of tempting him once or twice. The only time her wiles failed completely was while she was imprisoned in Purgatory since the guardian, Kerbasi, had not been affected by anything she tried. Even Zoe—with all her beauty and manipulations—could not escape his torture. Of course, most people wondered if Kerbasi was capable of lust at all.
Bartol gestured at the men behind the female nephilim. “Who are they?”
“Oh.” She glanced back at the two males who appeared to be in their mid-twenties. Both had dark brown hair, sky-blue eyes, strong facial features, and stocky builds. The main difference between them was one had olive tinted skin, and the other was pale. “These are the two nerou I personally train.”
Zoe would pick favorites.
Tormod gave the males a derisive look and snorted. “I could take them down—easy.”
“You could try,” one of them said, crossing his arms to show off his large biceps.
“Both of them are over seven hundred years old. I highly doubt even you could take them at the same time,” Zoe replied, sniffing in disdain.
Bartol leaned toward Tormod. “Don’t bite off more than you can chew. We aren’t here to prove who is the strongest or toughest. I need you to focus on the mission.”
Tormod worked his jaw. “Yeah, I know. But I could still take them.”
“As you can see, I’ve met my end of the bargain,” Caius said, breaking the growing tension. “Now you must fulfill yours.”
Zoe lifted her chin. “I want a week with my daughter first.”
“When I last saw you, you emphasized the danger of this rising demon and that we must stop him right away. Now you want to put off dealing with him for a week?” Caius’ golden eyes blazed. “That was not part of our agreement.”
It was no surprise she wanted to delay things. They’d expected that.
Bartol glared at Zoe. “You have forty-eight hours with Rebecca, and you will tell us all we need to know during that time or we will take her and leave.”
Outrage filled the female nephilim’s features. “That’s not good enough.”
“It will have to be,” Rebecca proclaimed loudly. “Because that is the longest I am staying here and putting up with you.”
Zoe drew in a deep breath. “Be reasonable. We’ve spent precious little time together in your life, and you’ve only heard about me through those who hate me. Why not give yourself a chance to form your own opinion?”
Bartol couldn’t entirely blame Zoe for her feelings, considering all she wanted was to spend time with a daughter she was forced to give up centuries ago as a baby. She might have garnered some of his sympathy if not for what she’d done to his friends—and especially to his mate. Never mind the way she'd manipulated them into coming to see her. The female nephilim was conniving and ruthless with no real remorse. She would say anything that would get her daughter to stay for even a few hours longer.
“What do you want from me, Mom?” Rebecca asked, emphasizing the last word. “You planned which man I would fall in love with, and you’ve hurt people over and over to get what you want. There’s no denying that. Why should I give you a chance when all you’ve ever done is screw up people’s lives, especially Derrick’s?”
“I taught her the word ‘screw’ just last week,” Tormod whispered proudly. “It’s such a good word—especially since the angels would never teach us that one.”
Bartol didn’t bother to reply.
“I want us together—no matter what it takes,” Zoe replied pleadingly. “Can you truly blame me when you were ripped from my arms while you were still a suckling baby?”
Rebecca lifted a brow. “Was it worth the deaths of so many people to get what you wanted?”
“Yes, it was.”
“Does it even bother you?” Rebecca pressed on.
“No.” Zoe shook her head. “Not really.”
The nephilim’s eyes rounded, and she covered her mouth with her hand. Her daughter’s powers were at work again, but this time on her. Perhaps such a coercive skill could be useful when directed the proper way. Rebecca could literally force the truth out of people whereas a sensor could only detect it.
“Are you afraid no one will ever love you? That maybe the only chance you have for redemption is through me, your daughter?” Rebecca asked, her voice taking on a stronger edge.
Zoe worked her throat. “I’ve felt that way for a long time.”
Bartol and the others exchanged looks. Many people had suspected a longing for love and acceptance were the driving motivations behind many of Zoe’s actions over the last few centuries—which was when her behavior had become the most extreme—but hearing her admit what she felt was different. Within her gaze, one could see the abject loneliness and insecurity that the woman usually hid so well. It was almost pathetic.
He could not watch it anymore. “Forty-eight hours, take it or leave it.”
“No more bartering,” Rebecca added.
Zoe’s pale hands trembled. She was still in shock after being forced to reveal such a deep and dark secret. “If that is all I can have, then I will take it.”
“Good.” Caius pulled out a map and showed it to Bartol and Tormod. “This is where the nerou compound is—a little over one hundred miles northeast of here.”
They glanced over it, listening to the rest of his directions so that they’d be sure not to flash too far off their mark. It was tricky going to a place where they’d never been before. At least Tormod could travel that distance on his own, and Caius could take Rebecca so that Bartol would not have to touch anyone. Zoe would have to flash her own two nerou back herself since neither of them would have the ability to do it. Bartol wanted nothing to do with them. And anyway, transporting two people at the same time appeared to be something Zoe was capable of doing at her age and strength.
After everyone was clear on where to go, the female nephilim appeared to have collected herself once more. She ran her gaze across the group. “After we arrive, I’ll give you a tour of the compound and show you to your rooms. I want the rest of the evening alone with my daughter, but I will meet you after breakfast in the morning, and we can talk about the demon then.”
Bartol figured that was a fair enough compromise. “Very well.”
Zoe flashed away with her nerou, Caius and Rebecca going next. He waited until he was the last one standing before addressing the pilot and co-pilot standing by the aircraft. “You’re both free for the next two days, but don’t go too far and keep your cell phones turned on in case we need you.”
They were werewolves and appeared ready to explore new territory. “Will do.”
With the dismissal, Bartol flashed away after the others.