Chapter 6
Bartol
The scent of barbecue smoke wafted down the road—coming from Cori’s place. Bartol set the last of the logs he’d finished chopping on top of a pile next to his house and turned to glare in a northerly direction. It was Sunday—the human female’s day off—and she’d chosen to spend it driving him mad with the tantalizing aroma of grilled meat. Bartol knew damn well the woman had done it on purpose and had likely prepared enough for the both of them. It was her way of beckoning him without having to show her face to do it.
It hadn’t worked the last time she’d tried it, but he was sorely tempted today. First, because he was hungry and the food smelled good. Second, because he had a few things to say to her since discovering she was hiding details from him about the man who’d tried to attack her. Bartol was the only person who could keep Cori safe when she was at home. If he had to put up with her constant meddling, she could very well put up with his.
He flashed inside his cabin, washed his face and hands, and changed into blue jeans and a black t-shirt. His brown hair was a disorderly mess and could use a good combing, but he left it alone. Bartol didn’t want to appear too well groomed, or it might give Cori the wrong impression. He certainly didn’t want to encourage her.
Gathering his powers, he relocated to her front lawn. He found her sitting in a white plastic chair next to the grill with her legs sprawled out, drinking from a beer bottle. Cori had dressed casually in a red tank top, black jeans, and a pair of leather boots. Her dark hair was pulled into a high ponytail that brought attention to her prominent cheekbones and sharp hazel eyes. It annoyed him. No human woman should appeal to him as much as she did.
She lifted her gaze to his and gave him a knowing grin. “I was wondering if you might stop by this evening.”
“You did not wonder,” he growled. “You hoped.”
Cori shrugged. “Whatever.”
“When will the food be ready?”
“Soon.” She reached for a red and white ice chest next to her and pulled a beer from it, holding the bottle out to him. “Sit and drink with me while we wait.”
Bartol worked his jaw, noting she’d set out a second chair just for him. There was no way he could possibly sit with her and drink a weak beverage while attempting to act as if they were friends. “I will return when the food is done.”
“Is it the beer?” she asked, frowning at the bottle. Before he could reply, she returned it to the ice chest and pulled a flask from next to her chair. “Maybe you’d prefer this?”
Curiosity got the better of him and Bartol grabbed it, unscrewing the lid to sniff at the contents. The toxic scent of the drink assailed his senses as if he’d inhaled fire. It was dishevna, a specially brewed alcohol for immortals that didn’t taste all that wonderful, but it could get them drunk. There were numerous variations of the drink out there since it was always home brewed like moonshine, but based on the scent of this one, it came from the master vampire in Juneau, Alaska—Nikolas.
“How did you get this?” Bartol asked.
Cori took a slug of her beer, pretending indifference. “Melena gave it to me when I was over at her house the other day.”
“Drinking straight from this flask would kill you.” The liquid was pure and possibly strong enough to knock out a nephilim for a few hours if he consumed the whole container. It was made that way so that it could be mixed with other beverages or get someone drunk very fast if they preferred.
“It isn’t for me,” she said, gazing up at him with innocent eyes.
“You planned this.”
She snorted. “It isn’t the first time I’ve tried to draw you here, but you’ve never taken the bait before.”
“You’re damn right I haven’t. What is it you want from me?”
Cori set her beer down on the ice chest. “For you to sit here for one meal and have an actual conversation with me. Is that too much to ask?”
There was a time when it wouldn’t have been, but these days were different. Every moment he stood there made him feel that much more uncomfortable. She was too human and normal for someone like him. “I have better things I could be doing right now.”
“Like what? Organizing your shoes by size and color?”
His lips almost twitched—almost. “I only have two pairs, so that wouldn’t take long.”
“Then what?”
“My floors could use a fresh coat of wax,” he lied. “And my gutters need cleaning.” That second part was true and something he’d planned to do before he’d caught the scent of her barbecue cooking.
She leaned forward in her seat, a gleam in her eyes. “Can I watch you clean them?”
“Perhaps.” He crossed his arms, knowing what she implied and choosing to play along in his own way. “If you tell me about the man who threatened you the other night. How you know him, and the reason he came after you.”
Her gaze turned icy. “No.”
“Then I am wasting my time here.”
As he began to turn away, she called out to him. “Bartol, wait.”
He glanced over his shoulder. “Yes?”
“I’m not keeping this a secret for the reasons you might think.” Cori lowered her head and sighed. “It’s complicated.”
“So is my life, but that has yet to stop you from interfering with it.”
She rubbed her face. “You’re right.”
“Of course I am.” It was about time she realized that.
“You won’t look at me the same if I tell you, and I’m just not prepared to face that,” she said, slowly lifting her gaze to meet his. That hint of vulnerability he’d seen the other night was back again. The man who had tried to attack Cori had certainly affected her on a visceral level.
Bartol barked out a laugh, choosing to lighten the mood. “I can’t possibly think much less of you.”
Her lips thinned. “Fine, if you really want to know…he’s my ex-husband.”
He stilled. Out of all the possible answers she might have given him, that was not the one he’d expected. He would have to be a fool to think she’d never been with another man, but not once did he consider she’d ever been married. Her lifespan seemed far too short for her to have made such a commitment and to have ended it already.
“How long ago did you divorce?” he asked, taking a step closer.
“About seven years ago.” She cleared her throat. “I was young and stupid.”
It was like he was seeing her for the first time as a person with a real history. Though she hadn’t revealed much, there was a wealth of emotion in her voice that told him the story was far more complicated and painful than she wished to discuss. He suddenly wanted to know every detail. How did this wild and crazy woman become the person she was today?
“Why did your former husband come after you?”
She let out a snort. “We didn’t end things on the best of terms.”
“I gathered as much, but why did he come after you now?”
“I’m still trying to figure that part out.” Cori grabbed her beer and slugged the rest of it down. Avoiding his gaze, she reached for another one from the ice chest.
He hesitated for a moment, then settled into the chair a few feet apart from hers. If she was willing to open up, he supposed it wouldn’t kill him to remain with her a little while longer, especially since the aroma wafting from the grill motivated his stomach to stick around. He could hardly blame himself for wanting to keep the woman company under the circumstances.
“Lucas told me he might be a vampire,” he said, taking a sip from the flask.
The potent liquid burned going down his throat. Bartol couldn’t remember the last time he’d drunk such a strong concoction, but it had to have been before he went to Purgatory. Perhaps it was even the reason he’d ended up in the damned place to begin with, or at least the start of how he got there. He would have to take it easy this time so that he didn’t do anything he might regret.
Cori rose to her feet, not answering him right away, and went to check on the steak and chicken she was grilling. She flipped them, keeping her back to him as she replied, “We don’t know for sure, but the signs are pointing in that direction.” She paused, and her back stiffened. “It didn’t even occur to me he might be a vampire, though I should have figured it out with the way he moved and looked.”
“How long has it been since you last saw him?”
Cori shut the lid on the grill and took her seat again. “About four years.”
Bartol stared at her. She was focusing a little too much on opening the bottle of beer she’d pulled out earlier, and she’d yet to look directly at him in the last few minutes. Whatever was going on with this ex-husband of hers, he doubted a simple lack of chemistry was the reason for their separation.
“Why did you divorce?”
She finally got the cap off of the beer and took a long swig. Almost a minute passed before she answered, still keeping her gaze averted. “He wasn’t a good man.”
Bartol clenched his fists. “Did he hurt you?”
“Yes.” Cori finally turned her head toward him, and he saw bitterness written all over her face. “I was weak back then, and I put up with it for too long before I finally got out.”
“You weren’t weak. You were young and inexperienced,” he said, hating to see the self-loathing in her eyes. He was the one with the monopoly on that.
She shook her head. “So many people warned me before we got married, but I didn’t listen because I was in love.”
Bartol had no doubt in his mind that Cori’s ex-husband had hurt her emotionally and physically. He’d been in this world long enough to read all the signs now that he was looking more closely at her. It was impressive how well she’d hidden it before, but he supposed she’d had plenty of time since getting out of that relationship to build up her defenses and put on a mask no one could see past. Many immortals developed such a talent. Bartol didn’t see it with very many humans, though.
“I will kill him for you,” he vowed.
She gave him an ironic look. “Good luck. I already tried that, and it didn’t work out too well.”
He stiffened. “You tried killing him?”
“I thought I succeeded, too—until the other night.” There wasn’t a hint of remorse in her voice as she spoke, only frustration.
“Tell me exactly what happened the last time you saw him.”
Cori went on to tell him how she’d found her ex-husband, Griff, in his home and beat him with an iron poker until she was certain he was dead. Afterward, she’d dumped the body in a remote area.
“I didn’t think for a second that he might still be alive,” she finished.
“Not everyone dies as easily as you might think.”
She studied his face. “You’re not judging me for it?”
“Why would I?” His hand tightened on his flask. “I’ve killed men for far less.”
Cori got up and checked on the meat again, which she deemed finished. She moved everything over to a platter she had waiting next to the grill and turned to face him. “Everything else I prepared is in the kitchen. I can fix you a plate and bring it out here, or you can join me inside.”
He couldn’t go into her home, especially since the dishevna was starting to lighten his mood. There was a bed and other useful furniture in there that his alcohol-affected mind might get ideas about. “I prefer to eat out here.”
“Okay. Be back in a few.” She hurried up her porch steps.
Cori returned a few minutes later with two plates filled with tantalizing meat, potato salad, and beans. They ate in companionable silence, which Bartol found surprisingly nice. It was as if learning that the human woman had her own dark past gave them a certain kinship. She’d also refrained from asking him about himself. For once, she was giving him the space he needed while still showing a willingness to talk about her past. He knew she’d left a lot of the story out—such as what incident finally drove her to try killing her ex—but it wasn’t something that could be rushed. She would tell him in her own time when she was ready. The hardest part was already out of the way.
After they finished their meal, he stood and looked in the direction of his house. A part of him wanted to stay longer, but he chose to believe the alcohol still affected him. “I must go.”
She nodded, a hint of disappointment in her gaze. “I figured as much.”
“I will patrol outside regularly in case your former husband returns.” He couldn’t give her what she really wanted, but he could do that much.
“Don’t worry about me.” She lifted her chin. “Griff can’t get inside if he’s a vampire, and I won’t leave my house after dark, so I’ll be safe.”
“You cannot even open the door. That would be all he needed to compel you, and that’s assuming he hasn’t gotten strong enough to do it with his voice,” Bartol warned.
A slow smile spread across Cori’s face. “Vampires can’t compel me. At least, not the younger ones, and older immortals have to use a lot of power to make it work.”
Bartol blinked. Very few humans who weren’t sensors had minds that could resist compulsion. “I assume this has been tested before?”
“A few times. Lucas’ brother, Micah, is the only one who has managed it so far, but Melena told me later it took him a couple of tries to make it work.”
Micah was twenty-five hundred years old and quite powerful. He shouldn’t have had any trouble with Cori, which made Bartol even more curious about the woman than before. “Is there any chance your former husband tried to compel you the other night?”
Her brows drew together. “Actually, I think he did. He ordered me to come to him and got really angry when I refused. That’s when he started to attack, and I shot him.”
“Then he knows you can resist him.” Bartol gave her a warning look. “That means he may try other tactics such as forcing a human who is susceptible to his compulsion to break into your home and bring you out. You must be vigilant for anything.”
“I will be fine.” She straightened her shoulders. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
“No, I won’t, because I will be watching over you through the night,” he said, then flashed away before she could argue with him further. The damned woman would take his protection whether she wanted it or not.