Page 103 of Destined for Dreams
“I just missed you is all.” She ducked her head into his chest. “And I’m so glad you’re not running away from me anymore.”
He pulled her closer and rested his chin on her head. “I have no intention of running.”
“Does that mean we’re good?” she asked, words muffled by his shirt.
“I still have to punish you for breaking our agreement, but consider yourself lucky that I missed you enough that it will not be so bad.” In fact, her presence was giving him unexpected strength. He’d heard the mating bond could do that, but now he was finding out for himself. It would only make him that much stronger for the battle that lay ahead.
Cori took a step back and met his gaze. “I know I’ve screwed up before, and we have a lot of issues we still have to work out, but I want to be with you—forever.”
Hearing those words meant a lot to him. He considered asking if she’d allow herself to become immortal, but this wasn’t the time. It would drain him to make her that way, and he couldn’t afford the power loss when he’d need every bit of his strength for the coming battle. It was something they could discuss later once they returned home to Alaska.
“I want you by my side forever as well,” he said.
Caius entered the room, directing his attention to Cori. “Is there anything you need to finish setting up in here?”
She ran her gaze around the room, studying it. “It would be nice if I could get a chair like the ones I have at my shop, but I’d settle for a weight bench or barber’s chair if possible.”
“I’ll have one within the hour,” he promised.
After the other nephilim left, Bartol helped Cori set up a table with all her ink and other equipment. They cleared a space for the chair and set plastic on the floor. They even managed to procure a stool from another part of the house for her to sit on while she worked. She’d brought all the other supplies she’d need, including power adapters.
The doorbell rang up front.
“Think that’s the SAS guys?” she asked.
“I would assume so. Wait here.”
Bartol hurried toward the front of the house. Upon opening the door, he found a tall, commanding man in civilian attire standing in front of a group of others lined up behind him. The leader might not have been in uniform, but he and his troops had military written all over their postures. Several more men were coming up the sidewalk, carrying large crates.
The commander gave Bartol a good once-over. “We’re looking for Cori Marsh and Patrick Jones.”
He didn’t doubt that the man and his team could put up a good fight against any human threat, but he had no idea how they’d do against vampires, werewolves, witches, and people possessed by demons. It had to take a lot of nerve to even attempt it. But then again, they’d had all year to get used to the idea supernaturals existed. Perhaps they’d already been training for it.
Patrick, Emily’s father, joined them in the foyer. “I’m here.” He nodded toward the men with the crates. “If you can bring those in, my assistant, Honor, and I can begin working on your ammunition and rifles.”
That was another step in their plan. If they were going to have human soldiers in the battle, their weapons needed to be effective. The only way to prevent magic from tainting them was to put a small trace of sensor blood on each piece, rendering the arsenal immune. It worked well with inanimate objects, though not as well with actual people. That was where Cori’s special gift came into play with the tattoos.
The commander waved some of his troops through the door. “These men will stay with you while the tattoo artist works on myself and the others. We’ll switch over later.”
“That’s fine with me,” Patrick replied. He stood there in his khaki pants and button-up shirt, appearing rather small and gangly against the highly trained men moving past him into the reception room, yet he kept his head held high. Keeping up a brave face was an admirable trait, and one Emily must have inherited from him.
“I’ll show you the way to my mate—the artist who will give you the tattoos,” Bartol said, guiding the commander and six of his troops through the house. He wanted to make a point of them knowing she was off limits and only there to assist them through her special designs.
When he reached the back room, he found Caius had acquired a chair—similar to the one at the shop in Alaska—and was helping Cori set it up. Bartol instructed the SAS troops to take a seat on the couches and chairs near the windows, except the commander, who claimed he would be the first to get a tattoo.
Cori addressed the leader. “So what kind of tattoo do you want me to give you and your guys?”
The man lifted a brow. “You don’t have a specific design you prefer to use?”
She shrugged. “I could put a puppy dog on your bicep and it would work just as well as the Star of David. It’s the power of suggestion I infuse into my work that does the job. The only thing I ask is to keep it small, so I can get through your men quickly.”
“Something simple?” The commander considered it for a moment. “Would a sword work well enough?”
“Sure,” Cori agreed. “But if it’s okay, I’ll add a star to the top just to make it a little more unique.”
“That’s fine.”
“Alright. Just give me a few minutes to sketch it out, and then we can get started.”
