Page 106 of Destined for Dreams
Chapter 28
Bartol
In just two hours, they’d attack the demon’s warehouse. The battle was set to take place at noon when Haagenti and his followers would be at their weakest, especially his numerous vampire minions. The London authorities were quietly moving people out of the area, scouts were already in place keeping watch, and assault teams—both human and supernatural—were going over their final mission plans. Bartol already knew what he had to do, so he stayed with his mate for the time being. He was finding it exceedingly difficult to leave her side.
He observed from the corner of the room as she tattooed one of her final customers. The protections she’d given the initial SAS team had worked as well as they’d hoped. Patrick had gone with them and found gateways near the warehouse where demons from Hell could enter a human’s body if they should cross the invisible threshold—except those with the special tattoos. It was a frustrating loophole in the angel-demon contract. Unfortunately, the gateways couldn’t be shut down without alerting Haagenti to the team’s presence, but the sensor noted them all so that Melena could shut them down during the battle. Patrick would be too busy dealing with the Gregorian stones.
Since finding out about the tattoos’ success, dozens more soldiers, police, and authorities had come by the house over the last two days. The designs varied with each person and their profession, but they all had a star at the top to signify Cori’s special mark. More supplies and ink also had to be brought in to keep up with the load. Bartol and the others rotated compelling people to forget the details about Cori so that once they left London, no one would be able to track her down. Not once did his mate complain during her heavy load of work, though she did require frequent breaks. He also noted she was pale and exhausted by the end of each day. It concerned him, but she insisted she was fine. At least she’d be reimbursed for all her hard work.
On the day before the battle, when Bartol had hoped she could have rested, the local supernaturals who’d be participating in the fight requested their own tattoos. Most of the sups Haagenti had appropriated so far were weaker and easier to influence, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t affect the older and more powerful. They’d thought it would be worth their while to get their own version of protection in the hope it would be just as effective as the ones on humans. Unfortunately, they wouldn’t be able to test whether or not her newest design worked until the battle, but it made everyone feel better since all her other tattoos had worked so far.
“Okay, done,” Cori said, wiping her brow.
She’d just finished with a werewolf who would be guarding one of the sensor volunteers from Europe. They’d been lucky to get a handful of them in addition to the two who’d come with them from America, Patrick and Honor. It would speed up the process of taking out the stones, which they’d counted to be at least a dozen.
Lucas came into the room, pushing Kerbasi in front of him. “This is your final customer.”
“I told you I do not need a tattoo.” The guardian stumbled and swung around to face the nephilim. “I’m old and powerful enough that a demon can’t possibly influence me!”
Lucas pulled up his shirt sleeve, revealing a fresh tattoo with a flaming sword and star on his forearm. “We aren’t taking any chances—not even me.”
Kerbasi pointed at Bartol. “He does not have one.”
“Hehas the ability to kill the demon, which you do not,” Lucas argued.
The guardian crossed his arms. “If the demon could influence me then he would have done so with Caius when he was captured.”
“Not necessarily,” the nephilim in question said, joining the conversation. “He wanted Bartol and me so that he could drain our powers. There wasn’t a reason to influence my mind when he was going to keep me unconscious and locked in a cave. I’ve got a protection tattoo now as well.” Caius turned his arm to reveal his mate’s name etched into his bicep with a star up top. He’d told them that this way Willa could continue to watch over him.
Bartol almost wanted Kerbasi to win the argument. He didn’t like the idea of his mate working on the guardian, but at the same time, he also didn’t want to risk such a powerful being getting turned against them during the battle. If Cori could prevent that from happening, then he had to push down his reservations and allow the work to be done. The greater good took priority.
“Sit,” Bartol ordered, glaring at Kerbasi. “And get the damn tattoo, or else you are only proving that you’re not fully committed to this.”
“Wow, he’s serious.” Cori smiled, perking up a little. “Bartol doesn’t use ‘damn’ very often.”
He shook his head at his mate. She enjoyed making light of him for refraining from foul language in front of her even though she had no trouble speaking how she wished. But if there was one lesson Bartol had learned from his departed mother, it was to avoid poor language in front of a woman. His mom had so little time to impart lessons on him during his childhood that he took the few she had given him seriously.
Kerbasi wavered. “If I do this, I hope you recognize the sacrifice I’m making. This is permanent!”
“It won’t make us friends—not even close—but it will keep me from stuffing you in an active volcano after this is over,” Bartol replied.
The guardian stared at him for a moment, an almost hopeless expression on his face, before settling into the chair. He gazed imploringly at Cori. “Try to be gentle.”
She gave him an evil grin. “Oh, you’ve got no idea how long I’ve waited to stab needles into you. This is going to be so much fun.”
Kerbasi started to rocket out of his seat, but Bartol and Lucas rushed forward to push him back down, holding him by his shoulders.
Caius stood at his feet, grasping his ankles. “It’s too late now, big boy.”
The guardian clenched his eyes shut and started murmuring prayers of deliverance. Something told Bartol that God wouldn’t be answering them.
It took a few minutes for Cori to clean her work area from the last customer and come up with a design for Kerbasi. She settled on giving him a grim reaper scythe with a star above it.
“Why that design?” Lucas asked.
“I’ve always thought of the grim reaper as a dark figure with no remorse for the work he does. Kerbasi fits that, even if he says otherwise. Doing the full figure with a cloak would take too long, but the scythe can symbolize the idea,” she explained.
Lucas nodded. “Sounds reasonable.”
