Page 3 of Destined for Shadows
Chapter 2
Bartol
She had brought him food—again. Bartol could not understand why the crazy woman kept visiting him no matter how he much he tried to push her away. Though he’d implied that she was not good enough for him, it was quite the opposite. Cori was a beautiful woman. She had shiny black hair with a slight wave to it that just brushed her shoulders and a heart-shaped face that if he allowed himself the luxury he could stare at all day. Her nose was small and impertinent, her skin creamy, and she had hazel eyes she used to challenge him at every turn. There was a time when he would not have hesitated to grab that lithe body of hers and take her to his bed right away.
But he’d changed.
Not only had his face been disfigured, taking away the striking looks he once employed to charm women, but he no longer possessed the skills to handle a human. His kind had far greater strength than mortals. It took practice to hold them carefully. And though he could get past that little problem with a bit of effort, it wasn’t the worst of his issues. Bartol couldn’t stand to be near anyone. For too long, the only physical contact he’d had with others were with the guardians in Purgatory who’d beaten and tortured him unmercifully.
And the reason? Because the last female he’d ever touched in a passionate way had been strictly forbidden to him. His primary punisher had made certain that even being near a woman would make him ill, and the very idea of sex had him breaking out in cold sweats. It was why he needed to push Cori away. No matter what she hoped, he could not be the man she wanted. Purgatory had broken him, leaving only a husk of his former self behind.
Bartol moved across the living room to the adjoining kitchen. Only a dining room table separated the two spaces in what others informed him was an open floor plan. He set the bag of food Cori had given him down on the kitchen table, the scent of the lasagna wafting to his nose despite the airtight containers. His stomach rumbled in reaction. Ever since returning to Earth, it seemed as if he could never eat enough. There were times in Purgatory when he’d gone without food for months, and even when he got it, the contents were questionable at best. At worst, his meal might move about of its own volition. He would never eat rice again.
After taking a plate and silverware from the cupboards, he settled on one of the bench seats next to the dining table. It was a long, rectangular piece of furniture made of wooden planks with iron supports underneath. Not many of the items in his home were anything he’d chosen and instead came from a fellow nephilim friend, Lucas, and his wife, Melena. When Bartol had decided to purchase the cabin with his limited savings, he hadn’t given much thought on how to furnish the place other than a bed. Melena and Lucas took care of the rest, insisting he couldn’t live in an empty home. He’d argued the matter, but they’d insisted and promised to give him space if he allowed them to do that one thing for him. True to their word, he’d hardly seen them in three months. If only Cori would follow their example. Of course, they might have made her their spy, which would explain a few things.
He opened the food containers and transferred the lasagna and bread over to his plate, digging into his meal right away while it remained fresh. It was no surprise to him that it tasted wonderful. Cori might not behave like a proper woman, but she certainly knew her way around a kitchen. It had only taken eating her food one time before he couldn’t get enough. No matter how much he might wish to ignore her frequent visits, he could hardly turn away anything she prepared. He suspected she knew that, the damn woman.
As Bartol finished the lasagna and began to dig into the salad, a knock sounded at the door. Who in the hell could be bothering him now? Cori never came back twice in the same evening, so he doubted it was her.
He ignored the firm knock and continued to shove forkfuls of salad into his mouth. Whoever had come to bother him could stand out there all night if they wished. Nothing would come between him and his food.
He was chewing on a tomato when a bright flash of light appeared inside his living room.
A moment later, a man stood next to his black leather couch, frowning at him. The nephilim was a long-time friend that Bartol had known since his youth. Lucas had found him when he was a gladiator and only twenty years old—before he’d gained his full powers and strength. The older immortal convinced Bartol to travel the world with him. They’d fought in numerous wars, honing their fighting skills until they were unbeatable to all except the most powerful supernaturals. That was before Bartol got bored with battles and turned to seducing women for amusement instead. Once in a while, he’d met up with Lucas again for a few weeks if there was a human conflict he found interesting enough to take a side, but even that became risky. The angels started enforcing the rules on nephilim more strictly than ever about five centuries ago, which made it harder to kill humans even when the mortals were going to kill each other anyway. Those were the good old days before life became more complicated for them both.
Lucas stood more than six feet tall, had broad shoulders, golden skin, and short blond hair. The man was powerful and had certainly become one of the greatest warriors of their kind. Bartol had even seen him defeat an archangel a couple of years ago.
He finished chewing his tomato. “What are you doing here, Lucas?”
“Did Cori give that to you?” the nephilim asked, nodding toward the bowl.
“Yes.” Bartol set his fork down. “But that doesn’t answer my question.”
Lucas strode across the room and took a seat on the other side of the table. “There was a time when you would exchange pleasantries before getting to business.”
“And here I was just thinking how well you and your wife have done at staying away like I asked.” Bartol gazed at the remainder of his salad mournfully. “But I should have known it wouldn’t last for much longer.”
“Finish your meal. I will do the talking,” Lucas said, resting his arms on the table. He was almost always dressed impeccably and today was no different. A navy-blue suit, tailored to fit his large frame, hugged his body and gave him an imposing appearance.
Bartol picked up his fork again. “Very well, but this better not take long.”
“Yes, I would hate to interrupt your busy schedule.”
“Save your sarcasm for your wife or that insolent teenager you two are raising.” Bartol filled his mouth with lettuce and chewed while glaring at Lucas.
“I have a job proposal for you.” He paused and held up a hand when Bartol began to choke on his lettuce. “Wait and hear me out first. I believe this could solve both our problems.”
Bartol got up to fill himself a glass of water, gulping it down before returning to Lucas. “I sincerely doubt it.”
The older nephilim went on undaunted. “As you are probably aware, we are in the final months of training the nerou, and we’ve begun to work on their individual skills.”
The nerou were a hybrid race who were half nephilim and half sensor. Normally, a nephilim could never hope to have children because they were cursed with infertility. The exception to the rule was with sensors because that race was immune to magic and therefore nullified the curse. The product of the two races merging made for very powerful offspring. For thousands of years, the archangels had taken the children away shortly after birth to be hidden in Purgatory, claiming the progeny of such unions were too dangerous to be allowed to roam free. Most couldn’t remember their parents, and they spent their entire lives in that wretched place.
Earlier in the year, Lucas and Melena, along with a couple of others, staged a rescue to get the nerou out and bring them back to Earth. Everyone involved had been punished, but after much arguing on Melena’s part, the archangels allowed the nerou to stay on the condition that they were trained to become enforcers. They would eventually take over various regions of the planet, punishing any supernaturals who harmed humans. Bartol suspected the angels had seen the day coming when they wouldn’t be able to hide the vampires, nephilim, werewolves, witches, and other races any longer. They’d been hoarding the nerou for all that time, brainwashing them into their way of thinking so that when the nephilim-sensor hybrids did get free, they would do what Heaven’s dictators wanted. Lucas was one of their trainers, helping to orient them to Earth and teach them fighting skills, but he was watched closely to ensure he followed a strict program.
Bartol pushed his empty salad bowl away. “You know I won’t step foot in that compound even for the nerou. Not withhimthere.”
He referred to Kerbasi—the guardian from Purgatory who’d tortured Bartol for nearly a century and scarred his face. Kerbasi had been relieved of his duties last year and sent to Alaska where he’d been learning to find his “humanity,” and more recently, help train the nerou. Too bad they couldn’t have sent the evil man to Antarctica instead.
