“So I started looking for sponsors, benefactors, not only to give us money, but also to help us develop a system to sustain ourselves financially. Then, one day, Mark answered my social media posts, and asked that we met in Bucharest. He told me the hotel he’d be at, but he also asked that I brought Ruben Parvan with me. I forgot to mention that Father Ruben was well known among the church-going Christians in this country, many sought him for advice. Some even considered him to be a saint. He had this terrific aura that sent people away feeling light, and happy. When his visitors left, they somehow appeared to be twenty or thirty years younger, even if you couldn’t quite put your finger on what it was that had changed.
“Father Ruben agreed to come to Bucharest. He was innocent about it, like a child, even looking forward to it. He waited in the hotel room while I met with Mark at the hotel restaurant first. I could tell that I made an impression on Mark from the start, the way he looked at me made me uncomfortable. I fidgeted with my legs under the table as he ogled me. Then he asked me to bring Father Ruben to his room.”
She shudders, her hands clamping harder on the glass of whiskey. Her whole body seems to shrink from the tension.
“We were shocked to find him wearing only an open floral silk bathrobe, boxer shorts underneath. It looked like he was a expecting a sex date or something. The Father wanted to leave immediately, but then snakes started crawling in from under the door, the bed, from the bathroom, even from behind the mirror. The Father was cornered, his eyes darting left and right, seeking a way out. I can’t begin to describe the sense of guilt that washed over me. We had been drawn into a trap, and it was all my fault that we’d fallen into it, because I’d been greedy. That’s what I had been, in a way. While the serpents closed in on the sweet old man, Mark urged him to give up his secret. He said it would save his life, and mine.”
“What was the secret that Mark wanted, Isolde,” I put in softly. “I need to know, in order to help you. You need to tell me everything, don’t hold back.”
Maybe that love potion is having an effect on me after all, but it’s not the usual lovey-dovey effect. I feel affection, and a powerful need protect her.
She tries to talk, but she fails, lowering her face, hiding it from me. But I know she’s crying.
An impulse sends me leaning forward over the table, touching her under her chin. It feels so small and fragile against my finger.... And when she looks up at me out of those melancholy blue eyes, swimming with tears, my heart sinks.
“What is it that Mark so desperately wants, Isolde? Tell me, so that I can use it against him, and then kill him, be done with his reign of terror over you once and for all.”
“The secret of human immortality, Tristan. Father Ruben held the key to human immortality.”
CHAPTER IV – The Secret
Tristan
“FATHER RUBEN HELD THE key to human Immortality,” Isolde says, “and Mark wanted it.”
“But why would Mark Serpaint even be interested in that? As a serpent shifter he is already immortal.”
“Yes, but the secret of immortality being out there for humans to one day discover and use is dangerous to him. Serpents don’t want humans to discover their true potential, because that would mean a lot of lost advantages for supernaturals. Plus that a lot of industries they run would die, and humans would become self-sufficient, no longer serving them, acting as their slaves, encaged in false, fabricated limits.”
“What happened next?”
She swallows hard, fighting her way through the memory. “The snakes avoided me, going only for the Father, so I attacked Mark. He threw me on the bed, and he—” She bites her lip and shakes her head, as if she can’t bear to say the words. “I let him take me,” she manages, “distracting him until the Father escaped. Busy with me, Mark forgot to steer his snakes, and Father Ruben had something to work with.”
Her face distorts as if she’s sick to her stomach. She puts a hand to her head, her chin trembling.
“I’m so ashamed,” she says among tears.
I get off my chair and hunker down by her side, caressing her hair. It’s rich, full and silky, but that’s natural because of the serpent blood.
“It was his fault,” I whisper in her ear. “You’re innocent, Isolde, pure as a fairy, he is the villain, he should be ashamed.”
She slaps her hands over her face, her shoulders shaking as she cries. The impossible happens—my mind shuts down, and my instincts take over. I wrap my arms around her, pulling her up from the chair, and holding her tightly at my chest, wanting badly to heal her.
Her arms go around my waist, under the sides of my shirt, her tears touching the naked skin on my chest. I’ll be damned... Her silky chocolate hair brushing my forearms, her scent of flower and youth, that sweet scent that I’m sure comes from her soul, it’s like a cocktail of sensations pouring down my throat. I crave something right now, but I don’t even know what. I hold Isolde tighter, my hand sliding through her hair in slow caresses.
I look out at the harbor, starlight reflecting against the sea waves, the salty breeze infusing the air as I hold this exquisite creature against my body. Then her perky breasts push against my chest, and I jolt out of the drugged reverie. I grip her shoulders and take a bit of distance. It was unintended, I can see it in her face. She’s distracted, sunken in the memory of that bastard’s abuse, oblivious to what her closeness is doing to me.
“You should be proud of yourself. Father Ruben escaped thanks to your sacrifice.”
“Yes, but that sacrifice will count for nothing, because Mark will eventually find him. With your help, that will happen sooner rather than later.”
“I’ll make sure the Father escapes safe and sound after he surrenders his secret.”
“Which won’t make my life any easier with Mark, if I’m not free of him by then. He keeps doing things to me that, that—” She chokes on her words, bursting into tears. I hold her tightly.
“Oh, sweet child.” The words escape my mouth before I realize it.
She looks at me astonished. Of course, those words coming from my own young mouth sound strange. She forgets I’m two hundred years her senior. But the emotion that this tortured angel brings out in me is irresistible.
Sounds outside draw my attention.
I whip around to face the door, shielding Isolde behind me just before the door bursts open. Fuck, this never happened before. Being so taken with someone that all my senses are focused on that person instead of looking out for danger. Emotion. I was taken with emotion.
“I’m looking for Mrs. Serpaint,” the guard who barged in says.
I spread my arms, shielding Isolde even better.
“Do I look like her, or what?” I can only hope to distract him from the two empty glasses on the table.
He leans to the side, frowning at the open window. He activates his transmission device and takes it to his mouth.
“She might have escaped through the window. Check the garden, and send a few guys to the promenade. Over.”
He hits the button, and looks me up and down one more time. I glare back, and he decides to leave, closing the door behind himself.
Isolde breathes out in relief, and I realize she’s about to faint. I turn around, catching her in my arms, and taking her quickly to the bed. I give her some water, and stroke her forehead.