A Cross to Bear (22 page)

Gabby nervously bit her lip. If Michael had brain damage, he might not remember all the secrets that he held of her mother. She felt a pang of guilt thinking such a selfish thing and reminded herself that a man’s life was on the line.

Juliette watched her closely.

She knows.

“I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I thought . . . Victor told me Michael killed by family. He made me drink his blood—”

Juliette stood as still as stone, staring at Gabby. After many silent moments, she turned and laid worried eyes on her brother. “If Victor hadn’t told the guard that you were
his
, you would be dead right now. You led a group of vampires into our den. Dozens of our kind have been killed . . . some by you.”

Gabby tensed, thinking that surely Juliette would spin suddenly and slap her across the face, or worse. The woman’s voice quivered between anger and sorrow, both venomous and forlorn at the same time. “But you killed Victor, and that is your saving grace.”

Gabby let out a long-held breath. “What are you going to do with me?”

“That is for Michael to decide.”

“Then I am your prisoner?” Gabby asked, straightening.

Juliette cocked her head like an interested animal and studied her eyes. “Yes, you are. Your power is too great a risk to have fall into the wrong hands . . . again. As I said, Michael will decide what to do with you. Until then, you will be kept somewhere safe. You cannot remain here. Your power is too much of a threat.” She nodded to the standing guards. “You will be contacted when Michael wakes.”

Juliette turned and watched her sleeping brother once more.

The two guards took Gabby by the arms, and she threw them off angrily. “Don’t touch me.”

The two weres eyed her cautiously. They knew what she could do.

“Follow me, Ms. Cross,” said one, and began walking down the hall.

Gabby followed, with the other guard a safe distance behind. They took the elevator to the basement. A stretched limo and two black SUVs waited, along with a dozen armed weres. They watched her with a blend of hatred, apprehension, and reverence.

Her lead guard opened the limo door, and she climbed inside. The two guards joined her, and the limo followed the lead SUV out of the parking garage. She rode in silence for at least a half hour. The guards avoided her eyes, content to stare straight ahead the entire time.

To her surprise, the caravan traveled to her town and stopped in front of Maggy’s house.

“I’m being kept here?” she asked the guards.

“Yes,” said one of them. “This is the safest place for you right now. Every house and apartment around this one was bought by Lunaris Enterprises weeks ago. We have over fifty armed guards watching the area . . . and the storage garage that you escaped from last time.”

He led her to the front door and let her inside. “Until Michael wakes, you are not to leave.”

Gabby offered a solemn nod.

The guard turned on his heel and left, leaving Gabby alone in her sister’s kitchen.

Gabby locked the door behind the guard and rushed down to the wine cellar. She studied the many racks against the wall—they didn’t seem to have been disturbed. She lifted the bottle to open the secret door and hurried down the stairs. In the white glowing room, she opened the many hidden compartments and armed herself to the teeth. Now that she knew so much more about weapons, she had a much better idea of what she was looking at. She grabbed a silver dagger, a wooden stake, two pistols, and a variety of corresponding ammo, and lastly, one of the many cell phones sitting on a charging pad.

Strangely, the first person that she thought of was Quip.

She struggled to remember his phone number and tried a few different variations of the numbers that she remembered until finally he answered.

“Talk to me,” he said with musical flare.

“Quip, it’s me.”

A long silence followed.

“Gabby? Jesus Christmas, I thought you was dead. Where are you? What happened?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Can you meet me somewhere?”

Gabby sighed. “Not right now. I’m kind of on house arrest. You know . . . the feds.”

“Feds my ass,” said Quip, scoffing. “It’s Michael Steele’s weres, isn’t it?”

Gabby was taken aback. “How . . . how do you know about that?”

“I know a lot of things. I was your sister’s friend after all.”

“Are you . . . you know . . . human?”

Quip laughed. “Don’t try to turn this around. Tell me what the hell happened to you these last three months.”

Gabby told Quip about everything that had happened after their last conversation—how Victor had taken her to his castle in California, her training, and their affair. She told him all about the attack on Steele Tower and how Michael was now in a coma.

“I’m so sorry, Gabby. I should have told you more when you first came to me,” said Quip when Gabby had finished.

“What are you saying? You knew that Michael Steele was innocent?”

Silence filled the line.

“Answer me!” said Gabby.

“Yes, I knew about Michael. But what was I supposed to do? Tell you that he was a werewolf and had been dating your sister? It’s not like you would have believed me. And your sister worked hard to keep the Otherworld hidden from you. I wasn’t about to go against her wishes.”

“I’m so fucking sick of people trying to protect me,” said Gabby.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Tell me what you know about my sister’s work. I want to know everything. No more secrets.”

“All of that would be better told by Michael when he wakes up.”

“You sound as though you know him.”

“I do,” said Quip. “I was helping him search for you these last few months.”

Gabby was silent. Her mind raced, and she paced the kitchen. “So, what? You’re a werewolf too?”

“No, girl, I ain’t no werewolf.”

“Well, you’re obviously some kind of spy. Riding around with me acting like you’re my friend, all the while keeping tabs for Michael.”

“It’s not like that, Gabs. You came to me at the salon. Remember?”

That was true, but Gabby didn’t trust Quip anymore. As far as she knew, he was lying now as well.

“Gabs. Gabby?”

“What?”

“I’m sorry for not being up front with you before, but like I said, I was trying to do what I thought your sister would want me to do.”

“Yeah, well, don’t do me any more favors.”

“Gabs . . .”

“And don’t call me Gabs. You don’t get to call me that!”

Gabby hung up the phone and threw it across the room. It landed on the couch harmlessly.

She let out a frustrated sigh.

For three days, Gabby waited for any word about Michael. She didn’t call anyone else. Though she would have liked to let Darb and her father know that she was all right, she didn’t want to explain where she had been.

She spent her days in lockdown working out in her sister’s small weight room and getting to know the weapons and other items in the white room. During the night, she worked on her blog, writing out the entire story of her experiences with the strange new supernatural world that she found herself in.

During the morning of the fourth day, there was a knock at the door. Gabby answered it, expecting it to be the groceries and other supplies that she had insisted the weres get for her.

She opened the door, and her jaw dropped.

“Michael . . .”

“May I come in, Gabriella?”

She stood there staring at the handsome man. Michael was dressed in a gray suit with a red shirt beneath his jacket. He wore no tie and left the top button undone. He looked healthy and strong.

“Yes . . . of course . . . please come in.”

Michael strode into the house as though he had been there before. Gabby had forgotten how ruggedly beautiful he was.

“Would you like something to drink?” Gabby asked.

Michael nodded. “Might I suggest a bottle of Château Lafite Rothschild? Maggy enjoyed it immensely. There should be a few bottles in the cellar.”

Gabby stood there staring, surprised. “I’ll go look.”

In the cellar, she took a moment to get ahold of herself. It was hard to look at Michael. She had imagined killing him for months, building him up as a monster in her mind, all the while being bedded by a real one.

She felt like such a fool.

The Château Lafite Rothschild was on the rack beside the secret door to the white room. Gabby grabbed one of the three bottles, took a few steadying breaths, and returned to the kitchen.

Michael had found—or knew where to find—the wineglasses. He stood waiting for her at the island.

“Just like you said.” Gabby held up the bottle.

He just smiled at her and reached for the bottle. She handed it to him and nearly dropped it when their fingers grazed one another.

“We should let it breathe for a few minutes,” said Michael, popping the cork and setting the bottle down on the counter. He regarded her from across the island with sympathetic eyes. “I’m sorry, Gabby. I should have told you what kind of danger you were in when you first came to me.”

“Yeah,” she said with an arched brow. “You should have. And Maggy should have told me a long time ago.”

“Your sister and I spoke of it often. She was torn, though, you see? She promised your parents that she would keep you safe from the supernatural world.”

“Why? Why did they think I was so weak?” Her eyes were tearing now, but she stubbornly willed them to stop. She wasn’t about to cry in front of Michael.

Gabby grabbed the bottle and poured two glasses. She took hers and drank half before Michael could lift his in a toast.

“It isn’t that they thought you were weak. They just knew what kind of life you would live. Like most parents, they wanted their daughter to have a better life than they did, and they thought that a normal life, free of the knowledge of the nightmares that walk this earth, was a better one than they had known.”

“Well, that illusion is over. Here I am, smack-dab in the middle of the
Otherworld
.”

“Yes,” said Michael, raising his glass. “Here you are.”

The taste of the wine lingered on Gabby’s lips. It warmed her stomach and soothed some of her tension. “I’m sorry, Michael. I must seem self-obsessed. You just came out of a coma because I shot you, and here I am talking about myself. I should be the one apologizing. I nearly killed you.”

Michael offered her a grin. “It was an honest mistake.”

Gabby laughed at that. “You’re not angry with me at all?”

“Victor was a very old, very conniving vampire. Not to be rude, but you stood no chance against his charms. And he made up a very plausible story.”

“Why did he kill my mother? How did they know each other?”

“Victor became a pet project of your mother’s. She met him when you were just a baby, and Maggy was around nineteen years old. She saw some good in him and thought she could bring it to the surface. You see, your mother was a very powerful, very empathetic witch. Her ability to feel for others so deeply was at the core of her power. She understood not only people, but the nature of spells as well. I personally believe that Victor was after you all along. Word had gotten around the Otherworld of a child charmed with the supposed ability to nullify magic. The fae came after you, as well as the goblin king and many others.”

“Wait . . . the fae, as in fairies? And the
goblin king
? As in David Bowie in
Labyrinth
?”

Michael chuckled. “Not as charming, but yes, something like that. As I was saying, you were sought by many undesirables. Victor befriended your family and helped them to fight off the would-be kidnappers. I believe in that time Victor genuinely fell in love with your mother. Vampires are, after all, hopeless romantics in a stalker sort of way. They want what they cannot have above all things and always seek to dominate and inevitably devour the objects of their desire. When your mother refused his advances, he killed her.”

Gabby fought back her emotions. She finished her glass and poured herself another. “Where do you come into all of this?”

“I was a friend of your mother and father. I still am, of course. The home that your father lives in is owned by one of my sister companies. It is also staffed with witches and weres—a kind of retirement home for warriors of the Otherworld.”

Gabby gave a little laugh. After all that had happened in the last three months, this news was par for the course.

“After your mother’s death, your father was bent on revenge. But he never found it. Victor defeated him in the end. But rather than kill him, he had a witch take his memories, which, to your father, was a fate worse than death. I have worked for years to try and find someone who might lift the curse, but to no avail.” He looked to her expectantly.

The realization hit her like a truck, and she gasped. “I can lift the curse. I can restore his memories!”

“Yes,” said Michael with a wonderful smile. “This is the silver lining. After all of this loss, you can now have your father back.”

Gabby covered her mouth and turned from him, sobbing with tears of joy. A hand was suddenly on her shoulder. She turned and buried her face in Michael’s strong chest. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close as she cried and laughed at the same time.

“Oh my God,” said Gabby, pulling away finally and sniffling. “You must think I’m a wreck.”

“Not at all,” he said, smiling kindly. “You remind me so much of your mother.”

Gabby got a tissue from the box on the counter and blotted her eyes. “I need to see him. I need to lift the curse. Your sister said that you would decide my fate once you woke up . . .”

“She is melodramatic at times. You are of course free to do as you choose. I offer all of my resources to you, if you would like. I think that we could be great allies,” said Michael.

“What about your . . . pack? They must hate me.”

“Everything has been explained to them. I have claimed you as my own. None of them will dare touch you.”

“You’ve
claimed
me?” Gabby asked, unsure of the insinuation.

He saw her apprehension and offered a perfect smile. “It means that you are under my protection, and therefore that of the pack.”