Blood Debts (The Temple Chronicles Book 2) (12 page)

I punched the pillow, scattering sequins over the bed. White-hot anger burned through my veins. Anger at myself. Guilt. Damn it. She was right. I hadn’t been there for her. She was great. Perfect for me, but I had been an ass. Rightfully so. Between the night terrors, dealing with the new mantle of CEO of Temple Industries, and spending every waking minute — which had been a lot — on finding the truth behind my parents’ murder had put a large strain on Indie and myself. I needed to get some perspective. I was also still concerned about her…
Regular-ness
. How could I bring her into my life of danger? Werewolves, the Academy, dragons, magic, and now Angels and Demons. It wasn’t fair for her. She had once told me that the danger would not keep her away, but I had. I had kept blinders on her, not allowing her to get closer than necessary to my oh-so-dangerous life. To keep her locked up in an ivory tower, not providing her the necessary training she would need to defend herself. And it had inadvertently hurt our relationship.

Indie looked pained as she watched my frustration. She climbed up onto the bed and placed a comforting palm on my thigh. “Nate, I’m not
too
angry with you, or disappointed in you, or even mad about everything, really. I understand. What you went through… Well, no one should have to go through that. In my eagerness to be near you, I might have done you harm. I should have given you space, but I wanted so badly to be with you that I let my emotions get ahead of me. You needed space to figure things out, and I didn’t give you that. I blame myself. Now, you keep things from me. You don’t talk to me, or if you do it’s only surface conversation. You are scared. Scared to let me get close to the real you. Well, I think it’s time for you to put your big boy pants on. You’ve got three days to figure out what you want.”

Her timeframe momentarily chilled my blood. The same timeframe as the Academy’s curse.

“If you want me, then you will remove the walls you’ve built around yourself, or… we will probably never see each other again.” My heart stopped as I stared at her in disbelief, which started her tears again. “I’m not sure that I could go back to being a mere friend after knowing what we have, could have, together. So, while I’m in Colorado with my mom you need to really think about what you want. When I get back you need to tell me what that is. If you want
me
, you will tell me…
everything
. No secrets. I deserve that.”

“Indie…” I warned, ready to tell her how bad of an ultimatum that was, how dangerous.

“Can it. I’ve been training with Tory and Misha. They’ve been teaching me how to take care of myself. Like you should have done.” That stung. “You’d be surprised what I’m capable of. Regardless, this is just something you will have to accept… or not. It’s all or nothing, Nate.” She smiled sadly at me. “Just know that if you choose wrong, I will be using everything Tory and Misha have taught me to hunt you down and teach you the error of your ways. Your magic won’t save you from my wrath. They say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Well, you don’t have to scorn me to see my wrath, just piss me off.” Her pearly white teeth shone in the dim room.

I placed a hand on hers, nodding with a faint smile at her threat.

“And now, Dean is going to take me to Plato’s Cave to get some sleep. You’re still drunk, and after your shenanigans tonight, you don’t deserve to see Nurse Indie.” She winked darkly. I groaned. “Shush. You brought this on yourself. Bar fights equals no sexy time. And you have a lot to think about while I’m gone. You can start tonight. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, right?”

“You’re a cruel, cruel woman, Indie. I know I’ve been keeping you at a distance, and you know why I do, right or wrong is irrelevant at the moment, but I would like to work on my communication skills with you while you’re gone. Would that break your rules?”

She assessed me for a minute. “Perhaps I should use this tactic more often. Look how malleable my Master Temple has become. I tell you I’m leaving for a few days and you’re already asking if we can talk on the phone. You’re a teenage girl.” She teased, pinching my leg. My face turned beet red as I began to blurt out an argument. She burst out laughing. She tapped her lips playfully, enjoying this way too much. “I would like that.” She leaned forward and kissed my brow for a long second, careful of my nose, and granting me an expansive view of her cleavage, which she definitely knew she was doing. She was sneaky like that. “Good night, Nate. Sweet dreams…”

Her hair tickled my neck as she trailed a kiss down to my ear, breathing huskily before she gave me a playful nip. My pants constricted as my subconscious threatened to take control and pin her to the mattress and sequined pillows. She placed a constraining hand on my chest, shaking her head as if she could read my thoughts. I closed my eyes, the alcohol dragging them closed as mercilessly as if she had spelled me. I sensed the lights flick off from behind my closed eyelids, and then she was gone, dragging her suitcase out of my room.

I was peaceful for perhaps ten minutes, rehashing everything she had said to me, realizing that she was right about it all. Then sleep dragged me under like a sack of potatoes, and the haunting night terrors waited anxiously to welcome me back to their domain like an old friend.

Chapter 10

I
stood alone in a field of fresh wheat; the purple sky’s humid air pressing down on me like a warm blanket. I was physically sore. Exhausted even. Wisps of clouds scudded across the fields like campfire smoke, leaving a faint aroma of damp earth. I sniffed the air idly, catching a faint hint of wood smoke that was not offensive, and somehow made me feel relaxed. I spotted a house on a hill, a quaint, primitive place one might find in ancient Greece, mostly stone, and surrounded on all sides by more fields.
A farmer lives there
. Something tugged at my memory, but the thought was gone just as fast. My memory seemed to do that a lot of late. Why worry about the house when I was merely out on an evening stroll in such a peaceful place. I decided to approach the house. Perhaps I would make a friend so that the next time I walked here I wouldn’t be lonely.

Loneliness.
The word tingled up my spine like the fingers of death. Now why had I thought that? I wasn’t lonely. I had everything I needed. I had a woman, a steady life of farming, and a strong boy to teach my trade. I shook my head as I began to walk back to my house.

My house…
that wasn’t right, was it? Then I was smiling as I imagined my wife greeting me at the front door, my son rushing out from between her legs to tackle me to the yard where we frequently wrestled. I dropped the reins to the horse behind me, as well as the tools I used to cut wheat as I began to trot up the hill. The house loomed before me, both larger and smaller than it could be in real life, but this
was
real life, wasn’t it?

“Hello?” I bellowed as I reached the front door. “Papa’s home!”

Papa?
I would never use that moniker. I was a
Dad
kind of guy, wasn’t I?

No one answered me.

Then I smelled it. A sulfurous stink tinged with frozen stone — a cold, hard smell with a… coppery after-taste. That was odd. I had smelled that coppery flavor before, back when my horse had injured herself in a fall. Why would it smell like horse up here? No, not
horse… blood.
I looked back in confusion, expecting to see my horse injured. But I was utterly alone in the field. I blinked.
Hadn’t I just left the horse behind me?
I shrugged after a moment. I must have worked harder than I remembered. Nothing that a good wine wouldn’t resolve.

I stepped up the creaky wooden steps only to hear voices.

A jeweled box stood in the open doorway, all by itself. Beyond the box, my wife lay motionless on the floor. My son sat on his heels, rocking back and forth. “
Open the box, open the box, open thebox, open thebox, thebox, box, box…
” he muttered to himself over and over again.

“Son, what’s happened?” I demanded. He didn’t seem to hear me, brushing his mother’s hair out of her eyes as he continued his chant. I didn’t understand. All I had wanted to do was to sit down beside my wife with my son on my knees as we played a game and ate dinner together. I didn’t want any violence, any problems, I had no enemies. I only wanted to be a good farmer. That was all.

I looked further on and a man stood between two creatures, speaking quietly. Now that I was inside the house, I noticed that it was storming outside. But…
hadn’t it just been pleasant outside?
I was so confused.

I couldn’t hear the words, but I saw my son look up at me, with a sharp rictus of a smile. “
You mustn’t listen to them. Open the box, open the box, the box, box, box…
” He muttered over and over and over, his voice sounding like nails on a chalkboard. I cringed, tuning out the Demonic voice. Something about this seemed all too familiar, but I couldn’t understand why. One of the creatures handed the man something and the world exploded in a green hue. My son screamed louder. “The box!” His words had a physical sensation to them now, like my very eardrum was the chalkboard. I grabbed my ears in pain, glancing up in time to see the other creature handing a tall tool to the man. The tip gleamed silver in the incessant flashing of lightning from outside. The world seemed to be tearing itself apart — the house imploding in an explosion of sound, wind, and distant screams from the blackest pits of hell. My son huddled over his mother as if protecting her from the insanity. I glanced over at his frantically pointing hand to see that despite the strength of the wind, which was pushing even me back from the door, the box lay unmoving as if bolted down. I clawed my body closer to it, dodging flying planks of wood from the destroyed windowsills I had made last year, and the box glittered encouragingly. I heard the snap as of great wings lifting a bird to flight and a crack as if the world itself had opened up. Daring not to look, I dove for the box, my son screaming over and over again. “The box, box, box box…” my fingertips touched the box in a flash of scalding skin and I managed to flick the lid open with my thumbnail.

The world went white and I heard my son scream as my mind liquefied.

Chapter 11

I
woke up panting hoarsely, realizing it had been another night terror. Had I screamed out loud again and woken Dean from his slumber? Then I remembered that he was either dropping Indie off at Plato’s Cave or taking her to the airport, depending on how long I had slept. Then he was out of town for a few days as well. I was entirely alone. Even Mallory was getting some sand in his hair and sun on his face for the next week. Pure bachelorhood. Again. I growled, squashing my puny pity with my mighty will power. I would be fine. I didn’t need anyone to watch over me. I was a grown ass man.

“Yeah. You’re a grown ass man.” I cheered myself on with pure testicular fortitude. The sudden movement of my face muscles almost caused me to cry out like a small child. My nose sure felt like it was broken. I touched it gingerly and winced, realizing my hands were raw with several hundred thousand tiny cuts from the broken whisky glasses at the bar. Oh well. Nothing for it. I glanced at my phone — which I had somehow remembered to plug in before I fell into a coma the night before — through sandy eyes. Six in the morning. I had been out for several hours, despite having felt like I had just fallen asleep. It might have been the longest I’d slept in weeks. Even catching some much-needed horizontal, I had the familiar sensation of being hung over. I groaned at the headache behind my eyelids as I rolled onto my back, trying to steady my furiously beating heart.

What the hell had my night terror been about? I realized after a few moments of deep breathing that I had dreamt of Hemingway’s story from the bar… kind of. It was as if I had been the subject of the story, but also an outsider. Then there had been the cursed box. Always the box. Every night terror I had revolved around me opening a box. The boxes changed in appearance, but they were always there, and despite the chaos of the dream, the only way to escape was to open the box. Which was always terrifying, and hurt like hell. I wondered idly, as I had a hundred times before, if the box was a subconscious replacement for the music box Peter had stolen from my parents’ Armory during his brief sojourn inside. But I didn’t understand how that could be true. I had tested the box. Again. And again. And again, to no avail. There was absolutely nothing special about the box. At all.