Immortally Theirs [Legends & Myths] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour) Page 3

  Her grin faded. She wished she had known who Mark was, what he was, before any of this had become necessary. But she had been young and in love. Or so she had thought. In reality, she had been blinded by Mark’s extravagant lifestyle and his sometimes charming demeanor. She had sensed a darker side to him from the very beginning and had even been attracted by the excitement of it. She hadn’t seen the cruelty he was capable of inflicting until he had her trapped. And his mother had been a willing accomplice, taunting Claire at every opportunity and laughing at her pain.

  But no more. Claire had found out what Mark was when she snuck into his private study during the middle of the night. Mark would barricade himself in it for hours and she wanted to know what was in it, but she was never allowed to enter. Her curiosity got the best of her, though. She had waited until he was asleep one night, took his keys, and then she snuck downstairs to find out what was so mysterious behind the always locked door.

  The dread she had felt while sneaking through the house, worried what Mark would do if he woke up and found her, was nothing compared to what she had felt once she gained access to his office. An open file had been sitting on his desk. Claire still felt appalled by what she had seen in the file that night. There were photos, instructions, and a personal profile of the man in the photos, the executive of an overseas shipping conglomerate. The instructions and Mark’s reason for having the file were clear. Claire’s husband was a paid assassin.

  That was the night Claire had solidified her resolve to get away from him. She had looked through the other files he kept in his desk drawer, her disgust rising with each folder. All those cities he had dragged her to, leaving her in hotel rooms and threatening her not to leave, were so he could kill another target. It still made her sick to her stomach to know that the house she had lived in had been bought with blood. She knew that’s where Mark was now, hunting down his next victim. She wondered what the target of Mark’s latest contract had done to be put on a hit list.

  Claire shuddered at the knowledge that the man in the photograph she had seen on Mark’s desk might already be dead. Under the circumstances, she realized a ghost tour hadn’t been the best idea. It had sounded different and exciting, and besides the tour and lunch, it was the first extravagant thing she had done for herself since she’d left Denver. But now she was just tired and spooked. After the long drive and walking around the Historic District all afternoon, her right leg was aching. It had ached for over a year now, thanks to another one of Mark’s punishments. At least he had let her get medical treatment for that injury, but the bone-deep ache never seemed to go away. She wondered if it ever would. It was a little after eight o’clock in the evening, much earlier than her normal bedtime, but all she wanted to do was crawl into a big, comfortable bed and sleep.

  Claire’s heart sank. She had been sleeping in the car all week in an effort to stretch the money she had managed to hoard over the last few months. She had also stopped at a pawn shop on her way out of Denver and sold her wedding ring and a few other pieces of jewelry. Her money wouldn’t last forever, but she knew it wouldn’t need to. As long as it lasted until Mark found her, she would be fine. But if the money ran out before he tracked her down, she was going to have to figure out a way to survive when it was gone.

  She shifted her weight onto her left foot as the ache in her right leg became more pronounced. The thought of spending another night in the cramped car made her want to cry. Maybe she could find a place to spend one night in a nice bed and then figure out what to do from there. As long as it wasn’t too expensive, it might be worth spending the money. She would be able to think much more clearly if she wasn’t in so much pain, and a good night’s sleep would go a long way toward helping in that regard.

  She looked over at the bar lining the back of the room, where the bartender laughed with customers as he served them. She swallowed her irrational fear of the white-haired man who still watched her and walked to the bar. She felt the gazes of the two men on her, but she tried her best to ignore them. She veered to her right as she approached the bar, closer to the friendlier-looking blond-haired man, rather than the side closer to his intimidating companion.

  “What can I get you, hon?” The bartender smiled and walked over to her. He was an older man who reminded her of her grandfather. A familiar ache gripped her heart as she thought of him. It had been three years since his death and she still felt pain slice her heart every time she thought of him.

  “Um, just some information, if that’s okay?” She cringed, hating the timid tone of her voice. She hadn’t always sounded so unsure of herself and, to be honest, she was tired of it.

  “Sure, hon. What do you need?” The bartender leaned on the bar across from her.

  “Is there a hotel nearby, something really inexpensive, where I might be able to get a room tonight?” She had seen several beautiful bed-and-breakfast establishments as she’d walked around the Historic District that afternoon, but she knew they would be way out of her budget. She needed something along the lines of a cheap chain motel. Even though the jewelry she’d sold was expensive, the owner of the pawn shop hadn’t given her much for it. She realized it would have been easy for him to pick up on her desperation and she would bet he low-balled his offer. If she stayed at any of the nice places she had seen, she would be lucky if her money lasted a week.

  The bartender glanced to Claire’s left, toward the blond-haired man, and then back to her. He fidgeted with the dish towel he held. “Cheap, huh? Well…there’s a small motel a few blocks away, but it’s a little run-down, and if you’re here alone…”

  “Miss?” Claire jumped at the warm voice to her left, not realizing the blond-haired stranger had moved closer. He extended his hand to her. “Christian de la Fuente, ma’am.”

  Claire stared at his extended hand before reaching out. She shook his hand for the briefest of moments and then withdrew it and tucked it into her pocket. “Um, hello. I’m Claire Mor—um, Jernigan. Claire Jernigan.” Claire felt her pulse quicken at her near slip of using her married name. She had rehearsed the last name she would use, her grandmother’s maiden name, over and over again in the car. How could she have been so stupid as to almost blurt out her married name the first chance she got? If she kept this up, Mark would be able to track her down in no time.

  The man’s expression didn’t change. Maybe he hadn’t noticed her slip. “I didn’t mean to startle you, Miss Jernigan. I just couldn’t help but overhear. I run a bed-and-breakfast right around the corner and I’d be happy to set you up in a room for the night.” His golden eyes were as warm as his voice and it made Claire want to sink into their honeyed depths.

  She struggled to think, trying to remember why she couldn’t go to one of those enticing establishments that graced the treelined streets near the bar. “I…I don’t know…It’s just, well, I have a limited budget…”

  “I’ll tell you what.” The man’s warm smile drew Claire in even more. “I’ve got one room available tonight and it will just sit empty if you don’t use it, so why don’t you spend the evening as my guest. If you like it and want to stay longer, we can discuss it over breakfast tomorrow.”

  Claire opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. It had been so long since a man had shown her any kindness that she didn’t know what to say. But how could she accept the offer of a complete stranger?

  “I can vouch for him, hon.” The bartender nodded toward the man. “Christian’s an honorable man in this community and he runs a top-notch place. Been in his family for generations.”

  Claire looked up into the golden eyes of the man next to her. She recognized something she hadn’t seen in a man’s eyes since she’d last seen her grandfather. Sincerity. Compassion. A genuine desire to be of help. And dammit, she really, really needed a comfortable bed. She nodded. “It’s very generous. Thank you, Mr. de la—”

  “Christian. Please, call me Christian.” His smile grew wider and his eyes seemed to glow with an inner light.


  The white-haired man chuckled and pushed away from the bar. “It won’t work, Christian. You can’t change the inevitable.”

  The strange man turned his back on them and walked away. Claire looked up at Christian, whose warm gaze had turned to a hard stare as it followed the man out of the bar. “We shall see about that, Atticus. We shall see.”

  Chapter Five

  Stefan followed the smell of fresh-brewed coffee out of his bedroom, down the stairs, and then into the large dining room. The caffeinated beverage no longer had any stimulating effects on him, but he had developed a taste for it during his mortal life and still enjoyed it every morning. Two couples who were staying at the bed-and-breakfast already occupied the small tables set around the room. A younger couple held hands and gazed over their coffee cups at each other at the far table in the corner. Honeymooners, if he had to guess. Their type always annoyed Stefan a bit. He’d never met any woman who had the power to turn him into a drooling idiot.

  Stefan had been surprised that Christian had turned their old homestead into a commercial enterprise. But he had to admit it made sense. It provided more than enough income for the upkeep of the historic property. Stefan and Christian had inherited enough Spanish gold to last them numerous lifetimes. Which was helpful, considering their circumstances. Since they hadn’t been on speaking terms, they had worked through a brokerage firm, selling some of the gold every few decades and investing the proceeds. The extra income from the business was just a bonus. Christian had told him that the true benefit of the bed-and-breakfast, though, was that it allowed Christian to turn the business and the upkeep of the casa over to a manager every decade or so. Christian would then spend time travelling until it was safe to come back home without people realizing he hadn’t aged. Stefan didn’t really believe that was the main reason for the bed-and-breakfast, though. He thought it was to allow Christian to feel less lonely.

  Stefan poured himself a cup of coffee. He liked it black, with the full nuttiness of the beverage unmasked by cream and sugar. He grabbed one of the local newspapers lying on the sideboard and then headed to the one place he had always loved the most at this house.

  The courtyard was cool and inviting in the early morning, before the sun had the opportunity to warm the terra cotta tiles paving much of the outdoor space. He smiled as he listened to the water from the old fountain as it spilled into the pond. The sound brought a smile to his lips and reminded him that there was still life left in this old place.

  Stefan stared at the front page of the paper. The headline alluded to some drama surrounding proposed new construction in the Historic District. The locals always got their feathers ruffled whenever anyone proposed changes to any of the old buildings. He shook his head. Some things never changed. Even though he hadn’t been back to St. Augustine in a couple of centuries, Stefan had always made a point of keeping up with local current events. After all, this place always had been, and likely always would be, his home.

  He didn’t look up from the paper until he reached his intended destination. The space under the old Poinciana tree, with its brilliant red flowers creating a colorful canopy over the courtyard, had always been his favorite spot for having breakfast and enjoying a late dinner. But when he looked up, he realized the table he intended to occupy was already taken.

  “Oh, sorry, miss. I didn’t mean to intrude.” He bowed slightly at the waist. He might be immortal, but he was still a gentleman.

  The woman at the table had been looking down and she jumped at the sound of his voice, her head jerking up. Wide green eyes met Stefan’s gaze. Stefan bowed again and turned away, but her voice stopped him.

  “No, wait.” Stefan turned back to the young woman. She didn’t appear any older than her late twenties, but her eyes held a depth much older than her physical years. “Um, this is the only table out here and I’m just using half of it…” She hesitated, seemingly embarrassed for her offer to share the space.

  “Thank you, miss. That’s awfully kind of you.” Stefan grinned and slid into the wrought iron chair. He set the newspaper on the table and sipped his coffee, studying the woman over the rim of his cup.

  He set the cup down and extended his right hand over the table. “Stefan de la Fuente, miss.”

  “Oh, um…” She stared at his hand for a moment and then stretched hers out to him. “Claire Jernigan.” She grew thoughtful. “De la Fuente. Are you related to Christian?”

  He smiled and nodded. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Jernigan. And yes, Christian and I are brothers.” Stefan glanced down at her left hand and noticed a wide indentation on her ring finger, where a wedding ring might have been not very long ago. “Are you here alone?”

  Her eyes shifted away and then back again. “I…um, yes, it’s just me. I got here yesterday. And just Claire is fine.” Her cheeks flushed a light shade of pink. Stefan sensed she wasn’t used to talking with men she didn’t know. She fidgeted with the corner of the pad she had set down on the table when he had arrived, flipping the pages with her fingernail.

  Stefan peered closer at the sketchpad and recognized the outline of the casa, arousing his interest. “That’s beautiful.”

  Claire blushed again and stared down at her coffee cup, frowning and shaking her head. The motion caused the dappled morning sunlight to pick up the golden highlights in her hair. “It’s not much…just a quick sketch.”

  Stefan frowned. So, she was shy around men and she lacked self-confidence. He thought that to be strange. Most women Stefan met who were as beautiful as this young woman seemed to have an over-abundance of confidence. Too much for his liking, in fact.

  “May I?” He extended his hand toward the sketchpad.

  Uncertainty crossed Claire’s features, but she nodded. Stefan took the sketchpad and admired her work. His travels over the years had afforded him the opportunity to see and appreciate some of the greatest works of the master artists. Claire wasn’t Picasso, but she was good. Very good, in fact. He noted how she had captured the weathered look of the casa with the sure strokes of her pencil.

  “You have talent, Claire. Have you ever displayed your work in a gallery?

  Her eyes widened and she shook her head. “No, of course not. I’m not very good.”

  Stefan looked back down at the drawing. “I think you sell yourself short, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

  Her cheeks flushed a darker crimson. She looked back down and fidgeted with her cup. Stefan flipped through the sketchbook. He sensed her gaze on him as he perused her work and he smiled, but he refrained from looking up and catching her watching him. Interesting. Perhaps she wasn’t as shy as she seemed.

  There were several sketches of places he recognized. The bay front. The old Castillo de San Marcos fort, where the Spanish residents had sought shelter while St. Augustine burned so many years ago. Claire’s drawings were more than good. Even with nothing more than the simple lines of a pencil, she had captured the spirit of the places St. Augustine was famous for.

  “Good morning. I see you’ve met Claire.” Christian’s voice startled Stefan and he turned to see his brother standing above him. He had been so engrossed in the drawings he hadn’t heard his brother approach.

  Christian pulled out a chair to join them. “Did you enjoy your rest last night, Claire?”

  Claire bit her lower lip, but then a satisfied grin spread across her face. “I did. It’s the first good sleep I’ve had in a while. I can’t thank you enough.”

  “It was my pleasure. You looked like you needed a soft place to land last night.”

  Something dark flickered in Claire’s eyes, but all she did was nod.

  Stefan set the pad back down on the table and decided the subject needed to be changed. “I was just admiring her drawings. She has quite an impressive talent.”

  Christian looked at the pad and his eyebrows rose. He turned to Claire. “May I?”

  Claire nodded and Christian picked up the pad and studied it, his expression growing more inter
ested each time he flipped to a new page. “Do you work in other mediums, or just pencil?”

  A flash of excitement sparked in Claire’s eyes. “Oh, I love oils and acrylics. They’re my favorite.” The spark died as fast as it had flared to life, replaced by something hard and cold. “I’m just not allowed…um, I mean, I haven’t had the opportunity to use them in a long time.”

  Stefan narrowed his eyes and shot a concerned look at Christian. His brother looked just as disturbed as Stefan felt. Christian set the pad back down and his expression grew thoughtful.

  “Claire, how long are you planning to stay in St. Augustine?” Christian’s question seemed to take Claire by surprise.

  “Um, I’m not sure. I hadn’t really intended to stop here at all, but, well…something just kind of pulled me in.”

  Christian chuckled. “Yes, it has that effect on a lot of people, it seems.” He glanced at Stefan and then back to Claire. “Do you have somewhere else to be soon?”

  Claire opened her mouth and then shut it again. She looked down and shook her head. “No. I have nowhere.”

  Stefan’s curiosity about this woman grew stronger by the minute. How could someone as beautiful as Claire, with so much talent and potential, seem so lost and alone? And who the hell had told her she wasn’t allowed to paint?

  “I’d like to make you a proposal, Claire.” Christian pointed to the sketchpad. “Stefan’s right. You’re extremely talented.” Claire blushed, but Christian continued. “I’ve been thinking about acquiring some new artwork for the casa. I think it would be much more meaningful to have an artist paint pieces specifically for the space, don’t you?”

  Claire stared at him, her pink lips parted and her eyes wide. She appeared taken aback that someone had asked her opinion about something.