Immortal Heat (The Guardians of Dacia Book 1) (6 page)

#

"What do you mean she's gone?" Aiden Vamier bellowed from behind his ornate desk.

Gerlich smirked. All he could think of was, "Another One Bites the Dust" as Trevor faced the music. What a putz! The idiot couldn't handle a simple female and bring her in?

"My lord, we had every one of the sentries out, but we were intercepted."

"Intercepted by whom? No one is capable of getting in our way."

Fool. Who do you think? Gerlich didn't need to put two and two together. He knew Aiden didn't either but still, playing dumb didn't make him a great leader. The man lived in a different world. He only saw what he wanted. He never looked to a bigger picture.

"Draylon Conier, my lord."

Aiden rubbed his smooth shaven face. The man was older than Moses by a decade or two, but he still looked like the fresh faced punk who had changed his world with a sword and ego.

"What does my brother's 'pet' want with the girl?" He stopped rubbing his face and stood to stalk down the three steps from his grand "office."

Vamier believed in power…the higher, the fewer. He thought having a desk, a dining table, a bed, a castle, higher than anyone else made him more powerful. He was no better than the Wizard of Oz, only here everyone paid attention to the "man behind the curtain."

"I…I…don't know, my lord," Trevor stuttered.

Gerlich stood at attention, wishing he could see better peripherally without losing his militant bearing. He lived for moments like this.

"You mean to tell me twenty of you were stationed at various posts waiting for her at the airport and not a single one of your sentries nabbed her. Was Draylon alone, or did he have those mangy wolves with him?"

"He was…alone, my lord." Trevor's voice quaked.

The inevitable is upon you, shit for brains. Suck up your last breath while you can.

"Alone." Aiden paced back and forth in front of them, his head down, his hands clasped behind his back.

The deadly calm signaled the approaching storm. Gerlich had seen it too many times.

"I don't think I understand. Did he take every one of my troops out by himself? Was there some sort of mass command of destruction he used? What?"

"No, my lord…it was the girl. She was untouchable."

Their leader stopped in front of Trevor, the blue vein popping out of his forehead, contrasting with his golden hair. His nostrils flared with disapproval. "I want to question the rest of your personnel."

"There…there is no one left, my lord. Devon and I are the only remaining. We were only injured in a car accident, the rest were either killed by Draylon or…"

"…or?"

"Or they turned to ash upon touching Ms. Reddlin, my lord."

Gerlich sobered. What? His shock had him almost lose his military bearing…almost. But the look on Aiden's face was frightening. He hadn't seen such a look in a man's eye since he had been with the SS back in Germany during World War II. It was evil and hungry, hungry for power just out of his grasp, and he'd be willing to sell his soul to Hades to get it.

The man smiled and took Trevor's face between his palms in a slap. "Trevor, Trevor, Trevor…that is such wonderful news. Good job."

Gerlich prepared himself but loved the sound of a fellow unit leader gasping his last breath as he tried to scream. Such a messy thing, but it brought him closer to the power he wanted for himself.

The thud of Trevor's lifeless remains echoed through the cavernous room. Still, Gerlich stood at attention until he was addressed. Aiden came into his frontal view, his lips and lower jaw coated with the red/black blood of his former unit leader.

"You are now in command Gerlich."

"My lord," he hailed in response, clicking his heels together.

"You Nazi boys always had a spark to you."

Aiden took out a pristine white handkerchief from his Armani suit pocket and dabbed at the blood on his face.

"I want you to prepare the other unit leaders to go into the battle fields for more recruits."

"Yes, my lord. Will that be all?"

"Then return to the United States and oversee the work being done at the blood banks. You are now in charge over there."

"Do you wish me to do anything about Ms. Reddlin, my lord?"

Aiden sighed, his breath rasping in and out through his nose. "No, not just yet. I'll let you know when I change your tasks."

"Yes, my lord."

"Oh and Gerlich, have someone dispose of Trevor's remains and clean up the pool of blood. It stains the marble floor if it sits too long."

"Of course, my lord, right away." He clicked his heels and turned about face to do his master's bidding. What Aiden didn't see was the determined smile on Gerlich's face. He had grand intentions to move up the chain of command and take over…everything.

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Diane Reddlin had been pushed far enough. She hadn't heard from her daughter since their phone connection had been cut over two days ago. Having exhausted all of her diplomatic connections in every country, and even insisting the president send out Navy SEALs to search for her daughter—even though she had no idea where to send them—she was at her wits end.

She hadn't been home in days. There were too many memories and reminders. It was worse than losing Richard all those years ago. At least she'd had Marilyn to raise and protect. Now she was alone.

Rubbing her gritty eyes, her mascara smeared on the backs of her knuckles, she looked over at the emergency phone again. She didn't want to have to rely on him. Rick Delvante may be her boss, but she had carte blanche to run the show as she saw fit. As long as profits were made, new contracts arranged and everyone remained happy, he never questioned her abilities to run his operation.

Though she'd never met the man, he had his finger on every pulse point of the business. He knew everything that went on. Sometimes she felt as if he had spies keeping an eye out for him. It amazed her when he would call her up out of the blue before she'd gotten recent reports out to him, already informed on the situations.

Biting her lip, she set her shoulders. This wasn't about business, this was about her daughter. He had informed her, years ago, that if she ever needed anything, for her or her daughter that all she had to do was call him on this phone. She'd never had to do so. But she was at her last hope.

"Yes, how may I help you?"

She hadn't even dialed. This was his private phone she'd picked up but it was a woman's voice. His wife maybe?

"Um…yes." She took a steadying breath. "I'm looking for Mr. Rick Delvante."

"Of course, Ms. Reddlin—I'll put you right through."

Okay, personal receptionist.

"Diane? What's wrong? You've never called this phone."

"I've never had to, sir." She could feel the sharp edge of emotion trying to battle its way up her throat. "I'm desperate though, and I don't know what else to do."

It was true. She'd never needed to rely on anyone, and now she had to rely on the one man who had made her what she was today.

"That's why I told you to use this number whenever you had an issue concerning you or Marilyn."

There was no doubt the man knew everyone's name. He was after all, Rick Delvante.

"So how may I help you?"

"It's…it's my daughter, Marilyn. I haven't been able to contact her for a few days, since she went to Romania. I'm afraid something has happened to her. I've tried every embassy, consulate and diplomatic connection I have and either no one can help me, or they haven't even tried. I'm calling you as my last hope."

"I want you to stay strong, Diane. I'm sure she is fine," his voice soothed. "In the meantime, I need you to send me all of her most recent information, copy of passport, credit cards, and most recent photo. You've got to trust me. I'll find her. I'll keep you posted on a regular basis."

"Please, if there is anything I can do…" Diane sobbed. Talking about her daughter got to her.

"I want you to relax and let me take care of you. We'll find her, Diane…I promise to you with all my heart, she'll be safe."

Chapter Four

"Why don't I just send her back home to the states?"

"You mustn't. That is the first place Vamier would look. Besides, Trevor is his lackey. Do you want that scum to get his hands on her?"

"Hell no."

Marilyn woke up to a heated discussion on the other side of the door. She'd had enough of this. Why wouldn't they just let her be? All she wanted to do was get to Professor Vamier and begin her studies. She had no contact with her mother or anyway to contact the professor with her phone gone. That was why she was here. She wasn't going home or anywhere until she had answers.

Tossing back the covers, she realized she was naked. Panic set in, and she snarled with frustration.

"Where are my clothes?" she called.

The door opened to reveal Nonni and Draylon standing there. Nonni stepped inside.

"Draylon, wait out in the other room…"

He didn't budge, just stared at her as if he'd never seen a woman in bed. Marilyn could only imagine what she looked like right now. When was the last time she'd showered or brushed her hair? Images of her as a wild, hot mess in front of strangers raised an unusual level of anger in her. To have them stare at her in such a state set off a defensive, adrenaline rush within her that had her wanting to attack.

"Draylon…now!" Nonni commanded.

Marilyn leapt out of the bed with a wild burst of energy and raced towards Draylon to attack. Before she could get to him though, Nonni slammed the door and backed away from her.

I have your things, zmeoaică. You have nothing to fear.

The woman's mouth never moved, but Marilyn heard her speak the words.

My name is Marilyn.

Zmeoaică is who you truly are. You've come home. After so long, you have returned. It's just as Zamolxis ordained.

Nonni made no sense to her. Nothing made sense to her. She ached, worse than when she'd gone to see Doc Johnston. Muscles tightened in her arms and legs, muscles she never knew existed. They'd developed over night. She could see their definition. Marilyn's face felt swollen and dry, her head hurt and her eyes burned. Without any mirrors in the room, she couldn't see what was happening to her or how she looked. She'd moved too fast, the room spun and nausea threatened her stomach. She sat back down on the edge of the bed, trying to get her body and thoughts together.

"I want my things, Nonni…please."

"Do you promise not to leave?"

"If it's the only way to get my things back…I won't leave, yet." She looked up from beneath her wild mass of knotted hair.

Nonni tried not to crack a smile but the toothless grin came out anyway. "I get your things. We talk. No men—I send them away."

Mentally Marilyn felt better when Nonni brought in her clothes, laundered and fresh. The woman had her sit in the rustic, straight back chair near the washbasin as she applied a soothing balm to her arms and legs to help with the aches. After she dressed in jeans and a sweater, Nonni brushed out her hair, applying a sweet, berry scented serum to smooth out the knots. Marilyn let her run the boar-bristled brush through the tangled mass. She still felt naked though. Her hand instantly went to her throat. Her medallion was missing.

"It is safe. I tucked it away in your suitcase. It is most impressive. Where did you get such a thing?"

"It was a gift from a friend of my father's for my twenty-first birthday," she whispered.

"A gift, from your father's friend? Why did your father not give it to you?"

"I never met my father. He went missing before I was born."

"How sad for you. What did your father do?" Nonni asked as she plaited her hair into a thick braid.

"He was a Romanian archeologist working for the Smithsonian. He was well known and went on various digs around the world, but he always loved the history and artifacts from here." Marilyn turned to view Nonni. "I read some of his papers and became as fascinated by the history as he'd been—much to my mother's dismay."

"And your father? Who was this man?"

"Richard Reddlin."

Nonni stopped braiding momentarily as she appeared to ponder the thought of her father then returned to braiding her hair. Nothing in her features showed Nonni had any recollection of the name.

Marilyn tried another tactic. "You said you wanted to talk…without the men. Did you send them away?"

The old woman nodded. "We talk. You and me. I fix tea…come."

#

As warm and inviting as the large cottage appeared, Marilyn shivered with a chill of anxiety. Something wasn't right with any of this, but out of all the issues she'd encountered, which one bothered her the most? All of them.

"Sit. Sit. I make tea with honey."

Nonni motioned for her to sit at the table. She studied the old wooden beams that supported the house and rafters. Stone, wood and brick with white plaster made up the interior. The windows were arched with red brick and the plastered walls were thick enough to keep out all sorts of elements. There were no vents for central air, no old radiators for heating, only fireplaces and wood burning stoves to take out the chill.