Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
CHARLI
Only the worry in their eyes makes me stay the rest of the night.
Sleep is completely elusive, as I knew it would be.
My mind buzzes like a live wire. There’s so much to unpack, from my vision to the existence of supernaturals to meeting someone like me.
And of course, the appearance of the third man whose features I’ve been drawing for years, who happens to be kind of a dick and a vampire.
I don’t know how I’m not losing my mind. Part of me is relieved to find I’m not a freak; I’m a seer. I see things others don’t, which makes sense.
But as far as the rest…supernaturals, the Fates, the possibility that others might see my visions as a gift instead of something to fear…I’m reserving judgment.
Greystone Vale is both a city and a Vale.
Kind of makes sense why everyone kept referring to it as one or the other.
But I’d have never guessed this was a sanctuary for supernaturals.
Everything seems normal. The gym. Coffee shop.
The receptionist at Granite Securities. But it’s not.
It’s protected by magic and creatures whose power and strength keep it hidden from the humans who would likely destroy it.
Supernaturals. How many different species live here in Greystone?
So far, I know of a witch or two, wolf shifters, dragons, gargoyles, and of course, a vampire.
The scourge of the earth. I snort. Andros is certainly arrogant, but his disdain for his kind seems to be the only real thing about him.
Although I have to say, all that intensity wrapped in a three-piece suit is alarmingly attractive.
A search on my phone brings up pictures of gargoyles.
Everything from cute tiny statues to muscular creatures with well-defined abs and sharp, pointy wings.
It’s hard to reconcile those two utterly gorgeous men in the living room with any of them.
It says they’re guardians, which I do believe.
They were certainly my guardians tonight.
My chest tightens. Again. Ever since I put my hand in Teague’s, my body has been off. I don’t know if I’m coming down with something or a vision is about to hit me.
Dawn breaks on the horizon, and the light is so pure, my need to capture my vision and Andros’s face can no longer be denied.
I carefully swing my legs out of the covers and stand.
Finding my sneakers at the foot of the bed, I slip them on and grab my purse from the top of the dresser.
I look around, but don’t see my coat. Maybe it’s still at the restaurant.
I’ll have to check when I go by later. Before I leave, I make Teague’s bed.
My mind slips to an image of him lying in it, chest bare, his signature grin on his face, and I have to mentally fan myself.
Surprised to see the living room is empty, I look around for a pen and paper. Spotting some on the desk, I walk over and jot down a note.
Thank you for getting me out of the restaurant before I passed out. It meant a lot to have someone take care of me when I needed it. I’ll see you at work on Monday.
Charli
I wrinkle my nose as I put the pen down.
The note sucks, but what are you supposed to say when you have a vision, realize there are other supernaturals in this world who shift and wield magic and all kinds of other things, and oh, you’re a seer.
And let’s not forget, you stayed the night with two gargoyles and a vampire.
All of which is the tip of the proverbial iceberg.
Mind blown. I’ll never look at anyone the same way again. Thanks, Charli.
With a chuckle, I leave their place and head to mine. Before I get there, I remember I’m out of coffee. Pivoting on my heel, I brave the cold and drive over to the little coffee shop, teeth chattering the whole way. Heat finally blasts from the vents right as I pull into the parking lot.
Packed as usual, I get in line and slowly make my way to the counter to order.
Someone behind me starts whispering, and I turn to find two girls with familiar ice-blond hair.
Clan Larsson. How many of them are there?
One girl jabs her elbow into the other when she sees me looking.
The whispering stops. The angry looks don’t.
My stomach growls, reminding me I didn’t get to finish my dinner last night.
The girl at the register gives me a bored stare as I order, and it feels so normal, the tension in my shoulders eases a bit. After getting my coffee and an egg sandwich, I head back to my car and hurry home.
The second I’m in the door, I drop into a chair, pull my sketchbook out of my backpack, and start with Leif’s past, knowing he’s going to want some assurance my vision was real.
As I contemplate the best way to capture the raw anguish on both the wolf’s and man’s faces, I munch on my egg sandwich.
When I have an idea, I pick up the pencil and carefully approach the painful scene with light strokes until I’m sure it’s capturing the depth of grief the vision showed me.
Finishing the past, I stare at the images of the wolves standing on the hill, then a grief-stricken Leif on his knees, roaring his anguish to the world.
I compare it to the man I met last night.
He’s younger in this version, his body leaner, and he lacks the commanding presence of the man he is today.
I wonder how long ago this happened. He’s clearly aged.
Is that because wolf shifters aren’t immortal?
My mind turns to Teague’s statement. The one I’ve been ignoring since he said it.
If they’re immortal, do they not age? I mean, they look like they’re in their thirties, but they’ve never really said how old they were.
A few hundred? A thousand? They must see my lifespan as nothing, inconsequential, a grain of sand in the hourglass of their lives.
Disturbed by the difference between us, I shove those thoughts aside and return to my sketch.
If I’m to believe Raine, our visions come from the Fates.
A chance to right something that went wrong.
I don’t know about the Fates and their plans for us, but I do know my visions have only ever helped the people in them.
Not once have they led me wrong, so I have to believe this vision will help them both.
She was standing in an old school diner.
Vinyl booths. Black-and-white checkered floor.
Mint condition, though. Remodeled? Or new but made to look old?
There’s no sign in my vision to tell Leif where to find her.
That’s why it’s imperative I add every detail, no matter how minute, to the background.
Once that’s done, I start on the woman. Gold eyes the same color as Leif’s, ice-blond hair shorn close to her nape in a pixie cut.
Her face is guarded as if the world has taught her some hard lessons.
I pencil in her strong jaw and careful smile.
She appears to be around Brita’s age, but how do you tell with a supernatural?
Still, my gut says it’s true. My hand cramps, and I scrutinize the image while I flex the tight muscles.
It’s missing a few more things, like the metal signs and reproduction prints gracing the walls, and some finishing touches on the diner’s barstools. I stop. Bingo.
Excited, I tear out the pages and grab my keys. On my way out, I almost run straight into Andros, who’s walking by.
“Sorry,” I say breathlessly, excited by my find.
His eyes flick to me, and an elegant eyebrow rises. “Your sweater is twisted.” He steps into the elevator and presses the button.
Sliding in with him, I fix my sweater and comb my fingers through my hair.
Silver doors close, leaving only the reflection of the two of us standing side-by-side, and I wince at the stark difference.
I’m a hot mess, hair tangled and sticking out, still wearing yesterday’s clothes, and he’s an arrogant prick, albeit a perfectly put-together prick in his sport coat, dark pants, and button-down shirt.
The doors open, and I stride out without saying goodbye.
I don’t know what his problem is, but he can stuff it.
Minutes later, I pull into the Wolf’s Den and sit there in the car, staring at the restaurant in front of me.
All my earlier excitement is gone. Images of white wolves sweep through my head, bringing a healthy dose of fear.
I wipe my clammy hands on my jeans. Maybe I should have asked Teague or Macklin to come with me.
I glance around at the parking lot and realize the restaurant is probably half full of supernaturals.
My sketches lay in the front passenger seat, their message clear, and I know I can’t let fear or the possibility of an audience deter me. Leif needs to see these. It’s important. Bolstering my resolve, I force myself out of my safe space and walk into the restaurant.
Brita’s smile slips from her perfectly pouty lips, and her bright turquoise gaze begins to glow with animosity. “Haven’t you caused enough trouble?”
My eyes widen at her glowing eyes, but I don’t bother arguing. “I’d like to see Leif, please.”
She huffs but disappears into the back. Seconds later, she returns. “He’s in a booth. Opposite of the one you sat in last night.”
“Thank you,” I tell her, swallowing hard. “Also, do you happen to have my coat?”
Her lips twist. “Macklin grabbed it when he came back.” She pastes a smile on her face to greet the couple who just walked through the door, clearly dismissing me. “Party of two?”
Macklin came back. I frown. Was that last night or today? Maybe he realized I forgot my coat.
Slipping through the tables, I spot Alex standing by a booth on the far right, and the second his golden eyes meet mine, his face twists in anger.
Why are they angry at me? All I did was shake Leif’s hand.
As I get closer, Leif slides out of the booth, and I gasp at the large bruise on his face. Shit.
He folds his arms across his chest as he waits for me to reach him.
“Did Macklin hit you?” I ask, my voice low, hoping nobody hears me.
He shrugs as if it doesn’t matter. “It will be gone by tomorrow. Why are you here?”
“To give you these,” I say, holding up the sketches. “It’s my vision. Well, technically, your vision.” His arms drop, and he warily eyes the papers in my hand. “You need to see it, but there’s an order to them, and the first few are going to be…um…painful.”
His lips peel back as if he’s snarling at me.
Dodging his scary gaze, I hurriedly hand him the first one with the wolves running across the prairie.
He looks down at the scene, and his jaw tightens.
I hand him the next one. Him as a wolf, howling, the cabin in the background.
His hand trembles slightly as he stares down at it.
I give him the third one. Him as a man, anguish and devastation on his face, kneeling in the dirt as he roars her name.
“Why are you showing me this?” he rasps, his voice tight with emotion.
“I see it every damn night when I close my eyes. I don’t need it immortalized into art.
It’s carved into my bones, my soul.” Anguish coats his voice, thick and raw, as if it happened yesterday instead of long ago.
His fingers lightly trace over the remnants of the cabin, his eyes distant and full of memories.
“I draw what I see. This is painful, but I promise I’m not showing you these to be hurtful.
You need to know beyond a shadow of a doubt that my vision is real because this next one is going to throw you for a loop,” I explain as I hand him the last drawing.
The one with his daughter in it. “Your daughter is alive.”
His knees slowly buckle until he’s sitting on the edge of the booth. Gripping the sketch, his eyes are a brilliant, pure gold when he looks up at me. “Where?”
I take a deep breath. “There’s no sign on the diner.
Nothing in my vision told me where to find her.
” I point to the barstools. “But those seem pretty unique to me. You might be able to do an image search and either track down the manufacturer or possibly the diner itself if one of their customers took a picture and posted it online.”
“Alex!” he roars, and I automatically take two steps back.
Alex comes striding up, his face twisted in a sneer. “Want me to throw her out?”
I take another.
Leif sighs in exasperation. “Get me my computer. Now.” He turns to me. “Sit.”
His command washes over me, full of power, and for a brief second, I consider it. “I’ll stand.” Surrounded by his clan, who are kind of pissed at me, isn’t exactly comfortable. Not to mention the diners, who are all staring at us.
He opens his mouth to say something else, but Alex returns with a laptop. Ignoring us both, he orders Alex to search for the barstools.
Several results come up, but only one diner. Al’s. Knoxville, TN.
Leif slams the lid shut. “Get the helicopter ready and call Ingrid. We’ll take the jet from Denver.”
Alex picks up the sketches and looks at me in disbelief. “Sofia.” He hands them back to his father and takes off, shouting orders.
Are all wolf shifters so loud?
Leif stares at me, his eyes full of remorse. “Macklin was livid when he returned. In all the years I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him lose his cool. He did last night. And damn, he’s got a fist like a fucking sledgehammer.” He rubs his face.
Given the situation, I’m glad Macklin confronted him. I may not understand the rules here, but both Teague and Macklin tried to get him to reconsider.
“I deserved it. What I did was wrong. I was an arrogant asshole who thought nothing of tossing my hat in a ring that is clearly not meant for me. Once my pride settled, I intended to apologize.” His eyes drop to the sketches. “But given the result, I’m not sorry.”
“I understand,” I assure him, not needing an apology.
Alex hollers from the back.
Leif holds up a finger, then turns to me. “If I find….” His lips compress, as if he doesn’t want to say the words out loud, then he stalks away.
I shakily blow out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
He believed me. I didn’t have to lie or make up an excuse to get him to search for his daughter.
I only had to show him my vision. Ignoring the stares and whispers, I leave with the biggest smile on my face.
Raine might actually be right. Maybe I can feel good about who I am and what I see.
And as I drive back to the apartment to start on the sketch of Andros, it begins to snow.
Finally. I hope it’s enough to close the pass.
Although humans supposedly can’t enter the Vale without a supernatural, I’m too afraid to believe it.