Warrior's Heart: Iron Portal Series (Paranormal Romance) (14 page)

“But isn’t that where the barbarians are from?”

Vince narrowed his eyes. “Who told you that? Nicholas?”

Darius nodded.

“Well, there are no barbarians over there. They’re people. In fact, everyone I’ve met from there is very nice. Uncle Asher, your mom…you.”

“
Me
?” Darius asked, bringing the swing to a halt.

Vince nodded. “Yes, you.”

Darius clamped his hands over his mouth and talked through his fingers. “I used to live in the other world?”

“Only when you were really little, so if you don’t remember anything, that’s why.”

Darius thought hard for a moment. “Did the bad people get mad at you when you didn’t tell them?”

Vince could tell that he was starting to understand. “Yes, very mad. That’s why they kept me away from you and your mom, even though I wanted to be with you more than anything in the world.”

“Oh.”

Vince could almost see the cogs spinning in the boy’s head. This was an awful lot for him to comprehend at one time.

“More than anything?” Darius asked.

“Yep. Anything.”

Then Darius’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “More than…a peanut butter milkshake?”

Vince grinned. “Way more than a peanut butter milkshake.”

Darius started swinging again. “How about a robot? One with laser beams in its eyes.”

Vince stood behind him and pushed. “I’d take you and your mom over a robot with laser beams for eyes any day of the week.”

“How about a billion times infinity?”

“That’s a lot.”

“That’s how much my mom loves me.”

“Yeah, well,
more
than a billion times infinity.” It occurred to him that it was all true, not just a silly game he was playing. He did want to be a husband to Zara, a father to Darius. A whole helluva lot. Maybe once they got to Cascadia, he could begin to put his awful memories behind him. Focus on the future for once instead of trying to right the past.

Vince continued to push Darius in the swing until he saw Olivia and Asher holding up several paper sacks.

“Food’s ready,” he said.

Tears stung his eyes as Darius grabbed his hand on the way back to the truck. He was starting to make inroads with his son, and a huge weight lifted from his shoulders.

It was almost unbearable that Darius thought he’d been the cause for Vince not being a part of his life, when nothing could be further from the truth.

A
thin woman
covered in tattoos flitted around Dr. Uri Dobrynin, blotting makeup on his forehead, brushing lint from his suit and arranging his hair.

Good God. The attention these video people paid to their appearances boggled his mind. In all his seventy-nine years, he’d never once worn face makeup.

The woman stepped aside and turned his chair. “How’s it look?”

He examined his reflection in the mirror. No shine on his forehead, his coloring was tanned and even, and his hair appeared thicker than normal.

“Not bad,” he grinned. Hell, he looked ten years younger. Maybe these video people were on to something.

The woman pressed her lips tightly together. “Try not to smile so wide when you’re on camera.”

He was about to ask why when heels clacked in the hallway. “How’re you doing, Doc?” It was Birdie Lyons’ personal assistant. “She’s almost ready for you.”

Ready for me?
Shouldn’t the woman be waiting for him? After all,
he
was a guest on
her
show.

Uri was whisked into a small studio with a fake backdrop of New Seattle behind a glass desk. Birdie sat on one of two stools and wore a bright pink monstrosity on her head that matched her lips and suit. A technician was at her feet, adjusting the position of a light shining on her legs.

“How’s it look?” the man yelled.

“Jesus. We’re not doing a vaj shot,” was the reply from somewhere behind the cameras. “A little to the left and down.”

“Doctor, welcome. Please, have a seat.” Birdie held out her hand but didn’t lean forward. He had to stretch over the table to clasp it. “I’ll do a quick introduction and then we’ll get started, okay?”

“Did you get my bio? It should’ve been emailed to someone on your staff.”

The anchorwoman flicked her hand. “Too long so we pared it down. The viewers have short attention spans. Can’t give them a reason to surf to another channel, now can we?”

Somewhat irritated, the doctor sat back on the stool. Hearing from the head of the Institute wasn’t reason enough to stay tuned?

A cameraman held up his hand. Birdie sat straight and gave a plastic smile.

“Hello, everyone. I’m Birdie Lyons and this is the Lyon Report. Today, we’re in the studio with Dr. Uri Dobrynin. He’s the director at the prison from which convict Vincent Crawford escaped.” She turned slightly in her chair. “So, Doctor, can you tell us what was going on in the prison the day this happened?”

What about the introduction? The bio that listed all his accomplishments and degrees? “Um…uh. It…was…a normal day, I guess.”

“So you’re saying that it’s normal—” she finger-quoted and winked at the camera “—for convicts to escape from your facility on any given day?”

Uri sputtered. “Of course that’s not what I’m saying.” He looked around for Bradford, his personal bodyguard, but the lights were too bright.

She consulted a tablet in front of her. The back of the device, the side pointing to the camera, was covered in pink crystals. “According to my sources, quite a large number of dangerous criminals, all Talents of some degree or another, have escaped from the Institute since you started your research.” She looked into the camera. “Dangerous criminals like Vincent Crawford, ladies and gents.” She turned back to the doctor. “Can you tell us how something like that can happen in what is supposed to be a maximum security facility?”

The doctor quickly collected his thoughts. “While there have been some escapes, that number went way down when we started using Impedio, a drug that blocks a Talent’s special ability.”

“And was Vincent Crawford on this so-called Impedio?”

“Yes, he was.”

Birdie nodded her head thoughtfully. “Doctor, can you tell us what Vincent Crawford’s Talent is? Just what is it that makes him so valuable?”

The doctor grimaced. “I’m afraid that’s classified information.”

“Classified, huh?” Birdie raised an eyebrow at the camera. “Folks, my sources say Crawford’s talent has something to do with portals.” She turned back to the doctor. “Can you at least confirm that?”

Who the hell were her sources? Someone on his staff? If so, someone was going to pay. “No, uh, I’m afraid not.”

Unfazed, Birdie smiled. She shuffled some papers on the desk in front of her; pretended to be reading them. They were blank. It was all for show. “Let’s switch gears for a moment then, shall we?”

Uri was sweating under these lights. Things were progressing much faster than he had anticipated.

“A car matching the description of one seen at the time of the escape has been traced back to a woman who lives in Roseville with her son. A little digging on our part and we learned this woman hasn’t shown up for work since before Crawford’s escape.” She turned back to the camera. “I know what you’re thinking. What about the roadblocks, Birdie? The whole region has been hamstrung and many people haven’t been able to get to work. I agree. However,” she held up a finger, “according to the woman’s landlady, a couple had been staying at her residence to watch the woman’s son. And, no, the woman wasn’t on vacation. We don’t believe it’s a coincidence. We believe this woman helped him escape.” She swiveled back toward Uri and asked pointedly, “Doctor, what exactly is the relationship between her and Crawford?”

Anger roiled inside him. Birdie Lyons was grasping at straws, inventing gossip when there was no story. He was done trying to cooperate. He’d get up and end this ludicrous interview right now, but he wasn’t sure how that would come across on camera. “There are no conjugal visits at the Institute, if that’s what you’re asking. The prisoners are not allowed visitors of any kind.”

Birdie motioned with her finger for the camera to come closer. Almost instantly, a short musical clip began to play in the background. The doctor didn’t know if he was still on camera or not, so he glanced at the monitor. The screen showed a close-up of Birdie with a graphic that said
A Little Birdie Told Me
, but then it swung over and focused in on him.

He blinked, confused. What was going on? It occurred to him, too late, that he might be being railroaded.

“Doctor, a little birdie told me something very interesting.”

“Uh…um…”

“We believe that this woman and Crawford used to be lovers. And that her boy,” she said slowly, pausing to heighten the drama, “is Crawford’s son.”

Vincent had a son? That was the most absurd thing he’d ever heard. Choking on his spittle, the doctor stood from his stool so quickly that it clattered to the floor behind him. “Impossible.”

A pink feather on her headpiece dipped and bobbed. “The boy and his mother have been living right under your nose. This. Whole. Time.”

Now it was his turn to look smug. This woman was all about fluff and ratings. Her quote unquote facts were nothing more than figments dreamed up by a staff who should be writing fiction, not news stories. “The man has been locked up for years. He’s had no visitors. Hell, even his family didn’t know where he was.”

Birdie rolled her eyes at the camera, winked, then turned back to the doctor. “So you’re saying it’s impossible to father a child when you’re—” She counted on her fingers for the audience’s benefit, “—eighteen years old?”

“That’s not what I’m— No, we would’ve known…” Where the hell was Bradford? He was supposed to be nearby.

“A simple check into the woman’s background shows nothing beyond eight years ago. Nothing. Her son is ten. This confused us at first.” Then her perplexed frown transformed into a slow, confident smile. “But then we figured it out. Ladies and gents, we believe the woman is…” she paused again, “…from Cascadia.” Dramatic music, like an audio exclamation mark, surged throughout the studio and ended on a single violin note that held as Birdie finished her point. “And that this boy was conceived over there after Crawford visited through a portal.”

The music faded away, and Uri’s head began to pound. What the hell was she talking about? This couldn’t be possible. But even as he thought that, images of Vincent’s drawings flashed in his head. That girl was over here now? How could he have missed that? And she…they had a son? He’d pumped Vincent so full of truth serum, and he’d revealed lots of secrets. Surely he’d have admitted he had a son and that the woman he loved was over here.

Unless…

Vincent hadn’t known.

Birdie was still talking. “I’d like to know, as would my viewers, what’s to prevent them from running through a portal and escaping back to Cascadia?”

Now it was the doctor’s turn to laugh. “They can run, but they can’t hide.” He cringed at how unoriginal that sounded, but it was true. He wanted her goddamn audience to know he meant business.

He started to say more but stopped himself. Birdie and her viewers didn’t need to know that he had people over there right now setting up a sleeper-cell, thanks to the information Vincent had given him while under the influence of the truth serum.

The problem with the army was that they only knew how to use force and might to achieve their goals, when perhaps the best way was to infiltrate the enemy and get them to trust you first.

T
he Iron Haven
was nestled in a remote wilderness area surrounded by a swirling layer of fog so thick it could have been a low-lying cloud. Even though it was late, a couple was waiting for them on the front steps. The man wore a kilt, his arm draped casually around the woman’s shoulders.

“That’s Rickert and Neyla,” Olivia whispered so as not to wake Darius.

Zara stood at the door as Vince gently lifted their sleeping son from the back seat of the truck and carried him inside. They followed Neyla down a hallway and into a small bedroom. She pulled back the comforter on one of the beds and removed several hot water bottles scattered on the sheet.

“We don’t have central heating,” she whispered, “so it gets pretty cold back here.”

“Mama?” Darius mumbled as Vince laid him down.

“Right here, baby.” Zara bent and kissed him on the forehead. “You go back to sleep now, okay?”

He grabbed her arm to keep her from leaving. “Where are you going?”

“I’ll just be in the next room, talking to the grown-ups.”

“But I don’t want to be by myself.”

“You’re not, buddy, I’ll—”

“I’ll stay with him, Zara,” Vince said from behind her. “If that’s okay with you, little dude?”

Zara had no idea what the two of them had talked about on the swing set, but evidently it had been impactful.

“Clear over there?” Darius looked at the other twin bed only a few feet away as if it were a mile.

“Do you want me to lay here with you till you fall asleep?”

Darius frowned. “I want you to stay here all night.”

“Tell you what. I’ll stay till you fall asleep, then I’ll go talk to the grown-ups for a little bit, then I’ll come back. But you have to promise me something.”

“What?”

“It’s really important.”

“Okay, okay,” Darius said impatiently.

“No snoring.”

Darius clamped a hand over his mouth and laughed. “I don’t snore.”

Vince flashed a conspiratorial smile. “Well, when your aunt Olivia was your age, she snored really loud. I used to tease her that she sounded like a pig.”

Darius snickered.

“Shhh. Do
not
tell her I told you that. She’ll kill me.”

Zara saw what Vince was doing. He was getting Darius to focus on something funny instead of worrying about the negative. Very clever.

Darius settled into the pillow and seemed satisfied with that plan.

Vince looked at Zara. “Well, I guess that’s that. I’ll see you in a bit.” He kicked off his shoes, tossed his coat on a chair, and climbed into the bed. “Oh man, it’s so narrow.”

Darius rolled his eyes. “You’re too big to lie on your back. You need to lie on your side. Here, like this.” Darius grabbed Vince’s shoulder, pulling and pushing him until he had him situated just so.

“See?” Darius patted the sheet. “Now there’s room for me right here.” He scooted closer, grabbed Vince’s muscular arm and snuggled underneath it.

Vince had a contented smile on his face, like there was nowhere else he’d rather be than right here. “You seem like an old pro, like you’ve done this a few times.”

“Yeah, me and my mom like to snuggle, so I’m pretty good at it.”

The last thing Zara heard before she slipped out the door was fake snoring and pig snorting sounds—
oh great
—then Darius asked Vince to tell him a story.

W
hen Vince entered
the great room the next morning, the smell of fresh-brewed coffee hit him like two-by-four. How long had he slept anyway? He looked around. Late, apparently.

Zara and Neyla stood on opposite sides of the massive dining table, smoothing out a large piece of fabric. Asher and Olivia were lying on a couch near the fire.

Zara looked up and her face brightened. “You’re awake. Did you sleep well?”

“Apparently, I did,” he said, yawning.

“Morning,” Neyla said over her shoulder.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Olivia called from across the room.

Asher lifted a hand. “Yo.”

Zara came around the table and hugged him. He pulled her close with one hand and slipped the other hand down to caress her bottom, loving how her soft curves felt against him. She moved subtly against his growing erection.

“Good God, woman,” he whispered in her ear and she laughed softly.

And then he thought about their son. No, he and Zara would have to wait.

“I didn’t expect to fall asleep like that,” he said. “Figured I’d be there five, ten minutes tops after I told Darius a few stories. He liked the one about slaying dragons the best, by the way.”

“Sounds like the perfect story.” Her beautiful face was turned up to him, her gray eyes twinkling.

Even though it had been less than a day, her gentle encouragement that he was on the right track as a father meant a lot to him. Rather than hovering around, telling him what he should be saying or doing, she trusted that he’d figure it out his own way, and it meant the world to him.

“Speaking of…where is our son?”

“You just missed him. It snowed last night, so he went outside with Rickert. You hungry? We made a huge breakfast scramble.”

So
everyone
was up? Having not seen Rickert yet, he’d figured the guy was still sleeping. His stomach growled. He’d shovel something in quickly then go outside with Darius.

Zara started into the kitchen, but he grabbed her wrist to stop her. “I can get it. Looks like you’re busy.”

She looked up at him from beneath her dark lashes, smiling softly. “Are you sure…?”

He loved how she wanted to take care of his physical needs. “I’ve got it, babe, but thanks.” He bent down and gave her a quick, hard kiss on the lips, which left him aching for more, and then he reluctantly stepped away.

Soon, he was leaning against the counter overlooking the great room, eating a huge mound of eggs and potatoes with more than a few squirts of green Tabasco. The best condiment ever. God, he’d missed this stuff.

The two women were doing some sort of project involving a large piece of fabric. If he hadn’t already known that Neyla used to be a badass lieutenant in the army, he never would’ve believed it. She was what he’d call a girly-girl—into clothes, makeup and fashion. She’d once been a costume designer with her own business, but when her latent Talent had manifested, she was forced to give that up and join the army. She’d since gone back to what she’d done before.

Little chance of that happening for him. You couldn’t exactly go to a prestigious art school when you’re wanted by the authorities. He was a different person now anyway.

He thanked Neyla for her part in getting him out of prison, but she tried to brush it off as no big deal. “All I did was make a few calls.”

“I’d still be there if you hadn’t obtained the intel you did. Once you step foot inside those walls, you pretty much disappear off the face of the earth.”

She sighed heavily. “Yeah, there are all sorts of rumors floating around in the Talent ranks about what goes on there. You did something that all of us deep down wished we were brave enough to do—you stood up to the army. I’m just glad I could help.”

“If only I could figure out a way to get the rest of them out, I would.”

Zara lifted her head, her brows pulled tightly together. “You’d actually consider going back there?”

“I wouldn’t want to go back if my life depended on it, but they don’t deserve to be there any more than I did.”

He carried his plate to the window, expecting to see Darius playing in the snow. A fresh layer of white powder covered the ground and the vehicles, but all he saw were two sets of tracks leading from the porch into the woods. “Do you know where Darius and Rickert went?”

Neyla flashed him a sheepish smile and rubbed her slightly rounded belly. “To indulge one of my cravings. But don’t worry. They didn’t go far.”

Sure enough, he had just finished washing and drying his plate when the main door opened, and Darius burst inside, bringing with him a cold gust of air. Rickert was right on his heels.

“Dad, grab some glasses. Hurry.”

Zara cleared her throat. “I didn’t hear
please
.”

“Oh, sorry,” Darius said, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. “Grab some glasses, please.”

It took Vince a moment to collect himself. His son had called him
dad
for the first time. His chest welled with pride, and when he looked over at Zara to gauge her reaction, he saw a faint sheen of tears glistening in her beautiful eyes.

Oblivious to what was going on, Rickert placed a carton of chocolate milk on the counter.

“Did you go to the store?” Vince asked, confused. He thought the nearest town was several hours away.

“I put this out in the snow when I got up.” The other man filled several glasses, handing one to Neyla and one to Darius. “
Someone
had a craving for a milkshake, but slushy chocolate milk was the best I could do.”

Darius licked his chocolate milk mustache but missed the corners. “Yum.”

“It’s perfect,” Neyla said. “Thank you, boys.”

She turned back to her project, but Rickert came up behind her and wrapped his arms protectively around her waist. “Why don’t you sit down? You don’t need to work on that now, do you?”

“I want to finish this before we leave. Who knows when I’ll be back?” she said, patting her slightly rounded belly.

“How many other Havens are there?” Vince asked curiously.

“This is the first,” Rickert replied. “But we’d like to set up a few others, with one on the peninsula being the next on the list.”

“You’re not afraid of Pacifican soldiers finding them?” Vince asked.

“Did you happen to notice the fog when you came in?”

Vince nodded. It was so thick that they almost lost sight of the Harley’s taillight just a few feet in front of them.

“It’s an illusion created by placing Esmerelda glass strategically around the perimeter of the property,” Rickert explained. “Unless you have a shard from one of the crystals and know exactly where to go, you’d never find the place.” The other man pulled a pendant from a chain around his neck. “All the warriors wear them now.”

“The
Taghta
sisterhood uses a similar method to keep their abbeys hidden,” Zara chimed in. “But I didn’t realize Esmerelda glass would survive a portal crossing.”

Rickert nodded. “They’ve got flecks of iron, so it’s one of the few items that does. But you do deal with more portal sickness when you cross.”

“A necessary side effect.” Asher strode into the kitchen, ruffling Darius’s hair as he passed, and leaned against the counter. “I’d rather deal with that and have a place of our own than live like gypsies when we’re over here. So you’ll be working on finding a location for the peninsula’s haven after the Warrior Games?”

A shadow crossed Rickert’s face “Aye. We need one. The Pacifican army is getting too close to one of the portals there, so we can’t risk pulling our men. So far we’ve been successful, but every time we get them to retreat, they just regroup and come back. They know they’re getting close. Our saving grace is that if they do get through, it’s located in a very remote corner of Cascadia, and we’ve got people keeping watch on the other side.”

“Warrior Games?” Vince asked.

Rickert explained that the Iron Guild holds a tournament where young men compete in various speed, endurance and skills competitions. The best are invited to become warriors.

“Besides, it’s a huge party,” Asher said, grinning. “No one wants to miss it if they don’t have to.”