Kristie Cook - Devotion

Captiva was the perfect name–it captured my heart and soul.

"I told you you would love it," Tristan said.

As soon as we walked into the real estate broker's office back on Sanibel, Tristan cursed under his breath and turned around to leave. The office was small, with an unmanned receptionist's desk in front of us and two sets of French doors leading off the lobby into two offices. One was dark and empty. A plump woman, in her mid-thirties and with short, bleached-blond hair, stood from her desk in the other office.

"Can I help you?" she called out to us as Tristan opened the front door. He stopped short and quietly cursed again.

"I was looking for Don," Tristan said, nodding toward the darkened office. Don was the real estate broker and another of Tristan's "guys," one of many he had throughout the world.

"He's on vacation, but I can help you," the woman said.

Tristan blew out a breath of resignation and led me toward the woman. As she took a good look at us, recognition flickered across her face.

"Do I know you?" she asked. Oh, crap. The first person to recognize me. Then she shook her head, and her expression changed, a smile spreading across her face. "Never mind. That would be silly. You look like someone I met many, many years ago."

Neither Tristan nor I said anything, though my chest tightened with an eerie feeling. I fought the urge to listen to her mind, to find out who she thought we were because she obviously wasn't thinking A.K. Emerson. But she was a Norman. She wouldn't know about us or our world. So I granted her privacy, even when, the closer I looked at her, the feeling that she seemed familiar grew. But who could she be? For some reason, my mind kept morphing her into someone with dark hair and a much thinner body. Perhaps she'd been an instructor at the college where I met Tristan, now with bleached hair and a few extra pounds. That had to be it–it would explain the recognition both ways, and she would quickly dismiss it because we shouldn't look exactly like we did then.

Tristan relaxed with her, probably coming to the same conclusion I did, and we began our house hunt. The woman showed us a few McMansions on the southeast end of Sanibel and two closer to Captiva, but none of them felt right. Tristan admired the architecture of some and criticized others, but he left the final decision to me. As soon as we drove up to it, I knew right away: I was in love. A charming wine-colored house nestled in the trees between the main road and the beach, on the Sanibel side of the bridge that crossed to Captiva, putting several miles between the colony and us. It wasn't unnecessarily huge like its neighbors, but with four bedrooms and a separate office, it was plenty large enough for the three–and one day soon, four–of us. And it felt like home.

"One of these days, we'll build our dream home," Tristan murmured as we stood on the beach while the agent started the paperwork inside the house. "I'm sorry you have to settle on this for now."

"Yeah, because this house is such a dump."

He chuckled. "Not exactly what I would design."

I turned in his arms and placed my hands on each side of his face. "Anything you do would be perfect. But I love our new house. Thank you for it."

"My pleasure," he said with my favorite smile, his eyes sparkling. As he dipped down for a kiss, I said a little prayer that we weren't making a big mistake and bringing our deadly problems to this slice of paradise.

By the time we arrived at the hotel, our offer had been accepted. Of course it had. It was a generous offer, especially because it was all cash. We weren't even tapping into my money, which Tristan had moved around into various accounts before we left the Keys. With his ability to see all possible options and the best solution, he had an uncanny investment strategy that worked exceedingly well, even when unmanaged for over seven years. He lost some–everyone had, especially in the last couple years–but it was a small dent in what he had accumulated over the previous decades.

We spent the next couple of weeks living out of the hotel and shopping for our new household, starting with a family car. By the time we closed on the house and after buying everything from furniture to clothes to electronics, I felt like a gluttonous pig, and we only bought the basics–beds, a couch and TV, a kitchen table and chairs, two laptops and living necessities.

Owen bought his own motorcycle and a condo on Captiva. The Amadis bankrolled his party. I wondered how long they would pay him to protect Dorian and me, or if they would cut him off if he continued to help us. I didn't think Rina would let it go that far … but who knew anymore?

The time wasn't an entire waste on the search for our daughter … well, depending on how you looked at it. Owen checked around for us and talked to a lot of Amadis people, though he couldn't go anywhere near the villages because the Daemoni still watched. He didn't find any leads for us, which meant it was either a waste of time or that we should start our search outside the state.

"I haven't been able to reach everyone, though," he said our first night in our new house. We sat on a blanket on the balcony, watching the sunset after a picnic dinner. Dorian and Sasha, the Lykora, had already run off to his room. "A certain witch coven refuses to talk to me, and I haven't heard from one of the wolf-packs either."

"What'd you do to them to make them so hostile?" I teased.

Owen snorted. "It's not me they're afraid of. You and Tristan, however … they've been warned to keep their distance from you."

Well, that wasn't good. How would we find the girl if no one would cooperate?

"Did you take care of the real estate agent?" Tristan asked, abruptly changing the subject, which meant he wasn't too worried about the witch coven or the wolf-pack.

"Sure did," Owen said.

"What did you do to her?" I demanded, all sorts of ideas going through my mind.

"She was very helpful–I really don't think you had anything to worry about," Owen said without answering me. "She said her daughter's available to babysit that cute little boy of yours, though."

"What did you do?" I asked again.

"She needed to forget some things about us," Tristan said flatly.

I opened my mouth to ask what that meant, although I already knew deep down–knew it meant Owen messed with her memories and also knew it was probably safest for all of us, including her. But the doorbell silenced me. We all stiffened.

"Amadis," Tristan and Owen said at the same time.

They could sense the person on the other side of the door, but they could only identify people they knew, usually by scent for Tristan and magical qualities for Owen. So they both looked at me, and I felt for the mind signature.

"She's a witch. And she brought us a cake as a welcome gift. She wants to be friends."

Tristan and Owen followed me to the door. I didn't know if it was to protect me, or because I said "cake."

A pretty blond stood on the other side of the door, with the biggest eyes and boobs I've ever seen. Okay, maybe not the biggest boobs, but they were disproportionately large on her slender frame–too big not to notice. I peered at the guys on each side of me, smiling inside at what I expected to see. Tristan surprised me–he stared at the cake, actually. Owen, though, was no surprise. He stared above the cake in her arms … and not at her hazel eyes. I was thankful for my mental wall, because I didn't want to know what ran through his mind at the moment. Poor guy. We really need to find someone for him.

She smiled warmly and held the cake out toward us. "Hi, I'm Blossom. Welcome to our neighborhood. Well, I live over on Captiva, but close enough."

Owen continued staring, and Tristan took the cake from her and carried it off to the kitchen. I shook my head with embarrassment.