Claiming Trinity (3 page)

“Come in. Please, have a seat.” The woman at the far end of the room stood with her back to them. Her sultry voice carried through the office.

“Sarka, I’m going to find Rekkus…right now.” The receptionist’s tone held discreet urgency.

Trinity glanced at her, reading the hidden blanket of concern shrouding Myron. “Are you okay?”

“Fine, just some business to tend to.” She lifted her chin.

Trinity faced Sarka, whose silky waist-length raven hair and black attire created quite a dark appearance.

The woman spun toward her.

“If you’ll excuse me?” Myron offered

“Certainly.”

When Sarka caught Myron’s attention, her neutral expression morphed into a grimace. “He’s in the portal room.”

Myron rushed out of the office, leaving Trinity to face Sarka alone.

“I’m sorry about my arrival,” she blathered and plopped into the wooden office chair in front of the desk.

“The portal is different for everyone. Those clumsy ogres should have been better prepared for you. It’s not your fault.” Sarka settled behind the desk.

“Oh?” Her unexpected response loosened some of the tension in Trinity’s shoulders.

“Cyrus and I met with Cemil and Sage. We discussed the best use of our facilities for your needs.”

“Come again?” Caution spiked up her spine. “Which needs would those be?” Her inability to read Sarka’s emotion, short of cold, made her uneasy.

“Your circumstances are a little different than many paras who come here.”

“How?”

“You always start without me?” A tall, dark stranger strutted in the door.
Those
piercing eyes Trinity recognized. Dressed all in black, with short dark hair, bronzed skin, and icy-blue eyes stood the fourth sibling. He never left the island, a fact she’d learned all about in her sessions with Sage and Cemil.

“You must be Cyrus.” She held her hand out but glanced at the gloves he wore, and withdrew the friendly gesture. “Right…you don’t like to touch.” Her discomfort grew when she noted his similar demeanor to his sister’s.

“We discussed your talents and how overwhelming this island could prove to be for you, unless we put some precautions in place for your well-being.” He grabbed a folding chair from the back of the office, and set it down beside his sister, and took a seat across from Trinity.

“Are you gonna lock me up?” She hunched her shoulders. Surely, the crash landing hadn’t been so tragic….

Sarka scrunched her nose and narrowed her eyes. “Not at all. We have many guests, both human and para, all with their troubles, emotions, and traumas. We need to make sure we don’t put you in harm’s way, or, for lack of better phrase, empathic overload.”

The phrase struck a chord and then, to her relief, she realized she couldn’t see their auras. “Oh, I wanted to thank you for the glasses, Sarka.”

“No problem.” The ebony beauty waved off the gesture.

Sage sauntered into the room and sat down beside Trinity. “Good evening.” She grinned. “We have less-populated cabins by the water. They’re more spread out than the rooms here in the Haus. The distance from the energies of the other guests will give you a little tranquility.

“The one exception we cannot waver on is the expectation to join everyone for dinner each night,” Cyrus affirmed with a stern glare. “It’s the one way we can make sure everyone is accounted for.”

“Sage will do some herbal work with you and, before we even consider massage, we will start hydrotherapy, as water will neutralize the negative side-effects you might experience while you heal,” Sarka interjected.

“Okay.” Trinity waited for the bomb to drop. Although the two dark ones were difficult to read, she could sense they treaded carefully with her. She glanced at each of the siblings with distrust. “What are you not telling me?”

Cyrus shot a hardened stare at Sage.

“Go on,” she encouraged him. “She needs to hear it.”

“What?” Frustration amplified through Trinity.

The oldest brother exhaled a heavy breath and stood. He removed his gloves and held out his palm. “Your mother’s wedding band?” He nodded to her right hand.

Trinity gazed down at the white gold Celtic ring and hesitated. “You’re a retrocog,” she recalled aloud and then shook her head. “But you hate to read objects, especially ones associated with….” A whimper festered in her chest.

“For you, I’ll make an exception because Sage and Cemil are convinced it’s necessary.” He waved his hand, edginess tinging his voice.

Trinity stared at her ring finger. She knew the object housed horrific pain. If Cyrus read it, she would likely feel his reactions. Coupled with her searing memories of those two fateful nights everyone she loved was butchered, Trinity doubted she could handle much more. Against her better judgment, she tugged the ring off and placed it in his palm. It would be a roll of the dice, since her perceptions were skewed. Sometimes, they were overloaded, as Sarka mentioned, and other times, she couldn’t make them work for the life of her.

Cyrus cupped his second hand over the first as he read her ring. He winced and recoiled, his eyes squinted shut, and sucked in a shuddering breath. “Part of the problem you have is you can’t control your second side.”

She reeled with astonishment. “What do you mean second side?”

“You’re part banshee.”

“I am a banshee. What is this business about part?” She shrugged with annoyance.

He cocked his head. “You’re part empath.”

“Empath?”

Sage nodded. “It’s why you can read people as deeply as you do.”

“Did you not know your mother was half empath?” Cyrus asked.

She sucked in a sharp breath as her chest tightened. “No.”

“That’s why the banshee drove her crazy. She suffered the grief of all the deaths she called for; it pushed her over the edge.” Cyrus clenched his teeth and quickly handed the ring over to her, clearly shaken. “But there’s a great deal I can’t see.”

Sage jumped up and hustled to the counter at the back of the office where she poured a cup of tea then brought it to her brother.

Trinity’s mouth grew dry with shock.

“You were right, Sage.” He let out a heavy exhale. “She has no idea.”

“Best to tear the Band-Aid off, brother.” Sarka folded her arms across her chest.

“There’s more?” Trinity gripped the armrests of the chair and braced for impact.

Cyrus put his gloves back on. “Your family wasn’t murdered by humans, I’m afraid.”

“Of course they were. They slaughtered my parents because . we were banshee. They had called for the deaths of their loved ones over the years. I saw them, their necks….” The gruesome images sliced through her brain.

“I’m sorry, but you saw the aftermath of a murder-suicide.”

His words pierced her heart. “No!” She shook her head. “Mother never would have—”

“Your father knew she had lost her mind. He had his brother take you out of the house after he had foreseen what was to come. Your mother gave the banshee cry, not only for his death, but her own, too.”

Numbness washed over every muscle of her body. “Are you saying because I’m part empath and banshee, I’m going crazy like my mother did? Is this what’s happening to me right now?”

“That’s not what I meant. Your stress is legit, and the death of your uncle has triggered—”

“Never mind. I don’t want to know,” she snapped.

Deep down, she knew she had blocked a great deal of trauma after she fled her uncle’s grasp and bolted into her family home. What she found, she could never un-see, no matter how hard she’d tried over the years. At the ripe young age of six, Trinity had cried out for both their deaths the night before they perished. Tears of blood had streaked her face. Her mother tried to convince her she’d only had a bad dream, but the next day proved her mother had lied.

“This is a lot to take in right now. Cemil has some ideas to better work through the rest.” Sage stood and coaxed her to her feet. “For now, let’s get you to your cabin, we have a little time to get you settled in before dinner.”

“Sorry to interrupt, Cyrus.” Myron popped her head into the doorway, a frown marring her pretty features.

“What is it?”

“It would seem there’s a plumbing issue in some of the guests’ bathrooms.”

Cyrus cocked his head. “What kind of plumbing issue?”

“We have a bit of a flood on the second floor,” Myron blurted. “I’ve got the property manager, Geoff, on it right now. He’ll report back to you when he gets an idea of the cause, but I thought you should know.”

Sage parked the golf cart beside a second one at the end of the dock.

“Thanks for seeing me to my cabin.” Trinity climbed out, collected her bag, and turned to survey the unique triangular structure at the end of the wooden walkway. Incredible. Built over the water, the villa showcased tall, broad windows all around.

“My pleasure. It’s the least we could do.” Sage hummed a tune as they walked the length of the boards. “Water will be your number one resource, so what better place than here?”

“I suppose.” She spilled out a shaky breath. “How long has Cyrus had to wear those gloves?”

“Since he discovered his talents,” Sage replied. “By the time he was twenty-seven, he was a wreck. He couldn’t eat or sleep and was haunted by the memories of the objects he read. Every murder, weapon, and unimaginable details of crimes he’d never wanted to see.” Sage frowned.

“I guess it would be sort of similar to the dark pit of despair I managed to fall into?”

“I’d say so.”

“So he wears gloves to avoid physical contact?”

“It is. Self-preservation for paras can come in many forms.”

“I suppose it does.” Trinity fidgeted with her new glasses.

“We had a difficult meeting. Are you okay? You’ve been quiet since we left the Wiccan Haus.”

“I’m fine,” she mumbled. “I’ve lost my mind, and apparently it’s genetic. I’m peachy.”

“You haven’t lost your mind.”

“Not yet.” The sudden return of Sage’s cheery disposition grated on her rankled nerves. “Please don’t take this the wrong way. I know you mean well, but I think I would prefer to be alone for a little while.”

“Most definitely.”

They stepped onto the porch, and Sage opened the door for her. “Dinner is in an hour. Don’t be late or Rekkus will send a search party for you. He takes the dinner attendance very seriously.”

“So I heard, loud and clear.”

“I’ve set up the bathroom and bedroom with everything you need to relax. The villa can accommodate three people comfortably, with a pull-out couch and the bed, but you have it all to yourself this week.”

Trinity bit her lip. “Three people? I don’t want to put anyone out with all this business.”

“Not in the least.”

“Thanks, sorry I’m a little bitchy.” Trinity placed her suitcase on the floor by the door as she spun around and soaked up the spectacular room.

Soft pastel colors glinted under the bright beams of sunlight peering in through the windows all around. Furnished with a plush crimson couch set and wooden coffee table on the right side of the entrance, a small circular glass dining table with four chairs in the far corner to the left, and a kitchen with wooden cabinets and a breakfast bar with three stools in the center. It offered luxury at its finest, for a banshee on the brink of madness. A rectangular glass window in the floor even offered a magnificent view of fish swimming under the villa. To the right was the bedroom with a massive king-sized bed covered in lavish white linens she wanted to dive right into.

“This is incredible.”

“See, your mood has already lifted.” Sage grabbed the door handle. “Myron suggested you take a quick dip in the hot springs before you come to dinner at the Haus.”

The idea sparked a little intrigue. “Where can I find it?”

“There’s a map on the dining room table. It’s a twenty minute walk northwest if you follow the path, but the second golf cart at the end of the dock is for your use. Bring a towel. Myron said you’ll need it.” She winked and shut the door behind her.

A hot spring?
She picked up the map and glanced at it. A hop, skip, and a jump away, it appeared simple enough. Although the appeal of the heated escape could cause her to lose track of time, determination to sneak at least a short swim in before dinner took hold.

Trinity snatched up her suitcase and took it to the bed. She paused to peer out the vast windows at the deep-blue water surrounding her accommodations. She had to hand it to the Rowans. They were a class act. The villa had appeared small from the outside, but on the inside, it offered plenty of space and lush interior, even down to the framed watercolor paintings of beautiful scenery. The place held a serenity she had long since coveted.

She fished through her disheveled clothing, on a mission to find her bathing suit and a summer dress she could switch into and head to dinner afterward. Flustered when she couldn’t locate the suit, she emptied her crumpled clothes onto the bed.

“I swear I packed my blue bathing suit,” she growled with irritation. “It’s not in here.” In recent weeks, she had developed a habit of misplacing things and cursed her stupidity. She grabbed the folded note from her pocket and checked it again. In a desperate need to cure her newfound forgetfulness, she had taken to writing lists. Every item she added, she’d crossed off as she packed it in her bag. The suit in question had been third on her list and crossed off. She had, in fact, remembered placing it in the suitcase. She shook her head with despair, and then remembered her spectacular arrival. “It probably got lost when my suitcase burst open on impact with Mr. Hot and Bothered Dark Eyes.”

Dumbfounded, she grabbed the sundress, quickly changed, and slipped on her sandals. She snatched a large terrycloth towel from the bathroom and checked her hair in the mirror. “What the…?” After her crash and burn upon arrival, she never had the chance to tidy her do. Taking a quick jaunt to the bed, she snagged her brush and smoothed her hair back into a neat bun. Satisfied, she picked up the towel and headed out the door.

At the end of the dock, she hopped into the golf cart and took a left to follow the trail to her watery retreat. With no suit, she might have to settle for going in only knee-deep, but, for now, she could scout it out. Maybe the Wiccan Haus had a gift shop where she could purchase another one later, or perhaps they’d found hers after she scurried out in such a frenzy.