Their Prophecy

Theft

"Hey boss," Isaac saluted from where he was cleaning up the room after one giving a class to a bunch of new kids. Most of them were shifters, agile and strong, but the boy had no problem getting the best of them, knocking them to the mat with perfect form.

The kid was a hard worker, Cliff would give him that.

"You look like you've aged ten years," he added, quirking a brow at the man.

Cliff grimaced at the statement. He took back anything kind he'd ever thought about the kid.

"You sleeping okay?"

"You want to spar?" was Cliff's gruff reply.

Isaac gave him a look. "I'm not trying to check into a hospital."

"Too bad," Cliff sighed, already wrapping his fists. He'd had a hankering for a good fight. Liv was happy as a clam, talking about how well Theo was doing in football, how well he was managing his grades, how impressive his new little sports car was--and all the while Cliff had the burden of knowing Violet's situation.

She was healthy and well, according to Theodore Ciogotti. Her child was beautiful and strong.

He'd forgotten to mention that there was a bounty on his granddaughter's head.

It was while he was tearing up their most durable punching bag, hitting it with a ferocity that should have calmed him just a little, that his phone started ringing. He sighed at the sound, resigned as he lifted it to his ear, answering with a gruff, "What?"

Couldn't be Liv, she knew his schedule.

Wasn't his kid, Theo wasn't the type to call.

When he heard, "Cliff Blackwell," in an familiar European lilt, he scowled deeply.

"You shouldn't be calling this line."

"Do you have the means to get a helicopter?"

"Do you not own a private jet?" was Cliff's terse reply.

"I'll take that as a yes," was King Rosario's coarse response. "Be discrete when you arrive." Then he hung up.

Sweaty, agitated, the man glared hard at the bag, his breathing accelerating as he grit his teeth. Rage. It swelled in his chest, tightening his muscles, and for just a moment, the man saw nothing but red.

Breathe.

He could almost hear Liv's voice, feel her hand at his chest.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Closing his eyes, he cracked his shoulders, rolling his neck.

If that Pureblood was telling him to come to him, there must be a reason.

. . .

The Blackhawk worked just fine and, ascending into the air, he saw the guns pointed up at him and knew they would halt.

His phone rang and he answered on the first ring, not even bothering with the headset. "I needed it."

"You injured three of my men."

"You're welcome," was Cliff's clipped response.

There was a hefty silence, then a gruff laugh. "You always were my finest investment." Cliff hated the lilt of amusement in Theodore Ciogotti's voice. After all, the man was used to Cliff's antics. Had dealt with the fallout of many of his missions. The casualty count was typically high, the damage noteworthy. "Make sure to tell your daughter hello for me."

So he already knew where he was going then.

Figured.

Hanging up, Cliff had clear airway, no hassle on the drive. He'd had to refuel twice but he knew the routes through Ciogotti's territory well and, as he landed each time, his men were already setting up the fuel line, prepared for his arrival. By the time he'd reached Rosario territory, it was late in the evening, and as the helicopter touched down on the estates front lawn, he hesitated, watching the house carefully.

They hadn't told him why he'd been called here.

When the passenger door of the helicopter opened abruptly, his hand had shifted to the gun in the holster at his thigh, but hesitated when he saw someone small and un-threatening looking clamber into the seat. She had big blue eyes and blonde curls--hell, she couldn't be more than four years old. "Take me up," she said, fumbling with the oversized buckles and straps that were far too loose for her tiny figure.

"Can I help you?" Cliff wondered aloud, quirking a brow.

The girl gazed up at me with features that looked far too familiar for comfort. "Are you deaf?" She'd asked the question so seriously he found himself scrunching his brow at her. "Perhaps you can read lips?" She pointed to her mouth, blinking up at him with a sincere expression.

The creature really thought he was handicapped.

"I'm not deaf, little one. Just confused," he stated, glancing around. "Where is your mother?"

"In the house arguing with Unc," she said with a shrug. "Unc called you to come get me."

Unc? "Xavier Rosario?" Cliff asked carefully.

The girl frowned at him. "Yes. Unc."

"He called me here to pick you up?" Cliff pressed, quickly connecting the dots. She seemed a bit older than what he'd seen on the poster, hair longer, cheeks thinner, but he had a hunch none of that mattered here. "Analise?"

"Yes, I'm Analise," she said pointing to herself, "and you're my grandfather."

"You can call me Poppop," Cliff said, offering his hand.

The girl gave him a firm shake. "Okay, Poppop." Then, just as seriously she added, "Now take me up."

Who was Cliff to deny his grandbaby anything? With a light smile, he started the propeller, lifting back into the air. The girl clapped, smiling and waving. Cliff watched as everyone who had been distracted with their squabbles came out of the house, having taken notice of the Blackhawk hovering just above. "I've always wanted to ride in one," the girl went on, looking about excitedly. "Can I push a button?" Her fingers had gone straight toward the weaponry controls and Cliff carefully pointed at another option, one much less deadly. Delighted, she flicked the switch and the helicopter's cabin lights turned on. She giggled in delight, waving down at the gaggle of adults who clearly didn't keep a very close eye on the toddler.

Cliff would give them hell were he not certain something grave must have occurred for them all to call him there.

From the wary looks on their faces, the way not one of them had lifted their hands to wave at the delighted child, Cliff didn't hesitate to land the chopper once more, certain from Violet's puffy red face that a long talk with his daughter was in order.