by Jasmine Walt
I wanted to protest. That showing had been important to him. I knew how much he’d been looking forward to receiving praise for his work in this day and age. But his joy-filled smile took my breath, and he took advantage. He lowered my body and brought my lips to his. His kiss silenced any more conscious thought.
I didn’t remember how we got to my room. I only remember my lips against his. My tongue danced a practiced duet alongside his. My hands wrapped around his neck, tracing his spine, pressing into the flat planes of his abdomen.
His hand slipped my jacket off, and I left him for a brief second as I disentangled myself from the garment. When the jacket hit the floor with a thud, I went to wrap my arms around him again, but he held me at bay.
“What is this?” he asked. Concern etched out the passion on his face. I followed his gaze down to the shoulder of my shirt and saw the blood.
“The blood is not mine.” I went for the buttons of the shirt, pulling the ruined garment open to show him my unmarred flesh. “It’s Tres’s.”
A myriad of expressions and emotions crossed Zane’s face, many of which I couldn’t ever remember seeing before. “He’s here?”
I nodded.
Zane raised an eyebrow. “Alive?”
I frowned at the hope in his voice. “I didn’t kill him, if that’s what you mean.”
Zane’s face fell in disappointment. But then it transformed into something dark, something I’d never seen before. “Did he hurt you?”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “No, it was a … misunderstanding. I … We…”
He waited. His expressive face had gone blank. Another look I’d never seen. I decided I didn’t like it and wanted it to go away.
“It’s a long story,” I finally said. “Can we talk about it later? I would much rather be naked with you.”
Tension melted off Zane’s shoulders. His lips curled up in the way they did before I found myself flat on my back with him looming over me. “You want to be naked?”
“Yes, please. And ravaged.”
His grin spread as he set about his two tasks. I was naked in no time flat, then tossed onto the bed on my back. Zane knelt before me as he often did when I came to him nude. I was aching between my thighs as he took his time taking off his shirt. My nipples were hard points as he unbuckled and lowered his jeans.
“I remember the first time I saw you,” he said as he bent over me, dipping his head to nip at my shoulder. “Knee-deep in the sands of Giza.”
I was already punch-drunk on his brand of foreplay, but his words brought me back to sobriety. “Egypt? We met in Rome in the fifteenth century. We didn’t go to Egypt together until a hundred year ago.”
He blinked up at me. His gaze looked lost and unfocused. The wayward locks fell low on his forehead as his brow crinkled. And then he grinned. “Of course. My mind is hazy with want.”
He leaned down to capture my lips, but I sat up in the bed, giving him a push. “Or you forgot.”
Zane straightened his arms, caging me in. He took my face in his hands. “What is this?” He wiped at the tear that rolled down my cheek.
“What if you’re losing some of your memories of me? What if one day you forget me entirely?”
“Not possible,” Zane said.
“Yes, it is.” In my mind, I saw Tres’s face when he realized I didn’t remember him from Thebes or our time before.
“Not for me.” There was a note of sadness in Zane’s voice, but by the time I blinked, it was gone. Back was the tilted smile he wore every day we were together. Back was the mischief in his hooded eyes. “I remember every detail of you, mon coeur. I put them all in my art.”
He coaxed me back down to the bed, and I followed his command. I was a lamb, and he was my shepherd. I would follow him anywhere.
“We shed our memories because we no longer need them to survive. We only keep what we need.”
He delivered feather-light kisses along my brow. It felt less like a seduction and more like a benediction. His every utterance against my skin was a blessing.
“You are as necessary to me as breathing, mon coeur. You are my True North, ma petite nova.”
He captured my lips, and his tongue stroked mine in a repetitive chant. His hands caressed my flesh as though seeking salvation. His fingers entwined with mine and we gripped each other down to the webbing, joining our hands together in a prayer of devotion, but not to any god, only to each other.
“Even if I forgot a single second, I would always gravitate back to you. This isn’t love, Nova. I worship you, you know that.”
His fingertips traced a path from my right breast and then crossed to my left. Zane’s knees parted my thighs. He gazed down at the treasure he found there. His sigh was one of veneration. He whispered something in ancient Gallic. It sounded like an invocation, a summoning of a deity. I writhed beneath him with eagerness for more of his touch. The only words of the ancient prayer I caught were the ones meaning “cherish” and “honor.”
I reached up and pulled him down to me, undulating with impatience as he continued his adulation. His hard cock found my entrance, guided by blind faith. We lay prostrate, our bodies rocking together, reaching for the bliss we knew we would achieve if we remained devout in our practice of reverence for each other.
The glory of our coupling gripped me hard. My climax stole my breath and shook my body down with a mighty vengeance that, if I hadn’t already been on my back, would’ve brought me to my knees. As I came back down to this plane of existence, Zane breathed into my hair and whispered, “Amen.”
17
The scritch scritch of pencil on parchment woke me. Zane sat in the hotel room’s solitary office chair with his bare feet kicked up on the bed. A sketchpad was in his lap, his pencil sailing across the paper.
“Don’t move, ma petite nova,” he whispered. “The afternoon light is casting the perfect amount of illumination on your flawless cheekbones.”
I inhaled and let out a soft sigh at his tone of reverence. Under the cover, my toes curled as the lead in his pencil continued to play my favorite tune. My inner thighs felt a slight twinge at the rigors we’d been through last night. And then, finally, my mind processed the words he’d said.
I sat bolt upright in the bed. “Afternoon?”
“Ah.” He groaned. His pencil halted and scratched the paper like the needle on a record player. “You moved.”
“I slept through the morning?” The sheet fell from my torso, and the day’s light warmed my bare breasts. I stared out the window to see the sun high in the sky.
“Well, you did say ravage.” Zane’s voice was anything but apologetic. He picked up his pencil again, making long strokes on the paper. “But I must not have done it properly if you are up and about.”
“I can’t lie around all day.” I swung my legs out of the bed, and my bare feet hit the cold floor. “I’m working.”
Zane paused in his sketching to watch my naked body as I hopped from foot to foot. I knew he was admiring his handiwork—the love bites and fingerprints he’d left on my skin from our amorous activities. They were faint and would fade in an hour or so, unless he got me back into his clutches.
He tapped the top of the pencil against his full bottom lip. There was no eraser there. Zane never erased his work. Instead, he covered his mistakes with something more beautiful.
The way he was looking at the patterns he’d left on my skin told me he had new designs in mind. For a second, I held still for him. I let him look his fill and decide how he would contort me, mold me, shape me. But then, as his gaze hooded and his vision clouded in that way it did when he had a spark of inspiration, I shook my head and backed away from him. I heard him chuckling as I turned and made a mad dash into the bathroom.
As I said before, Zane was meticulous and methodical when it came to his art. If I allowed him, he’d have me in the bed all day and into the night. I paused, looking in the mirror at my tousled hair, bee-stung lips, and dilated pupils.
“You still intend on going to the Gongyi?” he called from the other room.
Oh, right. The ninjas, genocide, and a historical site that was about to be bulldozed by a villainous land-grabber. Any other time, a weekend in bed with Zane would have been the best idea in the world. But right now, I had to keep my wits and focus. I was on a time-sensitive mission.
“I am,” I said, pulling out a pair of jeans from my travel bag and stepping into them. Then I reached in and grabbed a shirt.
“Even though Tres won’t allow you passage?”
“Like that’s going to stop me.” I gathered my hair in one palm and pulled the strands through a band. “I’ll just find another way.”
“That’s my girl.”
I leaned my head out of the bathroom. Zane was looking down at the drawing in his lap. His gaze was pensive. His voice hadn’t sounded proud; it sounded resolved.
“You’re disappointed that I’m missing our time together?” I asked. “This won’t take long. Two weeks tops, and then we can go to the villa or wherever you want.”
He looked up. As his gaze left his rendering of me and found the live me, he smiled. But the expression didn’t reach his eyes. Before he could respond, there was a knock at the door. A pounding, actually.
“Nia, you slut. Who do you have in there? Is it Mr. Tall, Dark, and Broody real estate investor?”
Zane turned from the door with raised eyebrows. I gave him a look that said you know better. From the first time I saw Zane in the streets of Rome, I lost all interest in other men. It had taken decades for him to get me in bed. Sometimes I wondered if the chase then, and the anticipation of when I’d see him next in this time, was just as good as our actual lovemaking. No other lover I’d ever had could do what Zane did to my body, to my heart, to my mind. He had me, and he knew it.
“Let me guess?” he said. “Ms. Van Alst?”
I nodded. “The woman’s a menace. She won’t go away. Just go and put something on—”
But Zane was already up and out of his seat. I noted the marking of the ancient number seven on his back as he went to the door. I watched his firm buttocks rise and fall as he padded over on bare feet. Zane had no problems with nudity. He opened the door, and Loren got an eyeful.
“Hel”—her eyes dipped down—“lo.”
“Ms. Van Alst.” Zane extended his hand.
Loren was looking low. Luckily, her hand met its mark and not where her gaze was fixed. “You must be the French boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend?” He raised his eyebrows, giving Loren the full glow of his hazel eyes. “Dr. Rivers and I are far more than friends. She is my muse, my subject of idol worship.”
That silenced Loren, whose mouth worked like a fish out of water trying to find a response.
“Do come in, Ms. Van Alst.” Zane stepped back from the door, sweeping his arm across the expanse of the tiny hotel room with all the flourish of a French aristocrat.
I tossed him a robe. Zane didn’t bother going into the bathroom to cover modesty he didn’t possess. He gave us his back and slid into the robe. Loren gave me a wide-eyed, double thumbs-up behind his back.
“I was coming by for lunch since you stood me up for drinks … and breakfast,” Loren said. “But now I see why, and I can’t be mad.”
“Lunch sounds lovely,” Zane said, coming to stand beside me. He bussed my temple with a wicked grin. “I’m famished.”
“Why don’t you get dressed and we’ll all go out?” I said.
“Or you could stay comfortable in what God blessed you with, and we could stay in,” Loren offered, her eyes on Zane.
Zane gave Loren the same grin he’d given the concierge last night—the one that said you’re welcome to look, but there will be no touching. Then he disappeared into the bathroom after I shoved him in with his bag. I heard his deep chuckle from behind the door. Incorrigible man.
“I didn’t know they made them like that in France,” Loren said.
Zane wasn’t exactly French, but, like most Immortals, he had a preference of region. He’d been born before the formation of Gaul, which would later become France. He shared the people’s Mediterranean features, dietary preferences, work ethic, and liberal views. So, he preferred to make his home in that region of the world.
I, on the other hand, didn’t have a regional preference. I shared the features of a few races and ethnicities. I ate whatever was put in front of me. I worked just as hard as I played—although not so much lately. And I went wherever history called me.
“Listen,” Loren said. “I may have found us a way down to the Gongyi, plus a way to bypass the security once we get there.”
I tilted my head as I regarded her. “Is it legal?”
Loren bristled. “Why would you assume…”
I tilted my head to the other side and raised my eyebrows even higher.
Loren sighed and rolled her eyes. But before she could respond, the bathroom doorknob turned.
“Let’s talk about it later,” I said as Zane came out in jeans and a linen shirt. He looked rumpled, but it worked for him.
We left the room with Loren querying Zane about his dietary preferences. Like me, Zane would eat anything that was put in front of him. So we decided to head to the market district to see what the fresh catch of the day was.
As we came down the stairs, I felt dizzy and lost my footing. Zane reached out a hand and brought me into his side. His gaze filled with concern as it searched mine. Then the concern cleared. It was replaced by something dark and stormy. His body stiffened as he turned.
I looked past Zane to see Tres Mohandis leaning casually against the front desk. His careless gaze hardened when he saw Zane.
Zane was not a possessive man. We spent weeks, months, at one point even years, apart. But he never doubted my devotion to him, and I never doubted his. Which was why the feel of his fingertips digging possessively into my hip was a bit of a shock.
We made our way down to the front desk and came face to face. Loren, Zane, and I stood in a semi-circle surrounding Tres. For a full moment, we just stared at one another. It was something out of an old Hollywood Western at high noon. Tres looked to Zane and then me. I looked between Tres and Zane. Loren mostly looked at Tres.
“Mr. Mohandis.” Zane broke the standoff, sticking out his hand in either a welcome or a truce. I wasn’t sure.
Tres stared at Zane’s outstretched hand for a full breath, examining it as though looking for the trick. And then, finally, when I thought he would refuse, Tres took Zane’s hand. It was my imagination that thunder crackled above at the contact.
“I assume we’ve met before,” Tres said. “You’ll forgive me if I’ve forgotten your name.”
Zane’s tone was placating, but his smile was fake. “No need to try to recall it. I’m sure a man like you would forget it after a second.”
A rumble of assent sounded deep in Tres’s throat.
“What are you doing here?” I asked Tres, taking a step between the two men. I was certain the humans present could feel the power radiating off them. I certainly could.
Tres turned those dark eyes on me. Unlike yesterday, they were completely shuttered. Not an ounce of light escaped their depths. His voice, when he spoke, was passionless and matter-of-fact. “I came to check on you after your incident the other day.”
“Yes,” Zane said. “I heard she wounded you during some misunderstanding?”
Loren turned to me and blinked rapidly. Her lips crooked in a proud grin. But at least this time she didn’t give me the thumbs-up.
Tres lowered his chin to glare down at me. His jaw was a hard line. His eyes narrowed to dark slits.
I held my breath. Zane and I had never gotten around to having an actual conversation about what had transpired between Tres and me. He didn’t know there was a third party—a dead ninja—in the mix. I didn’t want him to find out now, especially not like this. Not with an Immortal, wh
o Zane clearly had a history with, lording it over his head that he knew something about the woman he loved that Zane didn’t.
And so I held my breath, hoping the fact we were out in public with a human woman standing in our midst would deter Tres from revealing too much. What he wound up saying shocked me more than any other revelation could.
“I came to offer Dr. Rivers passage onto the site in the Gongyi,” Tres said.
I blinked, running his words through my mind. Tres smirked, knowing he’d caught me off guard and relishing in my imbalance.
“You and Ms. Van Alst have my permission to access the site and the untouched lands where you claim there is something of historical significance.”
Tres looked at me pointedly. I knew he was referencing my words from the encounter yesterday. He was giving me leave to find out why those ninjas were after me. I wanted to say thank you, but my lips wouldn’t work.
“That’s very fine of you, Mr. Mohandis,” Loren said. “You should let us thank you properly. We were just heading out to lunch. Would you care to join us?”
“No.” Tres barely glanced at her. “I’ll be leaving this evening. I have business to attend to while you two go play in the dirt,” he said to me. Then he turned to Zane and added, “And you go play with your finger paints.”
And, with that, he marched out the door.
18
Before the drinks were served, Zane had completely charmed Loren. The two became lost in a discussion about some obscure Dutch artist, and I tuned out of the conversation.
I was antsy, looking over my shoulder at every turn. But I didn’t feel any hairs creeping up my neck to indicate I was being followed. Instead, I felt Zane’s long fingers grazing the space between my hairline and shoulder blades. Even though I felt the beginnings of fatigue from the impact of being around not one, not two, but three Immortals in the past week, I still felt strong as I relaxed in his casual embrace.
“Forgers get a bad rep, but it takes a lot of technique to replicate someone else’s art,” Loren was saying. “In a way, forgery is an art in its own right.”