The Keeper's Flame (A Pandoran Novel, #2)

by Barbara Kloss

  My doubt and anxiety vanished and I knew what to do. I knew what I wanted—what I’d always wanted. And I leaned forward and kissed him.

  His smile melted away and he kissed me back, slowly and tenderly as though he cherished each and every one.

  If I could have frozen my life at one moment, I would have chosen this—the smell of winter and earth on his skin, the feel of his thick hair through my fingers, the warmth of his hands holding my face, the suppleness of his lips as they moved on mine. I could never have enough of this moment.

  I could never have enough of him.

  His lips pressed harder as he slipped his hands from my face, down my sides, holding my waist and pulling me closer. I pressed myself into him as I kissed him back boldly, his heart pounding against mine, and I felt the mattress shift heavily beneath us as Alex lowered me down to his bed.

  There was no one to interrupt us now.

  He slid me beneath him, and his kisses became softer and gentler, taking his time as our hands moved and touched and discovered. Somewhere in my mind I remembered fighting him. All the years we’d wrestled and tackled and rolled on the ground, so close to each other but never like this. Never had I relished the warmth of his hard body against mine, the feel of his hands as they swept over my body, the way his muscles flexed as he moved with both tenderness and strength. He pulled back just enough to gaze into my eyes, his elbows propping him up over me.

  I tried pulling him back down to me, but he only smiled and held his ground. I grumbled my annoyance, and his eyes gleamed with something that made my heart flutter. He bent his head toward me, his lips barely brushing against mine. He knew he was driving me crazy, and he was enjoying every second of it.

  “I want to hear you say it.” His voice was deep and husky.

  “Say what?” I gasped.

  I felt him smile on my lips.

  “That you love me, too,” he whispered.

  My heart drowned out my brain. “You already know how I feel,” I said, trying to kiss him, but he tilted his head back just enough so that I couldn’t reach his mouth.

  And there was a smirk on his lips. He bent his head toward me again, this time whispering on my ear. “Say it.”

  Butterflies swarmed my stomach as I was struck with a memory. A long time ago when he had wanted me to admit my defeat. I smiled to myself. How different things had become.

  “Fine,” I squeezed his waist, pulling him against me, drowning in his eyes. “I love you.”

  He smiled that smile I adored as he placed a hand on my cheek, rubbing it with his thumb. “I just needed to hear it from your lips.” He held my gaze, trailing his thumb over my lips. “To love someone so much and for so long, to know that they so completely have your heart in their hands and not have any idea what they intend to do with it… You are the only human being in this world that could destroy me.”

  “Alex…” I grinned, leaning up to kiss him, but he held me down with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

  “Tell me.” He kissed my temple. “How does it feel,” he kissed my chin, “having that kind of power,” he kissed the soft indent beside my nose, “over me?” He said those last words on my lips, holding them there but not kissing me.

  So I kissed him.

  His elbows gave way and he sank on top of me, his legs tangled with mine. I loved the way we fit together—perfectly, as though we had been made for each other.

  “You are—” his lips trailed my jaw “—so beautiful.” He kissed down my throat, his lips teasing my collarbone. His hands slipped beneath the back of my shirt, holding my waist, and I pressed my hips into his. His desire was smothering. I felt him shudder against me as he rocked his hips back against mine. A soft moan escaped my lips at the feel of him, and my need for him burned—burned down my abdomen, the warmth like an electric shock spreading through my legs—my entire body.

  I needed more than this. I needed him.

  “Alexander Del Conte.”

  Oh, no.

  Oh, no!

  Alex rolled off of me, shirt raised halfway up his torso, palms on his forehead with elbows in the air, and I hoped against all hopes that Sonya couldn’t tell my shirt was completely twisted and lopsided.

  Sonya closed the door behind her, hands on her hips. I couldn’t tell, though, if she was angry, embarrassed, or pleased, because it almost seemed like she felt all three at the same time.

  But angry won by a long shot.

  She arched a brow, staring only at her son. “Fix your shirt.” She looked at me, lips pursed. “Both of you.”

  Shoot.

  I glanced away feeling like my entire body was on fire. Alex’s breathing was slow and steady beside me as he stared at the ceiling.

  “Mom, I—”

  “Didn’t think we’d come so soon?” she finished for him. “That’s beside the point, Alexander. When you asked me if you could bring her here early, you promised you would keep an eye on her. How can you possibly do that when you’re up here trying to take her clothes off?”

  Mortified, I looked away; Alex shut his eyes and sighed. “I’m sorry.”

  Sonya was quiet.

  “It’s not all his fault,” I said.

  She fixed her dark eyes on me and smirked. “Oh, trust me, I know that.”

  I suddenly wanted to crawl in a hole and die.

  “Everyone is downstairs,” she continued, looking back at Alex. “Your father was on his way up to get you—you’re lucky I know you both better than that.” She arched a brow and I thought I saw her smile before she turned and left.

  The door closed and Alex let out a slow, deep breath and turned to me, leaning on his elbow. There was a light in his eyes, a smile on his flushed face, and his dark hair was messed all around his forehead in such a way that, for a moment, I saw the boy. The one I’d known all my life. The one I’d loved all my life.

  He bent his head and kissed me softly. “I’m sorry,” he said, pulling back. “I shouldn’t have put you in that position.”

  I wrapped my leg around his waist, and pulled him close. “Really?” I whispered.

  His desire flared and my heart sputtered as he pushed the hair back from my face. “You’re right,” he said. “Nineteen years. We have a lot of making up to do.” He smiled and started kissing me again.

  “Tons,” I said as I kissed him back.

  “It’ll take years,” he said in between kisses.

  “A lifetime,” I whispered.

  I felt him smile beneath my lips.

  His mouth moved on mine. “We have to go downstairs.”

  “Then you should probably stop kissing me.”

  “You’re right.” His lips crushed against mine.

  At last, with a frustrated groan, he leaned back and slid off the bed. He shook his dark hair and pulled down his shirt, hiding my new favorite line that curved around his waist and ducked below his belt.

  “I think I like you better with your shirt off,” I said.

  He arched a brow and his eyes lit with amusement. “Unfortunately, my mother doesn’t agree with you.”

  I snorted a laugh and threw a pillow at his face. He caught it, smiling. “Turn around so I can fix your shirt.”

  I reached around to find my shirt ties loose—very loose. I grinned as I scooted near him and turned around, and he very slowly and carefully laced me back together. When he was done, he placed his hands on my shoulders and turned me around. His eyes were rich and overflowing with so many emotions, all of which stemmed from love.

  He threaded his fingers through mine and tugged me off of his bed, resting his forehead against mine with a sigh. “I’ll never get enough of you.”

  I smiled and kissed him lightly. “Come on, before she sends your dad.”

  He grinned and kissed me before opening the door, and the two of us crept down the stairs.

  There was quite a group gathered in the front room.

  Sonya stood at the base of the stairs. I couldn’t decide if she’d been guardin
g it or about to walk back up. Either way, she glanced between us and stepped aside, arching a brow at her son.

  “There you are!” Cicero’s voice boomed.

  He appeared before us, and I tried to gather myself.

  “I think I got everyone.” Cicero glanced back at the people in the room. “Sir Armand wanted to be here, but he’s tied up in meetings with Brax and the border patrol.”

  “Any news?” Alex asked.

  Cicero shook his head. “That’s what worries me.” He looked between us. “Mind if we start?”

  Alex nodded for his dad to continue. Cicero had started to turn when he paused and glanced back at us, curious. “Are you two feeling all right?”

  “Perfectly fine,” Alex said at the same time I said, “Great.”

  Cicero eyed us a moment longer, brow raised, before walking back in to the crowd. I saw Brant standing off to one side, talking with Sturgis and Phin and a few others I didn’t recognized, but dressed the same, in black leathers, like assassins. More Aegises.

  Alex grabbed my hand and pulled me farther into the room, and Cicero spoke. “Sir Armand has affirmed that members of the shadowguard are pressing toward Valdon.”

  The room erupted in noise and chatter.

  “Does Lord Commodus really have the shield?” someone asked.

  “What about the dark rider?” someone else asked, and I exchanged a glance with Alex.

  “The dark rider is dead,” Cicero said, and the room erupted in chatter again.

  I leaned close to Alex. “Does he know?” I whispered.

  Alex nodded once.

  “What is King Darius doing about it?” asked yet another.

  “The king is overwrought with sorrow and is incapable of making a decision, at present.” Stefan stood—where had he come from?—and the room fell silent. His face was drawn and his eyes sagged, but even though he looked weary, I couldn’t help but notice he looked very much like a prince. Like our father.

  Behind him was a person with a head of familiar white-blonde hair, leaning against the wall.

  What is Vera still doing here?

  The room waited for Stefan to continue, and he did. “My grandfather refuses to believe what is happening and will not act, which is why I’ve called you all here.”

  Stefan had done this?

  Alex squeezed my hand.

  Stefan walked farther into the room and looked at me. His eyes were full of such sadness—such a deep, affected sadness, and I realized something.

  With a king incapacitated, and Dad gone, Stefan was next in line.

  “Are the rumors true, my prince? Has Eris really returned?” someone asked.

  Stefan swallowed and continued looking at me with heavy eyes. “Daria?”

  The entire room turned to me.

  “Yes,” I said.

  The room went silent and apprehension filled the air.

  Brant stepped forward, features tight. “What does he want?”

  The fire crackled in the hearth.

  “The throne,” I replied.

  Everyone looked to each other as though they wanted someone else to tell them that it wasn’t true.

  “He’s got the shield and the stone,” said a man about Cicero’s age, with a gruff voice and shaggy face. “How can we possibly oppose such power?”

  Stefan stared at the fire, seeming to grow as old as our father had been. “We can’t.”

  Chapter 27

  A Secret Mission

  The discussion on how to handle Eris went on for hours. Strategies had been brought up and shot down, names were mentioned—some of which I’d heard, still more I hadn’t. No one could decide on a course of action, or how best to prepare against a power everyone knew would be great, but no one knew to what extent.

  Although, they all seemed to agree, without one disparity, that we were no match for the power of the shield.

  The course of action they’d decided upon, though, was that each territory would strengthen their fortifications with magic, with arms, and with people.

  Not that anyone knew how effective it would prove, but sometimes people needed the visage of strength in order to act bravely.

  “I don’t know what to tell the people,” Stefan said later that evening, as he, Alex, and I walked to the dining hall in the castle. I wasn’t hungry, but the distraction had sounded nice. The castle seemed so empty now, with all the people gone from the festival.

  Without Dad.

  “Tell them the truth,” Alex said.

  Stefan raked a hand through his hair. He looked so much like our father, even more so lately.

  My heart ached as I swallowed the lump in my throat; Alex grabbed my hand as we walked.

  “I’m not ready for this!” Stefan said.

  “You don’t have a choice,” Alex replied.

  “Stef,” I said.

  Stefan glanced sideways at me, and I stopped, holding his gaze.

  “You are ready for this,” I said. “You care, which is what will make you great—just like Dad.”

  He just stood there and stared at me a long moment. His eyes turned glassy, and he looked away. “Thanks, D,” he whispered.

  We kept walking while Alex squeezed my hand, not loosening his grip. We walked into the banquet hall. It was mostly empty, except for a few guards and other people I didn’t recognize. Brant, Sturgis, Phin, and Flanders were all seated at the end of one table, huddled over mugs and plates of food. Brant noticed us and waved us over.

  “We’re going to have a weak corner with Orindor.” Phin took a sip.

  I saw the strain on Stefan’s face right as Brant knocked the bottom of Phin’s cup, spilling ale all over Phin.

  “So you’re back, eh, Del Conte?” Brant changed the subject.

  “It appears so.” Alex arched a brow, but not without a grin. “Worried?”

  “Nah.” Brant smirked, taking a swig. “But I guess my chances with the princess are over.”

  The boys laughed—even I laughed. But Stefan didn’t.

  He was still, sitting there but not really there, staring absently at the table, twirling a fork. He was so worried, just like Dad had always been. Taking the weight of the world and placing it upon his shoulders, as if he were solely responsible for the fate of it.

  If only there was something I could do to help him.

  Had I missed something? Some detail—anything? A word, a thought…something Danton had said, even in passing…?

  Think…think…think…

  I jerked to a stand, startling the others.

  Alex touched my hand, his brow knit together as he gazed up at me. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah.” Of course! Why hadn’t I thought of it sooner? “I, uh…I’ll be right back.”

  Alex’s lips tightened, but I climbed over the bench before he could say a word and tried to keep myself from running out of the room, feeling Alex’s gaze on me the entire way.

  Once I got into the hall, I sprinted all the way to the king’s chambers. Two guards were there to block my entry.

  “Let me through,” I demanded.

  “Sorry, princess, but the king—”

  “—is going to have to deal with me, whether he feels like it or not. Now, let me through.”

  They looked at each other.

  I stood tall. “I command you.”

  They pushed the door open.

  Huh. It had worked.

  I stepped inside and closed the door after me.

  The king’s chambers were dark but for a single candle lit beside his bed. I’d never been in here before. I’d never been allowed, but even if I had been allowed, I would have stayed far from his corner of the castle.

  I still couldn’t see much in the dark, but the shadows about his room were enormous.

  “Get out,” said a raspy voice.

  Where was it coming from? I searched the shadows. “I need to talk to you,” I said, “sire.”

  “Get out!” he growled.

  He was in the
far corner, sitting in the windowsill. I could just see the shimmer of his eyes in the shadow, like a ghost.

  Don’t be afraid now.

  I clenched my fists at my side and walked toward him. “No.”

  The candle burned brighter as his anger flourished. Well, he certainly wasn’t that incapacitated.

  “I’m sorry, sire, but you forfeited your right to make commands when you decided to lock yourself in your bedroom while your kingdom is about to be attacked,” I growled.

  “How dare you chastise me?” he hissed.

  “What do you want, then?” My voice grew louder. “Praise? For what? For keeping the games going when you knew the danger and ignored it?”

  “You—”

  “For blocking my magic because you were afraid my power would challenge yours?”

  He stood then, the window illuminating his shadow. “You dare—”

  “For hiding in here while your grandson is forced to deal with your problems when he just lost his father?”

  His fury boiled inside of me. “You will pay—”

  “I already pay!” I screamed at him. “Every day he’s gone.” My throat clamped down as I fought against tears.

  Silence.

  “I came here because Stefan needs help.” My voice rattled.

  “But the shield’s already been taken,” the king said, his voice shaken. “I can’t help him.”

  “But you can help me,” I said.

  He stood perfectly still, watching me.

  I took a slow step forward. “What do you know about my mother?”

  His shock rammed into me first, followed by something else like dread. “What is it that you want to know?”

  I kept my breathing steady. “What do you know about the box of Pandor?”

  He swallowed, and for a long moment, he was silent. “Only your mother would know about that.”

  “My mother is dead.” I let my last word linger in the air, and the more it lingered, the sourer the air became: toxic and poisonous and difficult to breathe.

  At last, the king turned away and stared at the window. I thought he wasn’t going to speak further when he said in the softest whisper, “It…contained knowledge.”

  “What kind of knowledge?” I asked.

  His shoulders rose slowly with a deep breath. “Knowledge of power.”