Assassin's Honor

by Monica Burns

  "You were at the police station." At the quiet accusation, he slowly raised his head to look at her. His expression revealed nothing, but she thought she saw a glint of admiration in his dark gaze.

  "Yes."

  His brevity annoyed her.

  "That's all you have to say?"

  "For the moment."

  There it was again, that amusement of his. She wanted to punch him. Who was this guy? There weren't many people who knew about the Sicari Order, even among academicians. He extended his hand to return the coin to her. She hesitated. What kind of thief would give it back as if they'd been discussing work?

  His amusement deepened as his dark eyes dared her to take it from him. Infuriated by the challenge in his glittering gaze, she snatched the bronze currency from his grasp. The moment she came into solid contact with the coin and his fingers, a strong charge of electricity charged through her. The images came fast and furious. Dark, mysterious, and potent, they held her powerless.

  Suddenly, death filled Emma's mind with its foul stench. Dark, torturous, and bloody. The Roman soldier was dying. He laid the coin in the palm of a young man's hand and wrapped the fingers around the coin. The new owner lifted a young boy up onto a horse then gave the child the coin, pointing to the words on its surface.

  As if someone had spun her around until she was dizzy, the images collapsed in on one another until a clear picture came into focus. The hooded figure, his cloak flowing out behind him, strode through a massive cathedral. Deadly purpose filled the assassin's stride, the coin in his pocket a family talisman. He vanished in the shifting images until a woman's face flashed before her.

  Death had frozen the woman's pain on her face. Then with the speed of a freight train, the vision threw her forward. The stranger stood over a dead man, his sword dark in the moonlight. Blood covered his hands and she wanted to scream at the sight of it. Rage, pain, grief, love, and something much darker flowed through the coin and his fingers and into her mind. The overwhelming power of it made the room spin as she fought to remain upright.

  Desperate to break the connection and find sanctuary from the deluge of emotions, she jerked her hand free of his. The Sicari coin fell to the floor, where it bounced several times with a repetitive clang until it went silent.

  The man reached for Emma, but she staggered away with a cry that stopped him. Falling to her knees, she bent over to touch the floor and prayed for the nausea to pass. Once in a while, she'd pick up images from another individual when they'd hand her an artifact. Never anything like this. The intensity of the graphic scenes and the emotions she'd felt had been overwhelming.

  "Let me help you."

  His words struck her as funny. He'd broken into her home, demanded she hand over an object she didn't have, and now he wanted to help her? It was his fault she felt so crappy. She choked out a bitter laugh.

  "No . . . thank you. I think you've done . . . quite enough for the moment."

  "You're a telepath." Crouching beside her, he studied her with thoughtful deliberation. Like Lake Michigan during a storm, the deep blue of his eyes echoed with a mysterious, dark danger. And he was dangerous. He'd killed before. She'd seen the blood on his hands. It chilled her. No, it was the coin. Everything she'd seen had come from the coin. None of what she'd seen was related to the stranger. Her breathing hitched at the memory of those last images. She had never been a good liar.

  "If you mean . . . I can hear what people . . . are thinking. No," Emma muttered as her equilibrium began to right itself. She uncurled from a fetal posture and eased herself up into a sitting position. "When I touch inanimate objects--antiquities, I see images, flashes of past events."

  "Does it always make you this ill?"

  "No." She pulled in a deep breath. "But then it's unusual for me to see things when I touch someone."

  Unusual? This was the first time she'd ever had a physical reaction this strong--this overwhelming--when taking an artifact from someone else. Occasionally, she'd glimpse some small tidbit of a colleague's past when objects had changed hands. But even then, her physical reaction had been little more that a bite of static electricity. Nothing so intense it would make her sick to her stomach. Even then, all she'd ever experienced was an awareness of incidents, not images. And most definitely not images like the ones she'd seen with this man. She shuddered. He must have served as a conductor of sorts.

  "But you did see something when I handed you the coin."

  The flat, emotionless statement made her heart pound as fear pumped blood through her veins at an accelerated rate.

  "Everything was pretty much a blur," she lied as her gaze slid away from his. Strong fingers grasped her chin, and she stiffened, waiting for the electric shock and the visions to happen again. But they didn't. She closed her eyes in a brief prayer of gratitude. He'd simply been a conductor for the coin, which explained why some of what she'd seen had been associated with him.

  "I seem to recall advising you not to lie unless you do it well."

  A hint of irony touched his lips as he effortlessly pulled her to her feet. Large hands cradled her waist as he steadied her. The touch made her heart skip a beat as a jolt of awareness slid through her veins. Primal and intense, the sensation swept through her like a wave crashing against a rocky coastline. Suddenly realizing she hadn't contradicted him, she swallowed hard.

  "No. Really. Everything was jumbled together. Most of it didn't even make sense."

  Releasing her, he folded his arms across his chest to study her with a watchful gaze. His features suddenly brought to mind the bust of Ptolemy they'd uncovered at the dig last year. The arrogance and unrelenting expression on his face only emphasized his likeness to the ancient Pharaoh.

  "Most of it?" His eyebrow arched with wry skepticism. "What did make sense to you?" That hadn't been a question. More like a command. If she obeyed, he might let her live.

  Chapter 3

  ARES knew he intimidated her. The fear flashing in those wide hazel eyes simply confirmed the knowledge. Yet she remained defiant. He liked that about her. Even that day in the Cairo police station he'd admired her strength and courage.

  She'd been even more frightened then. Frightened and vulnerable. It had been that vulnerability that had made him reach out to comfort her when he shouldn't have. But he'd been intrigued by Emma Zale then just as much as he was now. And that wasn't good--especially when she was so easy on the eyes.

  Her light brown hair barely touched her shoulders, and there was just a trace of red running through it. The color suited the fire in her. A flash of spirit that still burned in those beautiful eyes. Long, dark eyelashes almost brushed her cheeks as she averted her gaze in an attempt to hide her rebellious expression.

  Then there were her curves. She'd lost some weight since that day in the Cairo police station, but she was still full and lush in all the right places. His fingers bit into his biceps. Christus, he needed to focus on why he was here, not Emma's softly rounded body.

  But it was difficult to ignore the way her cardigan caressed amply rounded breasts or how her jeans hugged her voluptuous hips. A man could get lost in her body if he played his cards right. He grimaced at how easily she could distract him. She tilted her chin up and met his gaze.

  "You've killed before," she said softly.

  He went rigid. Merda. What else had she seen? Tension stretched the muscles in his jaw so tight his whole face ached. God help him, and her, if she knew too much. If the Praetorians suspected for one moment--he dismissed the thought. She flinched as he narrowed his gaze at her.

  "You seem quite certain of your facts."

  "Well, I didn't actually see you kill someone, if that's what you're implying," she snapped. "But I know death when I see it--feel it."

  He didn't doubt her. He'd seen the morgue photos of her parents in her case file, and he'd seen Russwin's body in Cairo. He could empathize with her, too. But when it came to denying his past--he couldn't. As a Sicari, he was trained to kill. Blood stained
his hands, but he killed only to protect the innocent or administer justice when the legal system failed. A Sicari didn't kill for pleasure. It was against their code of honor. Now Praetorian warriors--those bastards enjoyed torturing their prey. They didn't believe in honor. If they'd ever had any honor at all, it had died out of their bloodline when the Roman Empire fell.

  "There are some who find killing a pleasurable occupation," he said coldly. He didn't like admitting it, but the condemnation in her voice stung.

  "I'm sorry." She heaved a sigh. "I felt the pain of your loss, and I understand what it's like to want justice for someone you care about."

  The muscle in his cheek twitched. Mater Dei, the woman had seen a hell of a lot more than he thought. Did she know the Sicari Order had a file on her--on her entire family? He should have left the house the moment he realized she was here.

  But he hadn't.

  Biting the inside of his cheek, he turned away from her. Leave it to him to trust his librarians' research and not his gut. Sandro and Octavia were going to wish they were still file clerks when he got through with them. Emma Zale had never heard of the Tyet of Isis until tonight. He'd bet his life on it.

  Fotte. He'd put her at risk by coming here. All it took was one fleeting thought for a Praetorian to realize she knew something--even if it was only a sliver of information. A growl of frustration rumbled out of him. At this point he wasn't left with much in the way of choices. He whirled around to face her. She jumped back, her hands up in a gesture of surrender.

  "Look, I don't have what you're looking for. So just go. I promise to forget the whole thing."

  "It's not quite that easy," he muttered.

  "Of course it is. You just turn and walk out of here." She pointed toward the door. "You can still walk, can't you?"

  Despite the gravity of the situation, her sarcasm made him laugh. She refused to be bullied in spite of her fear. Eyes wide with surprise, she stared up at him. With another chuckle, he bent his head toward her.

  "I like you, Emma Zale." She looked at him in amazement, and he laughed softly. "You're going to need that humor of yours."

  "How in the hell do you know my name?"

  "The same way I knew where to find you." He shrugged. The less she knew, the safer she was. The more she knew, the harder it would go for her if the Praetorians caught up with her.

  "That's not an answer and you know it."

  "True, but it's the only one you'll get for the moment."

  "What the hell does that mean?"

  "It means you'll have to come with me," he said with resignation. Taking her with him was the last thing he wanted to do. Emma Zale meant trouble. And problems he could do without. She'd only complicate matters for him.

  "I'm not going anywhere with you." Her mouth tightened in a rebellious pout.

  "Unfortunately, you don't have a choice."

  "That's what you think," Emma snapped. With a vicious shove, she knocked him off balance and leaped toward the door.

  "Deus damno id, woman."

  He quickly recovered his equilibrium then reached out with his mind to stop her. She stumbled as he forced her to face him. Gritting his teeth, Ares narrowed his eyes at her. It was time Emma Zale realized exactly what she was up against. Slowly, he pulled her toward him.

  She fought every step of the way, but he easily overpowered her resistance. His ability had limits dependent on distance as well as his physical and mental exertion, but she didn't know that. And manipulating her wasn't that difficult. With little effort at all, he forced her to cross the room until she stood less than a foot away from him. Jaw clenched in anger, his thoughts sent her stumbling forward until her body pressed into his.

  The scent of coconut butter filled his nostrils as his body reacted to hers. The primal response startled him. Arms at his sides, he held her tight against him with nothing more than his thoughts. Damno, she felt good.

  "Afraid?" he growled, irritated she could affect his senses so easily.

  "No," she snapped.

  "Not even just a little?"

  His anger gave way to something else as he studied the succulent fullness of her mouth. The moment he visualized rubbing his thumb across her plump bottom lip, she gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth, her fingers touching the spot that fascinated him.

  "Let me go." Anger made her eyes flash with amber sparks. Definitely feisty.

  "I don't see me holding you against your will." He clasped his hands behind his back with a sense of satisfaction. A second later, he pictured her arms sliding up to encircle his neck. Outrage parted her lips in a loud gasp as she reached up to cling to him. He bit back a smile at the sound.

  "If you don't let me go, I'm going to scream," she snapped.

  "No. I don't think you will."

  Lowering his head, he lightly brushed his mouth across hers. Her body went rigid with surprise, but he barely noticed as he unclasped his hands and reached for her waist. Sweet. She tasted sweet with just a tinge of citrus. He wanted more. His hands cupping her face, he deepened the kiss, teasing himself with the warm flavor of her. Releasing his mental hold on her, he half expected her to pull away. She didn't.

  He nibbled at her bottom lip, waiting to see if she'd open herself up to him. When she did, he eagerly explored the heat of her soft mouth. His body hardened in a split second. Christus, she was hot against his tongue. Hot, sweet, and delectable. His hands slid down over her shoulders and across her back until he cupped the lush curve of her bottom.

  With a tug, Ares removed the breath of air between their bodies, his cock pressing into her soft thigh. Desire sent his hand upward over her hip until his fingers brushed across the fullness of her breast, and his thumb rubbed over a hard nipple. She felt good. Sexy and tempting in the best possible way.

  The image of her naked beneath him sent his temperature skyrocketing. His control slipped further as she shifted her hips against his in a carnal move that left him throbbing with need. The buttery sweet fragrance of her filled his senses, whetting his appetite for more. A moment later, her hand caressed him through his trousers. He groaned with pleasure as he eagerly pressed himself into her palm.

  Damno, he wanted her hand around his bare flesh. No, he wanted a hell of a lot more than that. And God knew she was eager and willing. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been laid, and this woman would be a hell of a lot more than just a one-night stand. The sweet softness of her would keep him coming back for more of the same. The jarring thought pierced the emotions raging through him. Fotte. What was he doing?

  He jerked free of her and shoved his fingers through his hair. He'd only meant to silence her. He'd known she'd be trouble, but this had the makings of a disaster. He shot her a quick glance then looked away. That flushed, just kissed, look of hers only managed to make him hotter and a damned sight more uncomfortable. Furious with his behavior and his lack of discipline for the second time in one evening, he gritted his teeth. The best way to deal with the problem Emma Zale posed was to keep his distance mentally and physically. Still infuriated by his inability to master his attraction to her, he scowled at her.

  "Do you wish me to continue my demonstration?"

  "Of what? Your ability to control my physical movements or your unwanted attentions?" She returned his glare as she deliberately wiped her hand across her mouth. His eyes narrowed.

  "I don't recall you protesting too loudly," he snapped.

  Heat crested in her cheeks as Emma clenched her fists. Hell, he was a manipulative bastard, but he was right. She had kissed him back. She'd enjoyed kissing him. Worse than that, she'd caressed the hard thickness of him with the intimacy of a lover. And she'd wanted him. Wanted him in the worst possible way. The hot ache between her thighs told her that.

  What had possessed her to get so caught up in a kiss she'd been willing to let him do whatever he wanted with her? She winced with disgust at her thoughts. She was out of her frigging mind. The man had broken into her home, held her hostage--how in the h
ell could she be attracted to him?

  The muted chime of the doorbell suddenly echoed in the study. He jerked his head toward the closed door. She watched him as he evaluated the situation in the same way a predator calculated threats. The doorbell rang again. Without a word, he reached out and grabbed her arm. Dragging her with him, he pulled her into the dark hallway. The blackened corridor made her balk. It had been this dark when she'd found Charlie.

  "No," she exclaimed. "I--"

  In a heartbeat, he covered her mouth with his large hand and jerked her backward into his chest. The moment his hard, muscular frame pressed into her back, a rush of heat flooded her veins. Nestled against him like this created a pleasurable, intimate warmth she didn't want to enjoy. But she did. She liked it far too much. God, she really had lost her mind.