by Monica Burns
"Rogalis?"
"It's a Sicari funeral ritual." He shot her a glance over his shoulder. Mistake. His lust hadn't burned out. He swallowed the emotion and turned back to the desk. "I need to change clothes myself, but I have a call to make first."
She released a soft sound that tugged at him, but he didn't turn around as he heard her footsteps carry her out of the office. The moment she was gone, Ares braced himself on the edge of the desk to stare down at the files on his desk. He knew Emma wouldn't be able to resist exploring. It's what she did for a living. He'd deliberately left the information out in the open with the clear expectation that she would find it if she entered his office.
He shoved his shoulders upward then rolled his head in a circular motion to ease the tension holding his neck muscles taut. Then there was the obvious pain he'd caused her and his reaction to the fact. It seemed impossible to keep his distance from her both emotionally and physically. And Christus, he wanted her. Just looking at her made him hot. Hot with a need he hadn't even experienced with Clarissa.
The thought sobered him. He pushed the dark memories aside. He had no interest in rehashing the past. The only thing he had to do was remember his training. Anger sank its teeth into him. He had an obligation to keep Emma safe. And in the past twenty-four hours he'd forgotten every bit of training he'd acquired since Clarissa's death.
He was supposed to be protecting the woman, not succumbing to base desires. All he had to do was keep his hands off Emma, and when she gave him the translation of her father's cipher, he could continue his search for the Tyet of Isis. What could be simpler? He grimaced. Fighting a half-dozen Praetorians would be less painful. And he wasn't certain whether that analogy applied to convincing Emma to help him or staying away from her. A quiet sound behind him forced him to turn around. Lysander stood a few feet away looking stern as always.
"She knows she can't return?" His lieutenant's quiet question made him jerk his head in the affirmative, and Lysander nodded in return. "Are you still so certain you can trust her?"
"You're beginning to sound like Phae." Ares frowned in irritation at his friend.
"Your sister isn't your Primus Pilus," Lysander said without emotion. "I am. It's my job to play devil's advocate."
"I know that." Ares scowled with self-disgust as he waved a hand at his friend. "And I haven't changed my opinion. I trust her."
"And the cipher?"
"She's translating it, but I have no doubt she'll share what the message says. I'll bring the subject up tomorrow. I pushed her harder than I should have today." He winced at the memory of her struggling with the idea that someone she knew might be her parents' killer and, perhaps worst of all, being forced to give up her old life.
"The Prima Consul wants to meet her."
"Merda." Ares sighed.
As the Order's commander-in-chief, a Prima Consul had directed the Sicari for two thousand years. From financial investments to the Order's policy decisions, the Prima Consul had the final word. They rarely interfered with guild business, but the current Consul had always had a fondness for archeology and the legend of the Tyet of Isis.
She'd been the one to order the Zales watched and their finds monitored. After the couple's murder, her interest had grown. She'd visited the scene of their death, and had given instructions that she was to receive quarterly reports on Emma.
He'd never questioned his orders, but he'd be a liar if it hadn't made him curious. It was unusual behavior for a Prima Consul, but then Atia had always been unpredictable. It was why she was good at what she did. Challengers found it difficult to know when to speak up or when to remain silent.
"You sound surprised. The Prima Consul's interest in the Tyet of Isis and Miss Zale's connection to the artifact makes the request a logical one." Lysander shrugged. "She specifically asked that Miss Zale be brought to her quarters after Julian's Rogalis."
"I'm not surprised." Ares drew in a deep breath, and with a slight roll of his head, he looked at the tall man opposite him. "I simply wanted a little more time to help Emma adjust to everything. And I'll be damned if Atia is going to interfere with the way I run this guild. Emma is my responsibility, Prima Consul be damned."
Lysander's mouth tipped upward in a slight smile that emphasized the grotesque scarring on one half of his face. The scarred tissue overlaying his facial muscles made his smile half-angelic and half-demonic.
"Clearly, you have no aspirations when it comes to advancement within the Order."
"I'm content to do what I'm good at, and that's leading this guild," Ares snapped. "I need to change clothes. Take Emma and her bag to the car. I'll meet you there."
He didn't wait for a response before he brushed past his friend and stalked out of the office. The idea that, as Prima Consul, Atia might use Emma for her psychometric ability angered him. He winced as he recalled what had happened to her when he'd handed the Sicari coin back to her last night. The memory of her curled up on the floor of that office triggered something inside him. He ignored it.
His thoughts flashed back to Cairo and Emma's hesitation in picking up the Sicari coin Shakir had shown her. At the time he'd thought the same thing the Cairo policeman had thought. She didn't want to leave a fingerprint. He now realized it was because she'd known there was a possibility of seeing Russwin's death.
But her reaction then compared to how she was affected last night were completely different. Had he been a conductor of some sort? It didn't matter. She needed time to adjust, and he wasn't about to throw her to the wolves in the Order, including the Prima Consul. He released a low growl of self-disgust. He was hiding behind a facade as well. At least Atia would be up front about what she wanted.
Bribing Emma with the chance to see Sicari artifacts hadn't been one of his better moments. He could try and convince himself that he'd done it to get her to come to White Cloud willingly, but deep inside he knew the real reason. He'd instinctively known the possibility of seeing the ancient relics would intrigue Emma. And if she touched one of them, she might see something that would bring him closer to finding the Tyet of Isis.
"Fotte," he uttered the expletive beneath his breath.
She'd said this whole mess was his mistake. It was an accurate statement. The problem was, every time he tried to fix his mistake, he only made matters worse. Maybe he just needed to leave Emma to the care of the Order. His gut clawed at him like a wild animal.
Like hell he would.
Chapter 11
EMMA stood in the immense library of the Sicari Order's estate. The massive room had a ceiling that was easily sixteen feet high, a large fireplace, and furniture that reminded her of a stately and very exclusive country club. The bookshelves lining the walls ran from floor to ceiling and were filled with books that reminded her of ancient texts. There were at least a hundred people in the room, and yet the room could have held twice that number.
It had taken them almost four hours to travel from Chicago to the estate in Michigan. During that time, she'd worked on trying to decode her father's cipher. She could tell Ares was eager to know what it said, but he'd patiently allowed her to work uninterrupted.
Like everything she'd experienced in the past twenty-four hours, the Sicari estate was surreal. In the dwindling twilight of their arrival, she'd seen black fencing complete with spiked prongs jutting outward to prevent anyone from scaling the barrier. They'd gone through one manned gate, and then another gate that seemed to magically roll back when their car drew up in front of it.
The mansion itself was something out of a gothic novel. Dark and mysterious, the limestone building reminded her of an ancient cathedral complete with gargoyles. Even the interior of the building had a medieval appearance with its high ceilings and arched beams. The entire mansion looked like it had found its way to the wilds of Michigan from Europe stone by stone.
The moment she'd crossed the library's threshold, everyone's attention had swung in her direction. She'd faltered slightly, but the light touch of Are
s's hand on her elbow gave her the confidence to move forward as if she actually had the right to be here. They'd halted in front of one of the bookcases, where Ares and the man who'd driven them to the secluded property flanked her like her own private guard.
A few moments after arriving, Ares had left her side to pay his respects to the grieving family, leaving the scarred man accompanying them at her side. When Lysander had appeared at her door to escort her to the garage, it had taken every bit of her willpower not to recoil at his shocking appearance. The manner of his disfigurement was so similar to the picture Ares had shown her that she was certain the Praetorians had tortured the man sometime in the past.
The scars gave the warrior a dark, menacing appearance, but Lysander's treatment of her had quickly erased that image. Polite, even sympathetic, he'd joined Ares in standing watch over her. And it couldn't be called anything else. Every time Ares left her side, the disfigured man remained to stand guard. It had been that way since their arrival at the secluded estate on the edge of the Manistee National Forest. The two men provided a buffer from the stares and the occasional hostility she'd seen on the faces of some.
Now as she studied the gathering, she felt completely out of place. Almost everyone present was dressed in solid black pants and knit shirts. It was like being in the midst of a military ops exercise with one exception. The only other place she'd ever seen so many swords was on television or the big screen. Some wore their weapons in scabbards on their back, while others wore them at their side. She even saw several of the circular blades called chakrams hanging from the belts of several men and women.
She wondered how many of them had actually killed someone, then she immediately shut out the thought. It was easier to pretend she was at some sci-fi convention. With a soft sigh, she bowed her head. Perhaps she was dead and this was nothing more than a dream. But if that was the case, why did every one of her nerve endings quiver in response to Ares's presence? She darted a glance in his direction.
Dressed in black like the others, he was a feast for the female eye. Tall, muscular, and powerfully male, he stood with arms folded across his chest, watching the room like a sentinel from the ancient past. The sword he wore on his back only enhanced the edgy danger emanating off him. As if sensing her gaze on him, he looked down at her.
He didn't say anything, but the flash of desire in those lake blue eyes of his made her cheeks burn. With a gulp, she jerked her gaze away from his, and a fire coiled inside her belly as she heard him breathe a sound that could have passed for a low growl. The primal, quiet rumble slid across her skin, making her hair stand on end. It was the sound of a powerful predator eyeing his dessert. Afraid to look Ares in the eye, she turned her attention to Lysander.
The disfigured warrior was dressed like everyone else in standard black with a sword on his back. Like Ares and one or two other fighters, Lysander wore leather bracers on his forearms. She hadn't asked what they signified, but an educated guess told her they represented a rank of some sort. Her gaze drifted across the room to where a group of people had gathered around an older woman seated away from the bereaved family.
Ares had approached the woman immediately after speaking with Julian's family. It had been apparent they were at odds with one another. His stiff posture had radiated defiance and the woman's expression had wavered between amused exasperation and unyielding resolve. Now, as she watched the deference each fighter showed the silver-haired woman, Emma wondered who she was. She supposed she could ask Ares, but thought better of it. Just the sound of his voice sent her heart pounding.
Instead, she turned her attention to the visitors gathered around Julian's grieving parents. Behind them on a table was a picture of a handsome young man. Remembering the photo Ares had shown her earlier, she hoped they hadn't seen their son's mutilated body. She knew how traumatizing it was to see a loved one disfigured.
The sudden, sharp hiss of breath coming from the tall, solidly built fighter beside her captured her attention, and she looked up at Lysander. His disfigurement made it difficult to tell what he was looking at, but the muscles lying beneath the scars were taut with tension. She turned her head and saw Phae hugging Julian's mother.
Dressed in a white toga, Ares's sister nodded as the older woman gently wiped away the tears on Phae's cheeks. Emma looked back at Lysander, who remained rigid with restrained emotion. Did he care for Ares's sister? The sudden way he relaxed made her search the room for Phae, but the other woman had disappeared.
She returned her gaze to Lysander and found herself looking straight into his hard one-eyed stare. The green in his eye darkened as he narrowed his gaze at her. It was a warning, pure and simple. Mind her own business. She forced a weak smile to her mouth before turning away.
Uncomfortable under the fighter's stern expression, she shifted her attention to a group of young men huddled around a bar in the far corner of the room. They'd all been drinking heavily, but seemed capable of holding their liquor. At least she hoped they were. It still made her nervous to see men, weapons, and drink mixed together. It seemed like an accidental slaying waiting to happen. Just as unnerving was the fact that one of them had been studying her the entire evening. And not with lust.
"I can get you another napkin if you like," Ares said in a soft voice.
The quiet statement made her look at the shredded napkin she held before she jerked her head up to meet his reassuring gaze. She wadded the napkin into a ball and dropped it into the empty beverage cup she'd set down on the bookcase behind them a little while ago.
"No thank you."
"Relax. No one is going to eat you."
"I'm glad you think so," she said through clenched teeth. "Based on some of the looks I've been getting, I'm giving five to one odds you're wrong."
Before he could respond, the sound of a drum with a slow persistent beat drifted into the room from the covered patio abutting a bank of French doors. Silence immediately engulfed the room as the young man from the bar and a companion quietly ushered the older couple out into the night. The sudden brush of a warm mouth against her ear sent a rush of heat through her.
"Lysander and I have to lead the procession. Follow the children when they go outside then stand behind them."
His knuckles barely grazed her cheek as he and Lysander moved forward to head up two columns of fighters at the open doorway. The touch left her feeling safe and protected. It was a disconcerting sensation. How could this man she'd known not more than a day affect her in ways that no other man had before? Even more unbelievable was the fact that she was finding this world he lived in almost normal. She closed her eyes for a brief moment as she questioned her sanity.
Slowly, the warriors filed out into the darkness to the steady beat of the drum followed by the rest of the guests. When the last guest had disappeared through the French doors, a group of children entered the living room from the main hall. Led by a young woman, they somberly filed through the door, the lit candles they carried flickering as they moved. Remembering Ares's instructions, Emma followed the last child out the door onto the patio.
Small pebbles rustled quietly beneath the feet of the cortege as it wound its way down into the trees surrounding the mansion. If not for the votive candles lining the path, the darkness would have been absolute the moment they entered the forest. After a minute or so the procession emerged into a large glade.
Emma stared at the huge pyre surrounded by a circle of stone blocks, which sat in the middle of the glade. Torches bordered the wooden structure, their flames illuminating the body engulfed in white funereal wrappings on top of the platform. Unbelievable. If someone had told her yesterday she was going to witness an actual Sicari funeral ceremony, she would have thought them insane. Now she was struggling to reassure herself this wasn't insanity.
She closed her eyes in the hope she was just dreaming. The persistent beat of the drum told her differently. She was still in Michigan with an ancient order of assassins. Fighters who had telekinetic powe
rs. She winced and focused her attention on the scene before her. Not even her father could have envisioned this type of ritualistic behavior from the scant findings he'd recorded over his lifetime.
What she was seeing now wasn't written down anywhere. She was certain of it. If it had been, her father would have had a field day talking about this. And this she would have remembered. With a slight shake of her head, she studied the procession of fighters.
Ares and Lysander parted ways at the foot of the pyre, each of them leading their column of fighters along either side of the massive death bed. When the procession had formed a large semicircle around the pyre, the drumbeat faded into silence. It was the quiet that tugged at her heart.
The unspoken grief was visible in the stoic expressions of the men and women around the pyre. The emotion vibrated off them until it was almost tangible. Nothing broke the silence for a long moment, until out of the darkness a female voice began singing a haunting melody. The heartfelt grief in the singer's voice made her swallow hard.