THE EQUINOX STONE (Knights of Manus Sancti Book 2)

by Bryn Donovan

  Michael would’ve liked breakfast with just her, but Jonathan and Cassie joined them.

  The cafeteria took up a large part of floor thirty-two—one of the levels in the middle. Like the medical floor, the walls and the floor were made of frosted glass supported by steel beams, but wooden chairs and tables that appeared to be from various historical periods gave it a quirky warmth. The room buzzed with conversation. Perhaps seventy-five people were eating, more than he’d expected. How many people lived here, anyway? One couple at a small table argued. Another table held a group of soldiers, three male, one female—he could tell from their builds and from their clothing, a mix of black and gray tee shirts, camouflage pants, clothing with lots of pockets, and work or combat boots. All of them were armed.

  The smells of sausage, fresh baked bread, and garlic made his stomach growl. Two of the four long cafeteria counters were open, and he followed her to them. Jonathan and Cassie lagged behind them, responding to a woman’s congratulations on the mission and then her hushed questions—about him, no doubt. They passed a man at a table fiddling with a small device in a hexagonal shape, a tray of used dishes set to the side.

  “Hey, what’s that thing?” Michael asked Val, pointing.

  She looked over and then shrugged. “A prototype, probably. You always like new high-tech gadgets,” she added.

  Michael scanned the array of fresh fruits and cheeses; baskets of bread, churros, croissants; steamed buns; rice porridge and rice noodles with vegetables; scrambled eggs; and fried potatoes, bacon, chorizo, and ham. Coffee, tea, and an espresso machine waited at the far end. Val took a plate and served herself two of the steamed buns. Michael grabbed a plate and then paused.

  “You usually get eggs, chorizo, and potatoes,” she told him.

  “Right.” That sounded good. As he helped himself, he asked, “Do you always get the bao?”

  “Usually.” She added pineapple chunks to her plate. “These carrot ones are vegan.”

  Interesting. “Why are you vegan?”

  “I feel bad for the animals.”

  Of course she would. She seemed like the softest person in the world. But when his very psyche had been disintegrating, she’d taken charge, telling him what to do. Beneath the frills and sweetness were courage and power. It wasn’t a contradiction, really, but it was fascinating.

  She could’ve told him he was vegan and he wouldn’t have known otherwise, but she’d still pointed him toward the eggs and chorizo. Maybe she hoped the taste would bring his memories back.

  As Val led him to a table, he tried hard to remember the surroundings, the smell of the food on his plate, and Val’s graceful walk. He even focused on Jonathan’s voice as, behind him, he asked Cassie what she wanted and fixed her a plate. Nothing.

  As they sat down, Michael said, “This is nice.” Maybe it wouldn’t be quite so terrible to live there.

  “It is. Though of course we can’t get some things here, like sushi.”

  The word sparked a feeling of delight in him—and a little amusement. He could almost remember something related to the word. Something funny, and maybe… sexy? Glowing on the edge of his mind.

  He shook his head. Maybe it was just being around her, or the way she said the word “sushi.” Anything could sound sexy coming from those plump pink-lipsticked lips. They curved up in a slight smile as she darted a glance up at him.

  Yeah, she’d caught him lusting after her yet again. Well, she didn’t hate it. He’d noticed her looking at him more than once. Was she thinking about when she’d lain in his arms? Because Michael couldn’t stop thinking about how warm and perfect she’d felt, all snuggled up next to him. If he asked to kiss her now, would she say no?

  Jonathan and Cassie joined them. Jonathan opened his mouth to speak, and then something behind Michael caught his attention. A female voice called out, “Michael!”

  He turned around to see a tall, light-skinned black woman striding over to him. A headband pulled back her curly hair, and a white tee shirt and cargo pants hugged her muscular, feminine frame. A younger man with a dark beard, a giant teddy bear of a guy, followed her. Both of their faces exuded friendliness. Michael forced a smile.

  As the woman reached their table, Valentina told him, “This is Gabi Bravo. She was your mentor. And this is Tristan Münter.” The big guy had an elaborate, beautifully done intricate black tattoo on the side of his neck and another one covering what was visible of his right arm.

  “Hi,” Michael said. They were both staring at him like he was a unicorn, and he was going to disappoint them.

  “I know, you’re still confused,” she said. He placed her accent as Portuguese. “It’ll get better.”

  “Hope so. How did you know about me?”

  “They sent out an alert,” Cassie said. “So nobody would think you were a revenant or something and attack you.”

  Well, that had been thoughtful.

  Gabi turned to Jonathan. “Can you believe this?”

  He smiled at her. “Barely.”

  She added to Cassie, “Congratulations on your Manus Sancti kill.” Her voice emanated warmth. “Though I guess it was really your fourth, if you count the Coyote Shifters and the Tribunal.”

  “Thank you.” Cassie’s eyes sparkled.

  This was not normal. Was it? Michael said to Cassie, “I thought the demon thing was your first time.”

  “Oh, right. Well, when I get really mad at people, animals attack them,” she explained.

  After a moment, Michael said, “I’m sorry, what?”

  She nodded. “Like, when an enemy killed one of ours, and I got mad, a flock of birds pecked him to death.”

  Christos. What the hell kind of ability was that? And he’d annoyed her once already. Why hadn’t anyone warned him sooner?

  “I can control it now,” Cassie said.

  “She’s only killed bad people,” Valentina added.

  That did reassure him somewhat. Cassie had been kind to him, and his instincts told him that she was a good person. But what instincts did a person with no memories have?

  Gabi and Tristan joined their table, and as everyone else discussed the details of his appearance, he could only bring himself to give short answers. He stopped participating in the conversation altogether, his mind swirling while he devoured his food.

  “Salaam, Samir.” Jonathan’s raised voice interrupted his thoughts. “Join us.”

  Michael looked up to see a man with black hair and a short moustache and beard, a cup of coffee in his hand and a ring on a chain around his neck. The man lifted a hand in acknowledgement but shook his head, walking away.

  Val sighed and said to the table, “I wish I knew what to do for him.”

  They nodded in agreement. Gabi said, “It’s going to be good for him to be Cassie’s mentor. When does that start?”

  “Right after Christmas,” Cassie told her. “I thought it would get delayed because of my ankle, but no.”

  Gabi said, “There are all kinds of lessons you don’t need a good ankle for.”

  Michael asked Val, “Is he depressed?”

  She cringed. “He’s grieving. His fiancée was killed.”

  Shit. “By a demon?”

  “No. By old enemies.” Jonathan’s expression was stark. Val took his hand and squeezed it briefly. She was always touching him. “One of them was the one Cassie killed. But we can’t find the rest of them. He’d feel a lot better if we could hunt them all down.”

  Dread settled in the pit of his stomach. This place was full of death.

  Val put her napkin on her plate and asked him, “Why don’t we go ahead to my office?” She added to Jonathan, “You and Cassie can meet us there when you’re ready. No hurry.” As they walked out, she told him, “I thought you could use a break. I know it’s hard, all these people you don’t remember.”

  He nodded. He already felt like he knew her well, and at the same time, he had more questions for her than anyone else. “You and Jonathan are close.” />
  “He’s my best friend.”

  “Were you two ever involved?” She liked Cassie, but that didn’t mean anything.

  “No. He’s like my brother.”

  “Was I like your brother too?”

  She didn’t answer, and he noticed. They reached the elevator, and she punched the button.

  “Who have you hooked up with around here? Nic? That big guy, Tristan?”

  “No!”

  The elevator arrived, and she stepped on. He followed her, and the doors shut behind him. They had it to themselves.

  “It’s none of your business,” she continued. “You’re being rude.”

  “I know,” he agreed to both statements, still curious.

  After a couple of moments, she said, “I haven’t slept with any men.”

  “You’re a lesbian?” If this was true, he was beyond terrible at reading signals.

  “I’m a virgin,” she snapped as the elevators opened. Then she glared at him. “Don’t look at me like that.” He realized he was gaping. She stepped out, her chin held higher in the air than usual.

  *

  When Michael stepped into her office, he smiled. “Wow. This place suits you.”

  Val recalled him saying something similar two years ago, when he’d first come to El Dédalo. She’d only had her office for about six months then, and she’d added to it since, but she’d painted the vivid aqua walls and the black-and-white checkered floor, and she’d already had the fluffy rug and the furniture in tropical hues.

  He walked over to inspect her wall of amateur oil paintings. She only bought ones depicting roses in vases, and ocean vistas. The frames ranged from gaudy gilt to plastic to weathered wood. She hadn’t paid more than twenty U.S. dollars for any of them, and in a couple of instances, she’d still probably overpaid.

  “I see you’re an art lover,” he said.

  She laughed. “Something like that.”

  “Seriously, why do you have all these?”

  None of the many Knights who’d been to her office had ever asked her that, though now that she thought about it, they’d probably wondered. “My mother bought me this first one when I was little.” She pointed to one of the vases of roses. “She loves going to flea markets…they had a big one near the beach, in Jacksonville. I still remember it, though I must’ve been about four or five. A man was trying to sell his paintings. Nobody was even stopping, and I could feel how sad he was. And I thought it was so unfair, because he’d painted all these really pretty flowers. So I begged my mother to buy me one.”

  Michael’s gaze softened. “You probably made his day.”

  She smiled. “I told him it was pretty, and I could feel how happy he was. The next time, he wasn’t there, but I bought this one from another seller. I don’t think she was the artist. She was selling all kinds of stuff.” She pointed to one of the seascapes. “And after that I kind of stuck to the roses and the ocean scenes. So many people paint those. Though you can see, there are different styles… I bought one in a Tokyo flea market, one in the souq in Cairo, a bunch in Granada. The last one, I got in a thrift shop in Albuquerque.”

  Michael studied her. “Why do you like them so much?”

  She considered it. “In this office, I see all kinds of horrible things—in other people’s psyches after they’re back from missions. It’s nice to think about all these people who were just trying hard to make something pretty.”

  Michael opened his mouth to ask her something and then hesitated.

  “What?” she prompted him.

  “Why did they give you such a hard job, when you’re so sweet?”

  Her heart warmed. She said softly, “Because I’m good at it.”

  He took a step closer to her. She wasn’t even sure he was aware of it.

  She stepped back. “Sit down,” she said, keeping her voice light. “I’ll make you some tea.”

  Disappointment flickered across his face, but he took a seat in a zebra-printed chair.

  She walked over to the long shelves crammed with teapots, teacups, and dark blue glass jars. “Let’s try lemon balm and rosemary, to help with anxiety.” She pulled the jars down. “I usually use kava, but Cassie told me the other day that it tastes like semen.” She’d thought this was funny, but as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them. After the way he’d been looking at her, she should really be trying to steer him away from sex talk.

  He laughed. “That would be weird for tea.”

  Of course, she didn’t know either way. She filled up a teakettle at a small sink, set it on a hot plate, and then scooped tiny amounts of tea leaves into a wire infuser.

  “You’re not asexual.”

  “No.” Was he really going to press her on this? She grabbed a teacup and saucer from the shelf. “I don’t owe you any explanations.”

  “You don’t.” His immediate agreement dampened her annoyance as she returned the jars to their places on the shelves. “It’s just that you were made for sex.”

  Indignant heat rushed to her cheeks. “That’s demeaning.” And then a small part of her couldn’t help but feel like it was about time he’d noticed.

  “I didn’t mean you were only made for sex. You know I wouldn’t say that.”

  She did know that. He’d been nothing but respectful of her talents, and of her as a person, besides. Maybe she should explain things to him. If he understood her, he might quit confusing her with his attentions. As she waited for the water to boil, she said, “It’s a casual thing for you, but for me, it’s different. My feelings are all wrapped up in it. It would have to mean something, with someone I really trusted.”

  “I can understand that. But…not even with a boyfriend?”

  “I’ve never had a boyfriend.”

  He raised his eyebrows, bemused. “You were never interested in anyone?”

  She had to smile at the unconscious implied compliment. “It never occurred to you that maybe no one was interested in me?”

  “No.”

  “Okay, there were a few guys who were. And I kissed a couple of them, but…with one of them, it didn’t feel right. And the other one was scared off. Most guys are scared off.”

  “Why?”

  A familiar, quiet sadness settled in her heart. “My empath abilities scare people. Because I know how people are feeling, all the time.”

  “I guess it could be a challenge,” he admitted.

  The water in the kettle began to hiss, close to a boil. She poured it into the teacup over the infuser.

  He was so curious. Should she tell him?

  She took in a slightly shaky breath. “I had a big crush on you, but you never noticed.”

  “What?”

  She couldn’t believe she’d actually said it, but it relieved her to have put it out there, and the look of utter shock on his face made it worth it.

  “How did I not notice?” he demanded. “Wait. Am I an idiot?”

  “Don’t be silly.” She couldn’t stop smiling now. For years, she’d oscillated between wanting to tell him and believing it would end in rejection. She was so much younger, and so familiar to him. She took out the tea infuser and brought the cup over to him.

  He took it from her absently, staring at her. “How long did you have a crush on me?”

  “Since I was five?” His jaw dropped. “I even picked a bunch of flowers and brought them to you. You must’ve been ten.” Why was she telling him this? The memory still embarrassed her a little.

  His mouth was open and he was staring at her, transfixed. “That’s ridiculously cute.”

  “You told me to give them to—” She cut herself off. His mother wasn’t a good topic. “To somebody else. I was so disappointed.” She gave a little laugh.

  He shook his head at his youthful tactlessness. “So this was a childhood crush?”

  “No.” Her heart beat harder. “I still…” She couldn’t finish. She waved a hand away, as if a lifetime of longing was something easily dismissed.
/>   His brows creased in a frown. “I’m asking seriously. Is there something wrong with me?”

  “No. I didn’t say anything, because I knew you didn’t see me that way.”

  His gaze traveled over her body and back to her face. “I do now.”

  Being so close to his desire made her feel unsteady on her feet. She moved away from him and sat down in the farthest chair. “You’ve just gotten attached to me because I made you feel better. I’m good at calming people down.”

  “Do I seem calmed down to you?” His voice was raised.

  No. Right now, she seemed to be having the opposite effect, and it made her heart feel dangerously vulnerable. “You never get into a real relationship with anyone. You’re going to start interacting with more people, and you’re going to stop fixating on me.”

  He frowned down at the cup of tea, which looked particularly dainty in his large hands, and she wondered what thoughts caused his turmoil.

  “It wouldn’t work, anyway,” she said, attempting a lighter tone. “I’m a virgin, and you can’t remember things. We wouldn’t know what to do.”

  He lifted his head again, and his blatant erotic hunger smoldered in his gaze, making her heartbeat skitter. “Believe me. I’d know what to do.”

  Procedural memory. Oh, she did believe him. An image of undressing, offering herself to him, flashed through her imagination. She gripped her teacup more tightly. “You said yourself that dating an empath would be difficult.”

  His sensual stare didn’t waver. “I hope I’m not the kind to back away from a challenge.”

  “When you get your memories back, all of this is going to embarrass you.” He’d come to himself and be horrified that he’d attempted to seduce her. If she kept refusing him now, at least her dignity would be intact.

  “Maybe I’m different now.”

  A person who’d gone through everything he had would surely change in one way or another. She wanted to believe him. “Maybe,” she whispered.

  Michael’s gaze hung on her low neckline, unabashedly. His longing licked over her bare skin. She’d seen him look at other people, felt him lust after other people—so many times—but this was different. It wasn’t about more than having fun. It held longing for more of her, body and soul, and a willingness to offer more in return.