by Unknown
Maybe he liked her because she was the first woman he’d seen in a century. Or hell, maybe it was because she was nice to convicts and worried about his ribs and was passionate about her work and wasn’t afraid to speak her mind.
Shite, he’d turned into a sap. Being so close to her all night, trying to keep the nature of his thoughts hidden, had been hard as hell. When she’d called lights out, he’d thanked the gods, if only to have a chance to hide the damn hard-on that wouldn’t go down.
Ian pushed away from the sink and turned on the shower. His clothes hit the floor seconds later, and he was under the cold spray before it could heat up. When the cold water did nothing for his erection, he reached down to grip himself. He was hard and heavy and fuck, it felt good.
“Gods damn it,” he muttered.
He couldn’t jerk off in the damn shower he shared with her. It was fucking barbaric and a shitty way to thank her for getting him out of prison. He squeezed hard, punishing, then let go with a groan. He touched the collar around his neck, reminding himself of where he stood with her.
He let the spray pound down on him and tried to get his mind off Fiona. He forced himself to remember what being trapped in that damned prison had felt like. It wasn’t hard. Hell, he’d been out only a few hours. Except the memories highlighted the contrast between where he’d been and where he was now.
It wasn’t the damn lust or the insistent fucking hard-on for Fiona that bothered him the most. No, it was the fact that it felt so damn good just to be with her on the outside, like a normal gods-damned Mythean. When prison sucked your soul out and wrung you dry, freedom felt like the best thing in the world.
He’d never wanted that closeness, that casual comfort in his first life. He’d been living it up. Young and stupid and careless. First struggling to survive, then so wealthy he hadn’t known what to do with the money besides spend it on women and fucking Model T’s.
Model T’s. Jesus. That’s how long ago it had been, and prison had made him realize how little he cared about that bullshite now.
He turned off the shower and scrubbed a towel over his skin. He had to keep his act together, do this job for Fiona, and get this collar the hell off. Finding the book was the best way to do it.
Scowling, he glanced around for his duffel bag. Damn it. He’d left it out in the living room. Fiona was in her bedroom now, so it was probably safe to run out there. He wrapped the towel around his waist and opened the door.
He stepped out into the tiny hall and right into Fiona. Who looked fucking gorgeous.
Of course.
“Oh!” Her back hit the wall and she stared up at him, lips slightly parted.
They were so damn close he could see her eyelashes, spiky and dark and framing steel-gray eyes that raced over his face. The damned hard-on that had dissipated began to spring back to life. He stepped back, reached to secure his towel.
Oh fuck, she looked good. She was wearing some kind of huge T-shirt. It was ugly and old and so soft that it floated over her curves until it stopped above her knees. He’d never seen anything so hot or so exactly perfect, not in his first life, not in his dreams in prison.
He wanted her more than he’d wanted anything in his life. He wanted to push her against the wall and bury his face in her hair. Smell her, taste her. Touch all the soft parts of her that he’d been denied for so long but looked glorious on her.
Doona think about it.
“Sorry. Just getting my bag.” His voice was rough.
“Oh, uh, sure. I was going to get some water.”
They stared at each other, the air too thin between them, and he tried to keep his eyes on her face. Hers glanced off his naked chest and bounced back to his eyes. Seconds passed and she had every chance to walk away, but instead she kept glancing down at his chest and the towel clutched around his waist.
He knew he should go get his bag. Just as soon as he could tear himself away from her. If she wasn’t going to walk away, he should.
“Um, I just realized I haven’t asked you if there’s anyone you wanted to call. You know. Like a girlfriend?” She bit her lip, eyes worried.
“No one waited for me.” And why did she care?
“Oh.” Relief flooded her face.
Holy shite, she did care.
Her eyes dropped to his chest again. He felt like the water droplets were going to steam right off of him.
Gods.
His fist tightened on the towel at his waist. He knew damn well it was tented. When her eyes dropped to it, he felt a flush of desire race up his torso and had to bite back a groan.
She bit her lip and yanked her eyes up to his. He swore he saw desire. Or he was fucking imagining things.
“Gods, Fiona, when you look at me like that, it makes it hard to forget how damn beautiful you are.” His feet carried him a step toward her, close enough that he could smell her hair and feel her heat in the chilly hallway. “What do you want, Fiona?” he asked. But he knew what she wanted. He could see it in the flush of her cheeks, hear it in the quickness of her breath, smell the heady scent of it on the air.
“I, um…” Her eyes darted down and back up again.
Her gaze was making him crazed, so he leaned in to where he couldn’t see it and said at her ear, “I want this, Fiona, so damn bad that I might be misinterpreting your signals. I think you want this too, but I’m going to need to hear it. You want this, you have to say it. If no’, then no problem. I’ll leave you alone.”
She shuddered at the feel of his breath and his cock jerked.
“I, um… I should probably get to bed.” She slipped to the side and down the hall, her heavy breaths still punctuating the silence with the sound of her desire.
His fist clenched and he leaned against the wall, propping his forehead on the hard surface and squeezing his eyes closed. He felt like a fist squeezed his cock and his throat unbearably. But he didn’t just want a woman. He wanted Fiona. But she didn’t want him.
It was going to be a damn long night.
CHAPTER SIX
An incessant beeping noise dragged Ian from a dream of warm skin and a willing woman. He popped upright in bed, muscles tensed and ready for a threat. It took less than a second for him to process his surroundings.
Safe.
For the first time in nearly a century. The beeping noise stopped. It must have been some sort of alarm in Fiona’s room. His muscles gradually relaxed, and he climbed out of the bed that felt like heaven. It’d taken him ages to get to sleep, since he was so used to the prison’s threadbare, ancient mattress.
But once he had fallen asleep…
Gods, the dreams. So similar to the ones he’d had in prison, yet infinitely better. Because they featured Fiona. He wanted her nearly as badly as he wanted his freedom. He glanced down at his erection and frowned. It was becoming a problem.
He shook the thought away and pulled on his clothes, the same rugged black pants and sweater that he’d worn in prison. Though the hellish afterworld he worked in had been hot, the prison had been freezing cold. At least the attire was suited to the Scottish winter, and if one looked closely, it didn’t appear any different than modern clothing.
Which he supposed it was. The university got their supplies from the outside, even though the prison felt like it was trapped in time.
The sound of water rushing through the pipes echoed through the room. Fiona must be showering. He went out to the living room to wait. He glanced around, taking in the modern furniture. So unfamiliar.
Holy hell, he was free. He had the collar, but still, he was freer than he’d been in nearly a century. It was hard to believe. He touched the metal that had become his cage. The key had been turned by a beautiful, intriguing woman, but it was a cage nonetheless.
A tapping noise at the window drew his attention. He glanced over. A black falcon sat on the sill, tapping the window with its beak.
About time. He strode to the window and pushed it open. The falcon hopped inside, then on a swirl
of green light, transformed into a tall, dark-haired man.
“Logan.” He hugged his friend, grinning. Then hauled back and punched him. Ian didn’t give a damn if Logan was actually a god who could smite him with a thought. He wouldn’t do it. Logan liked him too much, and it was mutual. Ian had kept Logan’s secret ever since he’d learned it years ago: that his friend was Loki, the Norse trickster god who’d been kicked out of his afterworld centuries ago. He’d been living in secret as a Mythean of indeterminate species named Logan, and Ian would see to it that the secret was kept. Logan was a shapeshifter, which made it fairly easy to maintain a false identity.
They’d met when Ian had saved Logan’s life nearly two hundred years ago. Ian had been attempting to rob an Egyptian tomb and had come upon Logan in the central chamber. The man had been caught within the wind of time, an enchantment meant to protect the tomb’s contents. Time accelerated within the wind; it should have caused time to pass so quickly that Logan would die within seconds. Ian had used his Sylph’s ability to control the air to halt the wind and had learned that Logan had been trapped there for years, unable to die because he was a god.
Ian had kept the secret of Logan’s true identity, revealed because Logan couldn’t maintain his illusions within the wind. They’d gone on to rob the tomb together, splitting the wealth in the end. They’d been so successful that they’d formed a team, joining up to rob tombs that were too dangerous to attempt alone.
“Damn it,” Logan hissed. He rubbed his jaw and glared at Ian. “What the hell was that for?”
“I thought you’d get me out of the university prison sooner, you bastard. And keep it down. Fiona’s in the shower.”
Logan scowled. “I know. I checked through the window. And I tried to get you out earlier. It’s a damn fortress. You’re lucky I came up with this plan.”
“Aye, thank you. And it’s damn good to see you. You have a way to get me out of this collar?” He felt regret over leaving Fiona so soon, but he’d do it in a heartbeat if it meant not having to go back to that hellhole of a prison.
“No. You’ve got to get the book, like I told Fiona. Use that to barter your way free.”
“Damn. That’s what I suspected. I doona want to screw her over. Do you no’ have another way?”
Logan shook his head. “Everything is falling into place for me. I’ve got to leave Scotland for a while. I just stopped by to make sure you understood the terms. I can do no more for you. I’m sorry I took so long. I owed you better, friend.” Logan grimaced, regret in his gaze.
“I appreciate it now.” And he knew how much Logan’s endgame meant to him. He liked Ian, but he wouldn’t sacrifice it for him, no matter how close they were.
Logan nodded and clapped him on the shoulder. “Get the book back. You can do it.”
“Aye, I’ll have to.”
Logan grinned. “Freedom suits you. Good luck with the book.” He nodded his head toward the bathroom. “And good luck with the woman.”
Logan shook his hand then disappeared in a swirl of green, flying off in his falcon form over the tops of Edinburgh’s buildings.
The bathroom door creaked open. Ian whirled around.
“Morning,” Fiona said.
“Morning.”
“Why’s the window open?”
“Fresh air.”
She looked at him like he was crazy. It was freezing out. “All right. I thought we’d go check out the museum. We canna break in to the vault until dark because there are far too many mortals working in the offices in the basement, but it couldn’t hurt to refamiliarize yourself with the layout. Your enchantments activate only around Mytheans. Will they activate around us?”
“No’ as long as mortals are around. A precaution we put in place.”
“We? So you did have a partner. Logan.”
Shite. He was letting his guard down around her. She obviously knew something was up between them, had maybe even heard voices out here, but he didn’t need to lay the information at her feet.
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. Let’s go.”
She shook her head, as if she knew he was full of shite but didn’t care. Her priorities were with the book, not with his past.
It didn’t take long for them to gather their coats and hide their daggers. Hers went into the clever sheaths in her boots, his into the lining of his coat. He followed her down the stairs, his gaze riveted to her form.
When they stepped out into the brisk winter air, the hustle and bustle of the street hit him in the face. It was no busier than it had been when he’d lived here before, but it was so damn different. The same ancient buildings rose high into the air, pressed cheek by jowl, along with glass windows that glared down, disapproving of the changes.
Colorful Christmas decorations were strung up all along the street, and cheery music blasted from a storefront nearby. People in brightly colored clothes rushed about, hauling bags of gifts and dodging through traffic, while a man next to him held up a small device and smiled stupidly.
Fiona saw him staring and said, “It’s a phone. And a camera. He’s taking a picture of the church.”
Jesus. Times had changed and there was a hell of a lot he had to learn.
“Let’s go get the book.” The sooner they did, the sooner he’d be free and could catch up and start a new life.
They stopped at a shop on the way and bought sausage rolls and tea, then crossed the street and climbed the massive stairs that led up to great doors of the museum. He hadn’t destroyed this part, at least. Just the west wing.
They spent the next three hours touring the museum, pretending to be like any other couple interested in the paintings, artifacts, skeletons, and models. It was a huge museum, crammed with a bit of everything. It had expanded over the years, new wings added every few decades. The result was a labyrinth of different architectures and styles.
In addition to the small bits and bobs in the display cases, they passed skeletons of mammoths and dinosaurs, mummies, carriages, a variety of cannons, stuffed birds of prey and old costumes on mannequins.
“Can you sense anything about the enchantments you put in place?” Fiona asked.
“Nay. No’ until they activate. They may still be good, or time may have warped them. Magic is no’ my strong suit.” He had nothing compared to the abilities of the witches and soulceresses, just a bit that had been handed down through the generations on his Historius side. It was enough that he could concoct the enchantments, however, especially with Logan’s help.
“Damn.”
“Aye.”
The top floor of the museum was smaller than the rest. They stood alone in a small room at the far back corner. The pottery collection was located next to a door that led to a rooftop balcony. A sign was hung upon it that said No Trespassing.
Just what he’d been looking for.
“Come on,” he said, pulling on her hand to lead her through the door.
“Is there an entrance up there?”
“Aye, should be. Let’s check.”
She nodded and followed him through the door. He didn’t let go of her hand as he led her up the stairs. He didn’t need to hold it. He should release her. She was more than capable of finding her way.
But he didn’t let go.
“Does this lead to the roof?” she asked.
“You’ll see. It’ll be worth it.” He’d found it on one of his first visits to the museum, while he’d been casing it to figure out future plans of attack.
They reached the top of the stairs, and he flipped the lock and pushed open the heavy wooden door. Cold wind blasted him in the face as they stepped out onto a small section of the roof. A bell tower loomed over them to their left and cast a shadow over the back of the patio.
“Wow,” Fiona breathed.
“Looks like all is good. We can use this entrance tonight if we need to. Come on.” Her hand was warm in his as he pulled her over to the edge. A waist-high wall rose up at the edge of the patio.
>
“This is beautiful. You can see everything.” Fiona’s voice was tinged with awe.
Ian looked to the left at the extinct volcano that rose up at the edge of town. Arthur’s Seat. It was barren and beautiful, the place where Europe’s magical energy was the strongest. The university had been built here because of it.
“It’s an amazing city,” she said. “So full of history. I can feel all of it.”
Ian smiled. It was part of being a Historious. The pull of artifacts and history was a comforting feeling. So familiar to his kind, yet foreign to others. Even if stealing artifacts couldn’t make him wealthy, he would still hunt them. It was in his blood, like it was in hers.
“We have that in common,” he said.
She nodded. “I love the hunt. The search. It’s more than just a job. It’s my life. I love it. I need it.”
“Aye, exactly.”
“We’ll find the book. We have to.” She turned to him. The sight of her, so determined and beautiful, hit him hard in the chest. She glanced up at him and frowned.
He stepped back, realizing that he was staring at her like a starving man.
“We should go,” he said.
“Aye.” But she didn’t move. The expression on her face changed from confusion to something else, something that had her eyes skipping down his body, then back up to his face.
“Fiona.” As her name tore from his throat, it dawned on him that she’d stepped forward until she stood nearly toe-to-toe with him.
He had a feeling that she hadn’t realized she’d done it. It seemed like her thoughts had turned away from the book, and his were helpless but to follow.
When her hand rose to rest against his chest, he reached down to cup the back of her head. He pulled her to him and pressed his lips to hers. Something like a growl rose in his throat when her lips parted beneath his.
She surged against him, wrapping her strong arms about his neck. The feel of her against him, soft and curved, made his cock throb. The streak of desire was so hot it made him growl low in his throat, then clench his fist in her hair to hold her still for his mouth.