by Monica Burns
“Yes, she’s alive and already in the van with the others.”
“Beatrice?”
“Cornelia’s with her in the hallway. You saved her.”
His words made her look down at the dead Praetorian. She should feel remorse, but she didn’t. The pain inside her was too raw for her to be sorry for what she’d done. The Sicari Code didn’t apply to Praetorians. She was free to kill them without asking the Rogare Donavi, but she knew what she’d done had crossed an unspoken line. She didn’t care. She wasn’t really Sicari. She was just a woman pretending to be.
Chapter 19
DANTE paced the floor of the Absconditus’s main salon. Sunshine illuminated the room, but it did nothing to improve his grim mood. It had been three days since the rescue operation. Three days since he’d watched Cleopatra coldly and methodically torture a Praetorian.
The connection between him and Cleopatra had continued to strengthen with her reaction to the massacre heightening his own feelings about the bloodbath. His stomach knotted at the memory of the quiet nursery filled with murdered infants. It was the worst slaughter of innocence he’d ever seen, but he was certain it was Cleopatra’s first.
The way she’d been torturing that Praetorian had revealed more about her than any words might have. Without their telepathic connection, he would have simply assumed her torture of the Praetorian was rooted in the trauma of the moment. But knowing about the loss of her baby, and how a Praetorian sword had rendered her barren, helped him understand some of what had driven her brutal response to the massacre. She had to be enduring the fires of Tartarus at the moment.
The moment they’d arrived home, Cleopatra had gone into seclusion. Not once since then had she emerged from her rooms. Not even to check on her friend. That alone was enough to worry him deeply. She’d been so determined to rescue her friend that her present lack of concern for Marta’s well-being alarmed him.
It didn’t help matters that Marcus was becoming increasingly concerned about his daughter’s withdrawal. Cleopatra had turned off her cell phone, and when Marcus had been unable to reach her after several tries, he’d called demanding a report on his daughter. The Sicari Lord had been understanding about the situation, but if Cleopatra didn’t come out of her room soon, her parents would be the ones knocking on her door, not him.
“I take it she still refuses to see you?” Placido’s voice behind him made Dante turn around to face the Sicari Lord.
“She won’t see anyone,” Dante said with frustration as he shoved a hand through his hair.
“Cornelia has shared with me that the . . . the nursery . . . that it was the worst massacre she’s ever seen.”
It was the first time Placido had broached the subject with him. The old Sicari Lord had instinctively understood Dante’s need for time before he was ready to talk about the horror he’d seen. Now, Placido’s somber words vividly brought back the terrible sight he’d witnessed in the nursery.
In the past, there had been only two or three infants murdered by the Praetorians, which was always a punch to the gut. But at the Convent of the Sacred Mother, with the exception of two infants, more than twenty Sicari male babies had been slaughtered in their cribs. It was terrible enough that the bastardi murdered the female children shortly after birth, but to slaughter the males simply to keep them out of Sicari hands was incomprehensible. He nodded. “There aren’t any words for what I saw,” Dante rasped as he swallowed the knot lodged in his throat.
Placido heaved a deep sigh of sorrow as he studied the marble beneath his feet. The fragility Dante had witnessed in the old man almost a month ago seemed even more pronounced, as Placido was clearly mourning the loss of innocent lives. The Sicari Lord lifted his head and met Dante’s gaze wearily.
“At least Theodorus and Dorothea were spared.”
He simply nodded at Placido’s observation. Theodorus and Dorothea were the only two bright lights to emerge from the darkness he’d witnessed at the convent. Cleopatra had slain the Praetorian in the nursery before Theodorus had met the same fate as the others, while Dorothea had been in her mother’s arms when Cleopatra had saved them.
Cornelia had found her daughter and a new grandchild as well. With his Praefect’s help, the odds of Beatrice overcoming the trauma of her time in the convent were strong. The fact that she wanted to keep Dorothea said a great deal about Beatrice’s strength to overcome the horrors she’d endured. Placido interrupted his thoughts.
“They are aptly named,” Placido said as he referenced the fact that the rescued infants’ names meant “gift of the gods.”
“I don’t know how Theodorus escaped that nursery without a scratch. Cornelia named him well. He’s a lucky baby. As for Dorothea and Beatrice, they’re alive only because of Cleopatra.”
“I think Cleopatra’s been in isolation long enough.” Placido’s quiet statement sounded more like an explosion in the room.
“And how do you propose to coax her back into the world of the living?”
The old man didn’t answer him. Instead, the ancient Sicari Lord’s eagle-eyed look pinned itself on Dante. It was clear what his friend wanted. He shook his head in silent objection, and Placido frowned.
“You’re the only one who can reach her.” The man’s words made Dante flinch.
“I don’t know how to do that.” This time he shook his head more sharply. “She’s not responded to me any more than she has to you or Cornelia.”
“You’re the only one she’s actually spoken to, which means you can convince her to come out of her seclusion,” Placido said in an unrelenting tone.
“What the hell makes you think that?” he snarled. “Another one of your prophecies?”
“No. Simple observation. You’re in love with her.”
Speechless, Dante stared at his friend. What the hell was the old man thinking? He wasn’t in love with Cleopatra. Christus, he barely knew the woman. Somewhere in the back of his mind Dante heard a chorus of protests. He shut the door on the cries. How in the name of Juno could he possibly be in love with her? He glared at the Sicari Lord.
“You’re mistaking my concern for her as something it isn’t,” he said in a stilted voice. “She’s Marcus’s daughter. That alone warrants concern on my part. My desire to ensure her safety is no different than that of any Sicari under my care in the Absconditus.”
“So you say. But I’m not convinced. You’re in love with the woman,” Placido said emphatically.
“You’re wrong,” he growled, ignoring the laughter crashing its way through his head like a loud church bell. “Even if you were right, which you’re not, I know where my duty lies. I can have only one mistress. I swore to serve the guild and the Order.”
“The Absconditus and the Order have survived almost two thousand years without the reigning Sicari Lord blindly throwing himself on the altar of celibacy,” Placido said with disgust.
“I don’t see myself as a sacrifice, but I do find this conversation as wearisome as the last one we had on the subject.” Dante’s comment made the Sicari Lord snort harshly.
“Va bene, but you’re to go to her. Convince her to come out of her rooms before Marcus tells you to do so.” The old man turned and walked away, leaving Dante to glare at his elderly friend’s retreating back.
Cleopatra had refused to let him in all the other times he’d gone to her door. What made Placido think she’d see him now? He exhaled a sharp breath of fury then clenched his jaw. Fine. If the old man wanted him to drag Cleopatra back into the world of the living, he’d do it. But the Sicari Lord was wrong.
The concern he felt for Cleopatra was no different than what he felt for any other Sicari in the Absconditus. He wasn’t in love with her. A loud voice in the back of his head argued with him, and he brutally crushed it into silence. With a muttered oath, he strode out of the salon and headed toward Cleopatra’s apartment.
The main salon was some distance from her suite, and as he marched through the corridors, he tried to form a st
rategy for reaching out to Cleopatra. He was no closer to a plan as he turned into the hallway outside her apartment than he’d been a few moments ago in the main salon. He was only a few feet away from her door when a bleak emotion slammed into him like a nail from a highpowered nail gun.
Over the past several days, their emotional connection had grown in strength despite the door between them, but today her desolation was so stark he went rigid with shock. An instant later, the emotion vanished. She’d obviously sensed him, and whether by design or instinct, she’d shut her emotions off as easily as one might shut off a spigot. He stared at the door for a moment then drew in a deep breath and with a wave of his hand unlocked the deadbolt.
The door opened quietly, and he stepped into her apartment. The small living room resembled twilight, as the drawn curtains blocked out the sunlight. Behind him the door closed with a soft snap, and as his eyes adjusted to the low lighting, he saw her curled up in the corner of the couch with her back to him.
“Go away, Dante,” she said in a voice that was devoid of all emotion.
“You know I can’t do that,” he replied quietly.
“Then say what you came to say and leave.”
The lifeless note in her voice grabbed at him harder than if she’d been sobbing. It emphasized the wall she’d built around her feelings to keep him out. Slowly, he walked toward the sofa to squat in front of her. She averted her gaze, offering him only her profile to study. Although she’d managed to lock him out of feeling her emotional pain, the external effects were plain to see.
Her face was pale, and he could see a slight puffiness at the corner of her eye. It was a clear sign she’d been crying, but she was still beautiful. The acknowledgment tugged at his heart in a way that was strangely familiar and yet unfamiliar at the same time. It made him ache with the need to pull her into his arms.
He wanted to hold her close until her pain eased out of her body into his. He swallowed hard. The thought of her bearing her burden alone struck a nerve deep inside him that he’d never thought anyone could reach. It scared the hell out of him, and he didn’t frighten easily. His muscles tightened and braced themselves against the need to gather her up into his arms. Instead, he rested his forearms on his thighs and clasped his hands in front of him.
“You can’t stay locked up in here forever, carissima,” he said softly. “It will only make it worse.”
“I doubt that.” She turned toward him, her face cold and stony. “It doesn’t get any worse than this. Now that you’ve said your piece, please leave.”
“I’m not going anywhere until you understand that I know what you’re feeling.” His admission made her eyes narrow as she directed a cold look at him.
“No,” she bit out. “You don’t. No one knows what this feels like.”
“I do.” He didn’t move. Instead, he reached out with his thoughts to touch the back of her hand in a light caress. “The rage, the sorrow, the pain, the helplessness. I felt everything before you closed yourself off to me.”
“Even if you did feel some of those things, you’re not me. You can’t possibly know what I’m feeling. No one can.” This time the contempt in her voice was raw and brutal despite her stoic expression. Gently, he reached out and caught her hands in his. He half expected her to jerk away from him, but she just stared at him as if he wasn’t even there. It made his heart ache that much more.
“I know exactly what you’re feeling, because ever since that day outside of the training room, we’ve been connected. It’s how I knew where to find you in the convent the other night.”
His throat tightened as he remembered the violence of her emotions when he’d raced toward the nursery then to the room where he’d found her torturing the Praetorian. Despite the distance between them, her horror, torment, and raw fury had pulsed through him as if he’d been at her side deliberately reading her thoughts.
“We don’t have a connection,” she said with the icy reserve of an automaton. “You’re imagining things.”
“Then why did you shut down your emotions the minute you sensed my presence outside your door?” he asked with an edge to his voice.
He hadn’t meant to speak so roughly to her, but her emotionless manner was slowly eating away at his restraint. This was a stranger staring back at him, her violet eyes dark and unreadable. He wanted the feisty, confident Cleopatra back. The fearless woman who saw what she wanted and reached out for it. A flicker of emotion brightened her eyes before she turned her head away from him.
“Go away, Dante,” she said in that dispassionate voice. “Just go away and don’t come back.”
“I’m not going anywhere, Cleopatra,” he growled as he instinctively reached for her and dragged her out of the corner of the couch to the edge of the cushion. The stoic expression on her face vanished as his movement startled her.
“Let. Me. Go.” She enunciated the words fiercely and shoved hard against his chest in an attempt to break free of his grasp.
Her struggle knocked him off balance, and he tumbled back onto the floor, dragging her with him. As she fell on top of him, her angry gaze met his, and relief streaked through him. The fury in her eyes was the first real emotion he’d seen her exhibit since he’d entered the room. It meant he’d reached her. The realization strengthened as her violent emotions reverberated against him with the same sledgehammer force he’d experienced outside her apartment a short time ago.
“I’m not letting go of you until you agree to stop hiding from what happened the other night.” He kept his voice soft yet inflexible.
“Hiding? You think you have me all figured out, don’t you?” she snarled with a ferocity that gave him an even greater sense of the rage boiling inside her.
“Figured you out?” Deus, if the woman only knew how clueless he was. He released a harsh snort of laughter. “Half the time I don’t know whether I’m coming or going where you’re concerned. The only thing I know is that you’re hurting, and I can’t stand the thought of you in pain.”
The confession pounded its way through him as if a car had struck him from behind. Her beautiful violet eyes widened with surprise, and his mind reeled at the significance of his admission. It wasn’t possible. Placido couldn’t be right.
His throat began to swell closed, and his chest felt like someone was standing on it. He saw her gaze narrow at him, and in a swift move she was free of his arms. With a lithe movement, she rolled away to come up in a low crouch before springing into an upright position. Arms folded, she watched him as he got to his feet.
“Thanks for the sympathy, but I don’t need it,” she said quietly, her stoic expression in place once more. “What I do need is for you to get the hell out of here and leave me alone.”
“Why? So you can crawl back into your hole and feel sorry for yourself?” He blew out a harsh breath at the way his sharp words made her head jerk back as if he’d struck her.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Her voice was little more than a whisper, but her eyes were blazing with the same anger he’d seen just moments ago.
“Someone who’s not going to let you keep running away from the fact that you can’t control everything that happens to you,” he rasped.
Was he pushing her too hard? He sensed the rising anger that covered the pain she fought to keep locked away from him. From herself. The bleak despair he’d sensed in her earlier had only emphasized to him how much she was struggling with.
The discovery that Marcus was her father had simply strengthened the irrational notion that because she lacked special abilities she wasn’t Sicari. Then the slaughter she’d witnessed in the nursery had only magnified the pain and anger she’d been feeling about the loss of her own child as well as the consequences of her injury.
Again, the overwhelming need to draw the pain out of her and into his own body flooded his senses. He closed the distance between them, his eyes locked with hers. She flinched but didn’t back away from him. Gently, he cupped the side of her face with
his hand.
“I told you the truth when I said I could feel everything you were feeling,” he said softly. A pulse of electric current zipped through his fingers to spread through his entire body as he grasped her by the arms and pulled her toward him. “I don’t understand how that’s possible. But what I do know is that I can’t stand by watching you deal with all the pain alone.”
“Don’t,” she murmured as her eyes closed. “Please don’t ask me to bare my soul to you.”
“You already have, carissima,” he rasped.
He didn’t tell her how hard he’d fought not to come to her in the dark of night when her emotions had been so strong they’d woken him out of a sound sleep. Not that he’d had a good night’s sleep since the first night they’d met. A shudder rippled through her as she sagged against him. The sharp bitterness of her pain was a tidal wave engulfing him. His senses reeled, but he simply tightened his embrace and held her close.
Deep, agonizing sobs echoed out of her as she trembled violently in his arms. With each tear she shed, she opened herself up to him freely, and the trust she placed in him was humbling. Her darkest emotions became his as he experienced the horror she felt the moment she entered the nursery. The sensation was so acute it was as if he were standing in that silent room seeing the bloodbath all over again. But this time he saw it through her eyes and felt the agony that had assaulted her from the innocence lost. Just as knifelike was her rage and vicious satisfaction as she’d tortured the Praetorian before taking his life.
Dante wasn’t sure how long she sobbed in his arms, but the depth of emotion she released drained him. If he’d battled more than a dozen Praetorians he couldn’t have been any more exhausted. Even his reserves were depleted.
Ever so slowly, she grew quiet and still in his embrace, and relief spread through him as her savage emotions ebbed away from them both. As her crying abated, she didn’t stir. If anything, she clung to him as if afraid to let go. Her vulnerability made him tighten his hold on her. It was a silent signal that he wouldn’t let go of her until she was ready.