by Monica Burns
She’d woken up in a windowless room that she’d assumed was a novitiate’s cell. She’d paced the floor for several hours before logic reminded her she needed sleep if she wanted to capitalize on any escape opportunity. Although it had been difficult, she’d napped on and off for several hours. It wasn’t much rest, but it was better than nothing.
At least she’d been able to remain standing as Ignacio had just stood by and allowed the Patriarch to slug her. Obviously, Nicostratus hadn’t appreciated the reminder that he’d gotten his ass kicked at the Pantheon a few weeks ago. The coppery taste of blood ran over her tongue, and she spit it out on the ground.
“Praetorian asshole,” she muttered. Nicostratus whirled around and started to close the distance between them, his fury twisting his features into a hideous mask. To her surprise, Ignacio immediately stepped in front of her.
“Excellency, she’s no good to us if she’s dead.”
Looking over Ignacio’s shoulder, Cleo saw Nicostratus study her with a malevolent expression before he smiled. The feral look on his face sent an icy chill down her spine in spite of the hate boiling inside of her. The bastardo was plotting something, and she knew she wasn’t going to like it. After a moment, Nicostratus nodded and turned away again to head up the steep path in front of them. Wheeling about on his heel, Ignacio glared at her.
“Goddamnit, Cleo. Keep your mouth shut. I’m trying to keep you alive,” he whispered.
“Don’t do me any favors, you fucking traitor,” she mumbled.
“Christus, you’re as stubborn as your mother.” Ignacio grabbed her arm and forced her to walk beside him as they followed Nicostratus.
“Don’t you dare mention my mother. If anyone trusted you more than me, it was her.” She spat more blood out of her mouth. Sweet Vesta, for an old man, the Patriarch had one hell of a punch. “Where are we going?”
Ignacio grunted something she didn’t hear, and she stumbled on the rocky path.
Behind them six Praetorians followed. She overheard one of the men say the name Alessandro, and ice immediately coated her skin. Whatever Nicostratus had planned, if he was bringing a Praetorian Dominus along, it wasn’t going to be pleasant. She glanced around her trying to figure out exactly where they were. Despite the brightness of the moon, it was still dark with all the trees shrouding the path. As they trudged upward, she recognized something familiar about the place, but she couldn’t pin down what it was.
Cleo stumbled again, and Ignacio caught her and set her upright. She jerked away from him with a vicious tug, her eyes meeting his. There was a sorrow there that tried to chip away at the layer of granite she’d encased her heart in. Not a chance in hell she was going to let him fool her again. She’d had a lot to think about in that tiny room at the Collegium. Ignacio’s betrayal made her mother’s lie about Marcus pale in comparison.
Her mother had been trying to protect her. Ignacio had simply been using them. Worse, the fucking bastardo had killed a good woman. When Cornelia had sagged against Ignacio’s sword, Cleo had known she was beyond a healer’s touch. She’d seen the life flicker out of Cornelia’s eyes just before she’d looked in Dante’s direction. The anguish on his face made it clear that he’d done the one thing Cleo was afraid he would do. He’d chosen to protect her rather than think of the safety of others on his team. It had been a terrible moment for her.
An image of Dante filled her head. Deus, how had she fallen in love with a Sicari Lord? She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at the thought. The chill layering her skin eased when she remembered his thoughts entwined with hers as Ignacio and his henchmen had taken her away. Cleo knew he’d come looking for her, but she was certain he was going to be too late. It would be better that way. She didn’t want to see anyone else die because of her.
The path they were on gave way to a plateau sparsely littered with trees and bushes. The moment she entered the area, she knew exactly where they were. The bastardo was going to throw her off the Tarpeian Rock like an ancient Roman criminal. Her gaze flitted around her as she tried to find some method of escape.
There wasn’t one. What was it Ignacio said? He was trying to save her life? If this was what he had in mind, it wasn’t much of a plan as far as she was concerned. The only way out was the path behind her. With her bound wrists, she’d find it damned difficult to get past five Praetorians and one Praetorian Dominus.
Then there was the Praetorian next to Nicostratus. The Patriarch turned his head and addressed the man as Draco. For some reason, she found it amusing that a dragon was guarding the Patriarch. A sound from the far left made her turn her head, and despite her attempt not to react, she gasped. Across the small distance between them, she met her mother’s gaze.
The relief on Atia’s face was plainly evident, and when Cleo saw Lysander emerge from the darkness, her heart skipped a beat as she looked for Dante to follow him. Several seconds passed, and her heart sank as she realized he wasn’t with them, but then neither was Marcus. It didn’t make any sense. The tension in the air was heavy, and Cleo jerked her gaze toward Nicostratus. The bastardo looked like he’d just won the lottery.
“What are you doing here, Mother?” Cleo called out as she continued to study Nicostratus. The Patriarch sensed her gaze and turned his head toward her.
“It’s quite heroic, really,” he said with a beguiling smile. “Atia has agreed to be traded for you.”
“What?” She snapped her head back toward her mother to stare at Atia in horror. “Are you insane?”
“You might be an adult, Cleopatra, but I’m still your mother and the Prima Consul. Show me the respect I’ve earned.” The sharp words made Cleo wince as she stared helplessly at her mother. The harsh look on Atia’s face eased, and Cleo felt a soft, invisible stroke on her cheek. For the first time, Cleo realized where her mother’s rare telekinetic ability had come from. Bonding with Marcus had given Atia an ability that few Sicari women possessed. The touch immediately made tears well in her eyes, and Cleo blinked hard to prevent them from falling.
“I’m delighted to see you, Lysander.” The Patriarch smiled at the scarred Sicari fighter, and Cleo could have sworn there was a look of real pleasure on the Praetorian’s face.
“I can’t say the same,” Lysander replied in an icy voice.
“Why don’t we stop playing games, Nicostratus,” Atia said with a steely calm that seemed to impress even the Patriarch. “I came as agreed. Let my daughter leave with Lysander and I’ll remain.”
“No. I won’t let you do this, Mother.” Cleo shook her head as panic swept through her.
“It’s all right, carissima. I know what I’m doing.”
“No. You don’t. This fucking bastardo is going to kill you.”
Cleo took a step toward her mother only to have Ignacio hold her back. She sent him a blistering look of hate over her shoulder, and he immediately released her. Stumbling forward, she reached her mother in just a few steps as Atia met her halfway. Enveloped in her mother’s warm hug, Cleo buried her face in Atia’s shoulder and fought back tears.
“It’s all right, bambina. I’m here now. Everything is going to be all right.” Her mother’s voice was soft and loving in Cleo’s ear as Atia held her tight.
When Cleo lifted her head, a dark rage swept across her mother’s face as she gently touched Cleo’s bruises.
“Who hit her?” Atia directed a harsh look at Nicostratus.
“She had trouble getting out of the car.” The Patriarch’s answer made Cleo shoot him an angry look over her shoulder before she returned her attention to Atia.
“Please don’t do this, Mother,” Cleo pleaded. “You’re more valuable to the Order than I am. I’m not even Sicari.”
“Not Sicari?” Atia’s appalled expression made Cleo wince. “Don’t be ridiculous. You were always too sensitive about your abilities. Your heart is more Sicari than you realize. Only a Sicari would have risked so much to save Marta or relieve Lysander of the guilt he’s carried ever since Mart
a was taken on his watch. I have never been so proud of you as I am now.”
At her mother’s words, Cleo’s fight to hold back her tears weakened considerably, and a tear slid down her cheek. She gulped back more tears as her mother gently brushed the teardrop from her face. Love glistened in Atia’s eyes as she steadily met Cleo’s gaze.
“I couldn’t save your brother, carissima, but I can save you.”
“I don’t want to be saved,” Cleo snapped as fear clawed its way through her. “I want you to get out of here. Now.”
“My mind is made up, Cleopatra.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. Her mother never used her whole name unless she was determined to have her way. Cleo met Lysander’s gaze over the top of her mother’s head. Her friend’s expression was grim as he shook his head slowly. Obviously, Lysander had fought this same battle and lost just like her.
“I grow weary of this emotional display. Either your daughter leaves or I’ll execute you both,” Nicostratus said in an impatient voice.
Atia pinned him with an icy look before returning her gaze to Cleo’s. The warmth in her mother’s eyes made Cleo’s heart twist with a grief that had already spread through her body until she ached. The pain in her jaw was nothing compared to the pain of saying good-bye to her mother.
“I love you, Mother.” She whispered the words, and Atia kissed Cleo on both cheeks.
“Not half as much as I love you, bambina,” Atia whispered as she stepped to one side and gently pushed Cleo toward Lysander. “Go on now. Lysander will take you home.”
Her gaze fixed on her mother, Cleo moved toward her friend, her heart breaking with each step she took. When she reached Lysander, he enveloped her in a bear hug that hardly eased the sorrow numbing her body.
“Don’t give up hope just yet, Cleo,” her friend murmured in her ear. “Have a little faith.”
Cleo raised her head to see Lysander’s look of determination. His black eye patch emphasized the white scars covering half of his face, his skin pulled tight with tension. There was a reflection of something else in his green eye that made her take heart. Had he planned something, or was he simply trying to ease her pain? She shook her head as he pulled a knife from his boot and cut the rope binding her hands together.
“I confess I never thought I’d have the pleasure of seeing the Order’s most prestigious member come before me without so much as a sigh of resistance.”
As Nicostratus’s gloating words drifted through the air, Cleo jerked away from Lysander and turned to see her mother standing in front of the Patriarch. There was a fierce, proud look about Atia that filled Cleo’s heart with admiration at the courage her mother was showing in the face of Nicostratus’s gleeful triumph.
“Shall we get this over with?” Atia said coolly. “I grow weary of your games.”
“As you wish.” Nicostratus turned his head toward Ignacio. “You shall do the honors, Firmani, since you arranged this little gathering.”
Cleo saw a haunted look flit across Ignacio’s face at the order, and he didn’t move. The Patriarch frowned as he nodded his head in the direction of Atia. For a moment, Cleo thought Ignacio would refuse the order, but he didn’t. His expression devoid of emotion, he walked toward Atia, and the moment her mother instinctively cringed backward, Cleo started forward. She didn’t get far, as Lysander’s fingers dug into her shoulder.
“Patience,” he whispered.
She glanced up at him and froze at the hint of satisfaction on his face. A second later, a familiar tendril of emotion wound its way through her thoughts, caressing her with a tenderness that made her heart swell with what she knew was a dangerous emotion.
“I told you I’d find you, dolce cuore.”
“So what took you so long?” She buried her vulnerability deep, unwilling to accept what her heart was telling her. When Dante didn’t respond to her sarcasm, fear suddenly gripped her that she’d dreamed his voice in her head.
Behind her there was the soft sound of rock crumbling as someone approached the clearing. She turned her head toward the noise to see Marcus and Dante emerge from the trees. In a split second the area exploded with oaths and the loud whisper of swords drawn from leather sheaths.
“You deceitful Sicari bitch,” Nicostratus roared with fury as he pulled his sword and swung it at Atia. With a cry of horror, Cleo leaped forward. Before she even reached her mother, Ignacio’s sword stopped Nicostratus’s blade from touching Atia.
The surprise on the Patriarch’s face instantly twisted into one of murderous rage, and with a quick feint, Nicostratus tricked Ignacio into leaving his chest vulnerable to the other man’s blade. In a single thrust, the Patriarch drove his sword home. As Cleo reached Atia, Lysander passed them in a blinding flash of speed to confront Nicostratus.
The sudden clash of swords exploded in the clearing as she tried to pull her mother clear of the combat. Atia viciously jerked free of Cleo’s grasp and scrambled forward to pull Ignacio away from the fighting.
“Jupiter’s Stone, Mother. I need to get you out of here.”
“Not yet,” Atia snapped as she bent over her old friend.
Conflicting emotions lashed through her as she watched her mother kneel beside Ignacio and take his hand. A part of her wanted to kill the man where he lay, but another part of her wanted to cry because he was dying. She quickly picked up Ignacio’s sword then circled her mother to kneel at her mentor’s side, making sure she had a clear view of the fighting. Ignacio grabbed her arm with his hand, and she looked down at him.
“Forgive me,” he rasped. The plea tore at her heart, but she shook her head.
“No. What you did was unforgiveable,” she whispered. “You made me think you loved us. I can’t forgive that.”
“I do . . . love you.” Ignacio coughed hard for a moment, and a trickle of blood flowed from his mouth as his breathing grew labored. “I love both of you. But he . . . took you away from me. There was . . . nothing left for me.”
His gaze shifted to Atia’s, and he lifted his hand to touch her face. With a sorrowful expression, Atia took his hand in hers and gently stroked his sweating forehead.
“You saved my life, old friend. Thank you for that.”
“Would do it . . . again,” he murmured. “Would do it . . .”
Ignacio’s voice died away as his head lolled to the side, and Atia released a small cry of grief. Dante’s familiar thoughts mingled with Cleo’s in a frantic warning. She immediately jerked her gaze up and saw one of the Praetorians charging toward her and her mother. Cleo was on her feet in one fluid movement, the sword she held scraping against the Praetorian’s blade as she stopped his weapon from cutting Atia in two.
The awkwardness of her position prevented her from pushing the other fighter back, and his gloating smile irritated the hell out of her as she fought to keep her balance. The Praetorian’s smile vanished as Atia’s foot plowed into the middle of his crotch. With a grunt of pain, the fighter clutched at his groin, and Cleo twisted her sword against his. Her weapon circled the Praetorian’s in a swift move that disarmed the fighter. Not waiting for him to recover, Cleo was behind him with the tip of her sword pressing into the back of his neck.
“You are beaten, Praetorian, and I must ask your forgiveness. Do you give it?” Cleo bit out then waited for the man’s reply.
When he muttered a harsh no, she bit down on the inside of her cheek and drove the sword straight down, killing the Praetorian instantly. As the man crumpled to the ground, Atia called out a warning, and Cleo whirled around prepared to fight off another Praetorian.
“Fuck,” she snapped as she saw two Praetorians charging toward her.
The first one to reach her nearly took her head off, but she dropped and rolled past the fighter. As she came up in a swift springboard movement, her mouth gaped open as the second Praetorian ran his sword through the other fighter. As the Praetorian turned toward her, she recognized him as the man called Draco. Her savior didn’t speak. He simply bowed sl
ightly and offered her a small smile before he ran off to help Marcus and Dante, who were fighting the remaining three Praetorians and the Dominus.
Cleo whirled around as Atia called her name and saw her mother pointing to where Lysander was battling Nicostratus. She took a quick step forward only to halt as she saw the Patriarch leave his guard open and Lysander strike the man a blow that left Nicostratus with a useless arm.
Not about to interfere with Lysander’s personal demons, she turned toward the other battle raging a short distance away. The sight of Draco deflecting a Praetorian sword aimed for her father’s back made her want to hug the man before she questioned her sanity for wanting to hug a Praetorian. When she saw Marcus falter slightly, she knew it was from surprise. The Sicari Lord barely gave Draco a nod of thanks before he launched a new attack on his Praetorian opponent.
As the Praetorian crossed swords with Marcus, the man thrust out his free hand and sent Draco flying backward. She grimaced. The Praetorian Dominus. Her gaze flitted toward Dante, who was battling the remaining three fighters by himself. He fended off one vicious attack while leaping up into the air and landing a powerful kick to the side of another fighter’s head. In the process, the third Praetorian sliced into Dante’s back. She heard him grunt with pain before he whirled about to strike out at his attacker.
Fear snaked through Cleo, and she raced forward to throw herself into the fray. Her sword clanged loudly against a Praetorian blade meant for Dante’s neck as she prevented the weapon from doing any damage. Clearly surprised by her attack, the fighter turned his head toward her.
“Time to die, bitch,” he growled fiercely.
“Not today, asshole.” Her sword raised to shoulder level, Cleo smiled and gestured at the Praetorian to attack. Inside her head, she felt the touch of Dante’s thoughts mix with hers.
“Christus, Cleopatra, will you get the fuck out of here? I can handle these bastardi.” His mental order was a vivid reminder of the argument they’d had about her going to the Sicari installation.