She shuddered. Fingers gripping his hair, Jace sought Gabriel's mouth, tasting herself on his lips. With hands desperate for his touch to erase the other, Jace slid her fingers inside the waistband of his briefs, closing around him. "I want you inside me. Now."
"Whoa. Slow down, babe." He pulled back, his lips glistening with moisture from hers. "The night's not over."
"Now, Gabriel." She writhed against him, sliding her hand further, cupping the flesh already tight and heavy with need. "Please." Urgently, she stroked him, wanting him to stop asking questions. "Make me forget."
He stared at her for a long moment before he seemed to make up his mind. "All right." His familiar voice soothed her.
Her fingernails scratched lightly against his muscles, beseeching.
"Sh-h-h...it's okay, Jace," he murmured, scooping her up in his arms and heading for his bed. "Don't worry, babe. It's okay now."
But it wasn't until he'd ripped her over a second edge, then thrust deep inside her, that she began to relax.
GREECE
Twenty-two years ago
As the long black car rolled down the lane, Dante stared at the imposing mansion ahead and wondered why, at last, his father had sent for him after ignoring him for so long.
Meanwhile, Markos had spared no opportunity to make his life hell. He had been shunned by most of the boys in the school once word had spread, but that had not been enough for the crown prince. His brother's moves had never been open, however, leaving his public behavior beyond reproach.
But sub rosa, Markos and his minions had seized every opportunity to undermine Dante's chances to succeed. He'd been falsely accused of cheating. Marijuana he'd never seen had been found under his mattress. He'd spent months sleeping with one eye open and a chair jammed beneath the doorknob, but his brother had been the master of subtlety. No trace ever remained to connect his brother to the stolen mail, the destroyed presents from Mama, the warnings to the few souls who tendered friendship to a lonely boy.
Not once had Dante breathed a word of it to anyone. There was no one to turn to, certainly not his father. He'd long ago stopped believing in all the pretty stories his father had told him about sorcerers and healers and magic spells; they were only a hoax. He would never be the protector of the amulet now. He was not a Light Walker. He and the man he'd called Papa shared no special heritage and never would. His father was a captain of industry. He had no time for a bastard son anymore.
Until this summons, that is. If Dante could have found a reason that wouldn't sound childish, he would have refused to come. But though he was almost sixteen, he'd left childhood behind long ago. He'd gritted his teeth and stayed at the academy because he was determined he would one day show his father how wrongly he'd chosen. He would make more money than his father ever dreamed, but to do that he must have proper credentials to overcome his illegitimacy.
The car halted. He emerged before the chauffeur could make his way around, then stared at the magnificent structure that was surely a few hundred years old. He thought of the modest cottage where he and his mother lived, about how hard she worked because she refused to take any of Papa's money for herself. She was beautiful still, but Papa's defection had robbed her of the vibrancy that had been her trademark, the laughing dark eyes that seemed always ready to spill some delicious secret.
He didn't want this mansion for himself, but his mother surely deserved better from the only man she'd ever loved. As he followed a servant up the marble steps, his resolve hardened. He would listen to whatever his father had to say, but he would give him nothing. Gone were the days when they'd Walked the Light together, when he'd thrilled to the Song of the Soul Star. They'd made potions and teas, and Papa had thrilled a boy's soul with stories of magic and tradition, of honor and sacred duty. His father had lost claim to a shared heritage by choosing this family over the one that had loved him so completely. Dante would listen, and then he would leave.
"Son."
The voice was the same, but as he turned, he saw that his father was not. Perhaps it was that he himself was much taller now, almost the equal of the man who'd once seemed a giant. Or perhaps it was the silver sprinkled in the once jet-black hair.
As he studied his father, he realized that something was wrong. Sorrow cloaked the man who'd seemed invulnerable. The boy who had loved this man fiercely could not turn aside, after all. He closed the distance. "What is it, Papa?"
The older man smiled. "So tall. Almost a man, aren't you?" His eyes were the same silvery gray as Dante's, but today they were iron-dull.
"Tell me what is wrong." At heart, Dante was still a healer, and buried love for this man swamped him. "What can I do?"
"No more than you have always done, my child. Be who you are, the boy I cherish."
"Are you ill?" Dante sensed a soul-sickness eating away at his father's heart. It shocked him profoundly and shifted all that he knew. His father was infinitely strong and wise. He was not this man so diminished by unknown pain.
"My wife has died."
Dante should have felt shame for the sudden leap of his heart. She was gone, the woman to whom his father had returned. Surely now he would come back to them. Mama would be happy again.
But immediately he smothered it. "I am sorry."
"She had been quite ill for some time. Her suffering is ended."
That was it, then. He'd stayed away because his wife was dying. It was understandable, but now there would be no need.
"You must wonder why I sent for you."
Dante remained silent, eager for the words that would change his life, that would bring his mother's sparkle back.
A silence grew, and in it a foreboding. Dante peered deeply into his father's eyes and saw there only regrets.
"This is very hard for me to say. I love you, and I am very proud of you and all that you have accomplished. You will be a great man someday."
But— He heard the word as loudly as if his father had shouted it. Suddenly he wanted to run away, to clap his hands over his ears before he could hear what was coming.
He would not, for the same reason he had never told anyone about his brother's malicious deeds. Nonetheless, the little boy who'd once been in awe of this man, had wanted his father to reach into his mage's bag of tricks and know without being told. To be as wise and omnipotent as he'd always seemed.
"I made my wife a promise on her deathbed. You understand the seriousness of that, do you not?"
Dante didn't want to hear it, didn't want to know anything more. All he wanted was to run from this room, race all the way to his mother's cottage and sweep her away from this man's influence.
"Do you?" his father snapped.
Where love had given way to disillusionment, now hatred sprouted fertile seeds. "Yes, sir." He focused past his father's shoulder, determined to give nothing else to this man. His mind raced as he considered and rejected options to avoid this fate.
"I cared for my wife."
"You told my mother you loved her."
His father's jaw clenched. "Cease your insolence. I am still your father."
"You never claimed me." Dante was surprised that it still had the power to hurt him. "Forget it. I'm leaving." He whirled to go.
"Please." A word he'd never expected to hear from this man. "I promised her that I would sever all ties and devote my remaining years to the son she and I shared." His voice grew hoarse. "It is little enough recompense for the pain I caused her. I did not love her as I do your mother; there is no room in one heart for that sort of passion twice. There were days I thought I would die of longing to be with your mother, and when you were born..."
His father's eyes burned. "You are precious to me, more so than you can know. You share more than my blood. You have the gift. It only comes to those born in love."
"What of him?"
His father sighed. "It would be simpler if your brother could be my heir in all ways, but—" A spasm of pain crossed his face. "You know what he is. There is a chance I ca
n save him if I can make him feel secure, if I can love him the way I—"
His father clasped his shoulder. "He is not as strong as you, but he is my eldest. I have to try to help him. Already darkness creeps into his heart. I promised her, and one day perhaps, if I succeed, you can truly be brothers. It is my fondest wish. Can you understand, my son? I cannot abandon him."
What do you want from me? Dante wanted to cry out. Haven't I sacrificed enough?
But just then he could feel again the touch of his father's hand brushing his hair. Could remember what it was to laugh with him, his father's always a little rusty at first, as if his life outside the cottage gave him few opportunities for joy.
He'd loved this man with a fierceness akin to worship. And they did indeed share an ancient calling that had been with him since before he could remember.
But peace with Markos was more remote than the light of a cold and dying star. Dante didn't want to be sent away, to give up any more than he already had. He was tired of sacrificing everything for a brother who hated him.
The sorrow and exhaustion in his father's voice reverberated in his own soul. "What is it you ask of me?"
"Only this." His father reached inside the collar of his shirt and slipped something over his head.
The amulet. Only now it was no longer glowing.
"Papa?"
"I have failed. I can no longer see the True Path or hear the Song of the Soul Star."
Papa placed the amulet in Dante's hand, and the surge of power rocked him. The Song surrounded Dante, lifted him in its Light. He could see, spinning outward in all directions, how the world could be, how all things were possible. He could—
His father gripped his shoulder, grounded him. Murmured in the Old Words and brought him back. "It is yours now. Take it and wear it. Never forget for one day that you are my son and I love you. I pass to you the torch—guard it well. Accept the responsibilities of your blood and our proud tradition. I sense that you will be one of the few Guardians who will attain full power when you find your Prism, the one whose heart speaks to yours. I found mine too late, and a divided heart diminishes your powers as surely as a cold heart does.
"Until that day, guard this well. Walk the Light, let the Song guide you. And one day when you have a son of your own, tell him the stories and teach him the ways of the Light Walkers." The heavy silver amulet with its glowing green stone settled into a steady pulse, warm against Dante's skin.
"The Eye of the Magos heals when honor defeats hate, when love vanquishes lies. Love breeds Light. Light grants power. Only in darkness does the Eye lose the True Path." Staring into his father's eyes, Dante repeated the words he'd never forgotten, clasping the amulet, feeling the power of it rush through his blood. Seeing beyond this place and time in both directions, past and future. He tensed, deeply shaken. "Papa, I am not ready."
His father's hands came to rest on his shoulders. "It is a heavy burden, I know. I did not feel ready either, when it was my turn. You will grow accustomed to it in time. But you only have to guard it now. Continue your studies of healing, and the Soul Star will help you. If you should one day find your great love, many possibilities will open to you, but whether or not that happens, always you will be protecting the portal." He smiled faintly, then touched one finger to his own chest. "Strange...the emptiness."
"Papa..." Dante did not know what to say. Too much had happened in so short a span. "I don't know enough."
"You will learn. You have a rare gift, Dante. You may be the strongest of us in many centuries." His father cupped Dante's face in his big hands, pressing one kiss to each cheek, then one to his brow. "In the name of our fathers for generation upon generation since time beyond mind, wear this in peace and harmony. Use it for good. Let your heart guide you."
He was crushed in his father's hug, the only place in his life where he'd ever felt safe. For a moment, he wanted to be a child again. The amulet burned against his skin and weighted down his heart. Seeking comfort, he burrowed into his father's embrace. "I love you so much, Papa. I will make you proud."
His father drew away slowly, his eyes fierce and sad and hurting. "I know you will." He set Dante from him. "You must go now, my son."
"Papa, can't we—?" Abruptly he stopped, unable to bring his father more pain. With the dawning of a new maturity, he saw his father as a man, mortal and flawed, not the god he'd believed him to be.
He straightened and composed himself, carefully stifling the cry clawing at his throat. "Goodbye, Papa."
His father looked old and shrunken. "Son, I..."
Dante clasped the amulet and prayed for courage. Felt its comforting warmth and knew he would never be truly alone again. "It's all right, Papa. I understand."
But that didn't ease the pain of parting from the man who had given him life.
Before he could give into unmanly tears, he strode quickly away.
Chapter Four
Cassie kicked the dirt at her feet, watching rocks and small chunks of dirt tumble down the slope in Fort Marcy Park. The vista before her lay bare to the golden sunlight, yet behind her shadows still clasped traces of cool night air. She breathed in the scent of freedom, hearing the bird calls, the soughing of the wind, the preternatural stillness.
Dante thought she was picking up Melinda to go shopping; he didn't watch her that closely in the daytime. It was nighttime when the drawbridge went up and her jailer's eyes sharpened.
But Cassie didn't want to shop or to see Melinda, at least not yet. She needed to get away, to think. She was no closer to The Club after last night.
She sighed and kicked the dirt again.
"You mad at the world or someone in particular?"
Heart pounding, Cassie whirled to face the intruder.
"Whoa there." Hands raised, he smiled, hazel eyes sparkling. "I didn't mean to scare you."
Curly auburn hair framed his friendly face. Cassie guessed he was in his early twenties, around six feet tall, his build lean and wiry.
"I can leave you alone, if you'd prefer." His voice was warm, a teasing note making her ashamed that she'd been so ready to run.
Cassie shrugged. "It's a free country." Lowering her voice, she muttered, "For some people, at least."
He chuckled and extended a hand. "Jimmy Carroll. Sorry someone's making you unhappy."
His smile was infectious. "I'm Cassie—" Her last name always screwed things up. "Just...Cassie."
Jimmy nodded as though names didn't matter. "So who's got your goat?"
The corners of her mouth turned down. "My brother."
"What's he doing? Not that it's any of my business."
Suddenly she wanted to talk to someone who had nothing to fear from Dante, no reason to bow and scrape to him. "He's a lot older and thinks he's my father."
"What's your father say?"
"He and my mother are dead."
"So this brother's your guardian?"
She stuck out her chin. "I'm—" She glanced sideways, deciding that he might think she was a kid if she told her age. "I'm twenty—but he controls all my money."
Jimmy shrugged. "So get a job. Move out."
Cassie frowned. "You don't understand."
"Don't want to lose that shiny new convertible, that it? The expensive lifestyle that provides that five thousand dollar watch?" A sneer tinged his voice.
She grew quiet. She wanted her freedom, but... Looking at Jimmy's shabby clothes, she knew he wouldn't understand. "I don't care about luxuries."
"Sure you do."
A sharp retort sprang to her lips, but she stifled it. He confused her. What was preventing her from running away, making her own life? Then she thought about living on what she could make. What skills did she have? How would— Cassie shook her head. She already had enough to think about. "It's not that simple."
"Oh, but it is." He swept an arm toward the trees nearby.
Cassie saw a sleeping bag open, a knapsack at the head. "You slept here?"
His eyes scann
ed the horizon. "Great view from my bedroom, don't you agree? See, you don't need a fancy house with big windows to see vistas when you wake up. A little dodging the cops is the only price required."
"But where do you clean up?" Cassie eyed his dirty clothes with distaste.
"Truck stops, the Y." He shrugged. "Here and there."
"You're like, a drifter?"
Her fascinated horror must have shown.
Jimmy laughed. "Lots of people have done it before me. Ever heard of Jack Kerouac? Hey, even Jesus wandered the roads."
"What about your family?"
His eyes clouded. "They don't care."
"Must be nice to be so free." Cassie sighed in envy.
"Sometimes."
"You don't have anyone telling you what to do."
"What's stopping you?"
His look challenged her. Unsettled her. "But I don't want—" This.
"What do you want?"
She frowned. Being all alone, no rules at all? It sounded good, yet sort of scary.
Cassie retreated from the cliff of that great unknown. She could name one thing. He probably couldn't help, but she had to start somewhere. "I want to go to The Club."
His head turned swiftly in her direction. "What club?"
He didn't know. She sighed. "Never mind. Listen, I have to leave." She turned to go.
"You want an invitation?"
Cassie's heart beat madly. "I might already have one."
"If you did, you wouldn't be standing here, talking to someone like me."
"I'm no snob."
He laughed, and something in it was infectious. "Sure you are." He threw one arm around her shoulders. "But hey, I don't discriminate in my friends. I'll take all kinds, even rich little snobs."
Cassie shook off his arm, temper rising. "I'm not like that, and I don't want to talk to you anymore."
"I can show you things you never even dreamed of in that castle of yours, Princess."
Delicious fear mingled with excitement. He was really cute, after all, and if he could get her into The Club... A tiny smile curved the edges of her mouth as she gave him a slow, sideways glance.
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