by Zoe Forward
She whispered, “I’m glad you’re here. Sorry I attacked you.”
“I swear to you again, although this is going to hurt me, I won’t…I’m going to prove to them you’re not a threat. It’s a way out.” He gritted his teeth. Even though he was seated, his body wobbled as if about to fall over. “Fuck, it hurts.”
“What’s wrong? It’s doing it again to you, isn’t it? You want me to try—”
“No,” he interrupted. “I’ll get a grip on it.”
“I want to help. This is my fault.”
He held up his hand to keep her away as he stood and stumbled a few feet away. “It’s not your fault. That’s a part of why I despise all of this. Why I hate…” He held up his wrist and glared at it. “This. Don’t help me, Nova. Repeated magic will have a price. I don’t want you to pay for what’s my issue.”
“Maybe, but at least you’ll be in less pain now. Let me try.”
“I’m okay right now.”
“You’re not. I’m sorry I hit you. I made it worse.”
He sifted a hand through his hair and dropped his head. The agony in his huge, tense body called to her.
She moved her legs to dangle over the edge of the bed. “Roman, let me help you. Stop being so freaking stubborn.”
“I’m not used to people wanting to help me. This is all new. I’m not unappreciative. It’s just I’ve never let anyone into my life like this. I don’t take people with me on my missions or involve myself with anyone else. I deceived my handler and the king to keep you safe. I’m disregarding a direct order. Because…” He shifted to look over his shoulder at her. “You matter to me. I don’t know how it’s possible in less than two days, but you do.”
“It’s just because I’m female and lycan, right?”
He cursed and threw a hand against the wall, taking short breaths. She hated watching him like this. Guilt and impotency swamped her. How could she help him?
“Perhaps, at first, but it’s not that simple. You’re mouthy, unpredictable, and a witchy badass who gets magic in a way I never will. You’re unique, and you matter. I’ll handle the pain. I swear we’re going to figure this out.”
Chapter Fourteen
“What’s your mother like?” Nova speed-walked to keep up with Roman. Milan’s ancient stone architecture intrigued her, not that she remembered if she’d ever seen it before. Mattered not. She didn’t have time for art and buildings.
“Wait a second. Would you please slow down?” She dodged three women consulting a map, which caused her to end up farther behind him. The jaw dropped on the one woman while she stared at Roman. She said something in English about Italian men being hot.
Roman paused to allow Nova to catch up, grabbed her hand in a non-romantic keep-up gesture, and resumed his brutal pace.
“Smaller stores are closed today. Got to be something in the Quadrilatero d’Oro,” he muttered.
She grabbed his arm, tugging him to a halt. “Why are we shopping?”
He waved at the jeans, I-love-Milan T-shirt, and the beaded jacket he’d found for her at a tourist trap near the airport. His once-over was far from disparaging, lingering on her chest before dipping downward. His voice came out hoarse. “There’s nothing wrong with your outfit, but I thought you’d prefer to meet my mother for a formal Sunday dinner in a dress.”
“Shopping sounds smart.” Her hand drifted to her face. “I shouldn’t meet anyone looking like this.”
“I can barely tell. The bruising is almost gone. A bit of makeup…” He scanned her face, slightly wincing, before he took off again. He sucked as a liar.
She struggled once more to keep up. “Can’t you dump me somewhere and pick me up after this dinner?”
He glanced around and said as if he hadn’t heard her, “We’ll go to the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele. It’s closer.”
Minutes later beneath a high, vaulted glass ceiling, she was surrounded by designer shops—Prada, Versace, Dolce, Valentino. He shuttled her into a coffee shop. The moment the door closed after they entered, her eyes drifted closed as she breathed in the rich smells of coffee and pastry. When she realized he wasn’t yanking her to move and that she’d probably spent a moment too long smelling, she met his gaze, face hot.
He smiled. The upward shift of his lips widened until white teeth showed his genuine amusement. The tips of his sharp canines peeked out.
“What?” She shrugged. No one else in the shop stared at her, and there were a lot of people milling about. “Am I embarrassing you?”
“No. People rarely stop to appreciate the aroma. Of course, it couldn’t be more perfect when one is starving.” He inhaled deeply, obviously enjoying the smell, too. His smile broadened.
She grinned. “Never shop hungry.”
“Cappuccino?”
“Espresso keeps me awake for days. Latte is fine.” She placed a hand on her chest, wide-eyed. “I remembered something. I don’t do espresso.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners with his slight smile.
“I don’t do espresso!” She gave him an impromptu hug.
“Now people are looking,” he whispered.
“Oh.” She fast-perused the bakery display. “A croissant might be nice, too. Thanks.”
He nodded and waved her to a free table. Several women stared at Roman as he moved to the counter to order, not that he noticed. He moved through people as if they didn’t interest him. He knew where they were, but she’d noticed he avoided direct interaction and contact unless necessary. Such a contradiction for someone who spent his life protecting humans from things that would consume their nightmares. She wondered if it wasn’t just about avoidance of people, but life in general. Perhaps, he survived by focusing on duty and didn’t actually live life. She was glad she made him notice the smell.
He returned to the table with a pile of pastries and two coffees.
“Hungry?” she asked.
“Let’s figure out what you like.” He waved at the pastries. How thoughtful.
She picked up a small biscuit cookie to nibble but shook her head. “Too crunchy.”
“Try the scone,” he recommended.
One bite. “Nope. No scones. Maybe I’m not a pastry person.”
“I’m taking notes over here.” He almost spit out his sip of coffee from laughter when she had to empty her mouth into a small napkin after biting into a cheesy sweet concoction.
“Sorry.” Her face went hot. “I’ll stick with croissants. What about you? What do you like?”
He shrugged. “I’m not picky.”
“Is it bad to be picky? Does it mean I’m high maintenance?”
“Maybe you’re not into sweets.”
“If I dribbled chocolate all over you, I’d lick it off and like it.” She slapped a hand over her mouth. “Did I just say that out loud? Forget I said that.”
“No undoing that. It’s stuck in here.” He tapped his head. “Moon madness.”
“It’s mid-morning. There’s no moon in the sky.”
He peeked out the window. “Maybe not a full moon, but there’s one in the sky. This insanity is our bodies cranking up for the main event later today.”
His eyes traveled down her body and back up; he wet his lips with his tongue.
Her mind flashed back to the moment his lips were on hers, the way his fingers had dug into her, the desperation flowing from his fingertips. Things were about to get a lot more interesting as the day wore on.
In silence, they ate for a while.
She leaned back and stared at him. “You may have to answer to someone, but you like what you do most of the time. Why do you do it? Save humans against things that go bump in the night?”
“I’m cursed to follow orders.”
“Sure, you’re forced into some things, but that only goes so far.”
He wiped a few
crumbs off the table. “Perhaps so. It’s a good cause. Most of the time. Occasionally, the missions we’re ordered on are based on erroneous information.”
She reached out and put her hand over his. “I might be as bad as they made me out. I don’t remember. I appreciate you trying to help me figure it out, but if I start to show an inclination toward evil or world domination, do your job.”
He rotated his hand to hold hers and stared at their connection. “The fact you considered it means you’re not someone I should kill.”
“We don’t know.” She removed her hand from his. “Tell me something about yourself. What pastry do you like? Are you a scones person?”
He shook his head. “I’m not into a lot of sweets, but I’ve realized I like chocolate.”
…
The third Dolcé gown was perfect. The black tube dress with draped mesh sleeves conveyed the perfect blend of glam chic and modesty.
The sales lady handed her matching shoes. She exited the dressing room to find Roman reclining on a stiff-looking red leather sofa. The dress made her feel like a newly birthed fairy princess afflicted with a serious case of insecurity. He’d been surfing online on the new cell phone he’d gotten at the airport while parked on the courtesy sofa during the past two dress options.
“Does it work?” She spun.
His appreciative visual perusal was enough of a yes.
She turned over the price tag and cringed.
Roman put his hand over hers. She jumped, startled to find him to be so close.
“I’ve got it. Who cares what it costs? Looks like it was made for you.”
“We…I don’t need to be this extravagant.”
“I already bought it when you asked for matching shoes. Besides, you’ll be relieved once you meet my mother.”
“What? How’d you know I liked it?”
“The clerk said it fit.” He held up a hand. “It’s done. I don’t have time to run from store to store.” He froze and tilted his head.
“What?”
“Someone followed us.”
“How do you know?”
“Something bad is going to happen. It’s…” He gripped his arm over the angel tattoo with the opposite hand. “I…” He stiffened and cocked his head. “It’s a grenade. I heard the click.”
“That seems extreme. What are you—”
He tossed her over his shoulder and ran for the back of the store. Constrained in the dress and in shock, it took her too long to react. She heard it before felt it.
Boom.
He jumped through the back door, tucking her into him. A blast took them airborne like they’d been hit unexpectedly by a huge ocean wave. They were tossed into the wall of the building across the alley. He never lost his hold on her, somehow rolling her into him, using his body to shield her from all impacts.
A high-pitched ringing lingered inside her ears.
With his head in his hands and big body still arched over hers, he moaned, but it sounded far away. Bits of dusty debris covered him. A few cuts and scrapes dotted his face, neck and hands.
Oh, God. Was he okay?
“Are you hurt?” Her voice sounded distant to her. She ran her hands over his head and face and then arms, finding only small abrasions. But on his backside his jacket and shirt were shredded where debris had torn him up. “Your back. It’s—”
He said something, but she couldn’t hear yet, the ringing reverberating in her skull. She shook her head.
“A mess, but it’ll heal,” he boomed. He massaged his head.
He sounded like this wasn’t new, that this happened all the time. No one should be almost blown up on a regular basis. That was most definitely not normal. Not okay.
“What was that? What exploded?” She could hear her own voice through the ringing, which probably meant she was shouting.
“Pretty sure it was a grenade.”
“What did you say?” She pointed at her ears. When he spoke again she focused on his lips, putting the sounds she detected together with the movement.
“Doesn’t matter. Something to ensure we didn’t survive.”
“Those poor people. They didn’t deserve—”
“It’s unacceptable collateral damage, but whoever did this didn’t care. Hold on…” He ran into the smoldering building and returned in the blink of an eye. Superspeed move. “There aren’t survivors. We can’t do anything for them.” He knelt next to her. “Stay here behind this car. If anyone approaches you that isn’t me, fight.” He tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Your hearing will go back to normal in a few minutes. If you were human, it might take a few days, but—”
“Where are you going?”
“To find the assassin.”
She gripped his biceps, not wanting to let him out of her sight. “I can—”
“Stay. Don’t move. I’m faster without you. I’ll be back.” In a blink, he was gone, her hands clutching only air.
She drew her knees up and rested her chin on top of them. For endless minutes, she waited. The killers weren’t going to stop coming after her until she died—or at least until the king said she was dead or rescinded the contract. Would they want to see her body after she was dead to prove her gone?
Sirens sounded in the distance. She couldn’t be here when the police arrived.
Her butt hurt as much as her head when she moved, but she peeked around the car. No one nearby, but she could see flashing lights
This car… Could she hotwire a car? She peeked through the window of the mid-90s white Peugeot. Sensation prickled the back of her neck and gathered in her lower back. It wasn’t so much warning as conviction. She removed the key from her bra, the best place to store important items when not carrying a purse.
Sensation zipped through her ear. The annoying ringing stopped—thank goodness for lycan healing. As she rounded the car, she muttered an incantation that came into her head.
“My goal lies beyond the teeming main,
voyaging well beyond the abounding sea;
fear will not steal my strength,
I need the key of Glen Bolcain.”
She shoved the key into the driver’s side door. The lock didn’t budge.
Then what was that incantation about?
Knocking out the glass seemed reasonable, but using a naked elbow would hurt, and she liked these new shoes too much to sacrifice one of them.
Roman appeared on the passenger side and shoved his leather-protected elbow through the glass. He brushed glass out of the seat and leaned over to unlock the driver’s side.
“Can you hotwire a car?” he asked. “That’s Flynn’s specialty, not mine.
“I don’t know.” She stared at the car and nothing came to her.
“Sirens are getting closer,” he prompted.
“I don’t know what to do with wires and shit.” She muttered the incantation again and shoved the key into the ignition. It turned. The engine rolled over once, sputtered and stopped. That was the car’s fault, not the spell. She pumped the gas pedal and turned the ignition switch again; the car sputtered to life.
“How’d you do that?” he asked.
“It’s the key of Bolcain.” She pointed at the key in the ignition before she shoved the car in gear and zipped out of the alley between arriving emergency vehicles.
“Of course it is,” he said sarcastically. “What the hell is that?”
“No clue, but it just turned on the car. The info on how to make it work kind of bubbled up inside my head. I figured I’d go with it.” She dodged emergency vehicles headed up the street and turned quickly to drive away from them. “Did you get whoever tossed the grenade?”
“Yes.”
When he said no more, she asked, “And?”
“He’s dead.”
She stopped at a red li
ght and waited for him to clarify. “Did you kill him?”
“No. He was dead in his car up the street from the stores. Shot in the head.”
“Then, how do you know he threw the explosive at us?” This kept getting weirder and weirder.
“He had three more grenades in a bag next to him.”
“Who shot him?”
“No clue. No one else was around other than a few curious onlookers.” Roman pointed at the green light.
She hit the gas. “Does that mean there’s someone else on our team? I’m confused.”
“Me too. I don’t like it. I meant it when I told Flynn there’s a lot more going on than the king simply putting a contract out on you and asking me to eliminate you. Drive to the airport.” He rattled off turn by turn directions.
She broke their several-minute silence by reaching out to touch his forearm. “Do you need help for your back? We can find an ER or something.”
“I’ll shower at the plane before we get picked up tonight. Looks like your dress is still in decent shape. I tried to protect you from damaging it.”
She took his hand and squeezed. “Thank you for not leaving me there.”
He ducked away from her gaze.
“You could’ve run without me. If I’d died, the curse would stop hurting you.”
He didn’t look her way but stared out the side window and massaged his tattooed wrist. “I won’t do that. I won’t abandon you.”
“I swear the same to you. I won’t leave you unless you truly want me to go. I won’t hurt you, not willingly.”
He squeezed her hand back. “Thank you, tesoro.”
Chapter Fifteen
As the sun dropped in the sky, they walked to the end of a dilapidated dock free of people with a few small powerboats tied in. Roman adjusted the lapels of his dark suit. He wished he could ease the awkwardness between him and Nova, but he couldn’t. He’d never brought anyone to Sunday dinners. None of the brothers had.