by Lynsay Sands
Marcus was silent for a minute. He knew Divine—Basha, he corrected himself, had been feeding off the hoof despite the Council’s banning it. But she hadn’t known about the ban. He wasn’t sure that was enough to get her off the hook for it, but surely it had to be a consideration. He couldn’t imagine she’d done anything else that would label her a rogue.
“About that,” Mirabeau said, and Marcus peered at her blankly. He hadn’t said anything. Oh right, he recalled, she could read his thoughts.
“About what?” he asked finally.
“The rogue thing,” she said with a grimace.
“What about it?” he asked warily, suspecting by the way she was avoiding his eyes that he wouldn’t like what she was about to say.
Mirabeau hesitated and then heaved a deep sigh. “Well, Lucian and the boys had Leonius sometime back. About two years ago. They raided a hotel in Toronto, and caught Leonius. Well, actually, they shot him,” she corrected herself. “Through the heart with an arrow. He wasn’t going anywhere.”
Marcus narrowed his eyes when she paused again. He knew the story, but asked anyway, “And?”
“And someone took him. Just picked him up and carried him off while everyone was busy with his victims.”
“Someone?” Marcus questioned grimly.
“Yeah, well, they didn’t know who at first, but Mortimer, the head of Lucian’s Rogue Hunters—”
“I know who Mortimer is,” Marcus interrupted impatiently.
“Right. Well, he reviewed all of the hotel security tapes and it was a woman. Cameras in the stairwells showed a blond woman carrying Leonius up to the roof. I saw them. There were no really good pictures of her face, but from what I saw, it could have been Divine. A blond Divine.”
Marcus didn’t comment, but his heart was sinking. He’d discovered last night, while his head was under Divine’s skirt, that her hair was not naturally the color she presently wore. Her hair was dyed.
“And then there’s Dee,” Mirabeau added.
“Dee?” Marcus asked. “The mortal victim and kind of co-conspirator to one of Leonius’s sons?”
Mirabeau nodded. “She described a woman connected to Leonius named Basha, an ice blonde . . . who was his mother,” she finished apologetically.
Marcus was so startled by that one that not only did he stab at the next apple with enough enthusiasm to break the stick, but he missed the apple entirely and broke the stick in his own hand. Cursing, he dropped the apple and jumped back, holding his injured hand by the wrist.
“Okay. No problem,” Tiny said soothingly, at his side at once. The big man took his injured hand, quickly removed the stick, and wrapped a dish towel around the wound, then turned to open the small bar-sized fridge and retrieved a bag of blood for him.
Marcus slapped the bag to his mouth the moment Tiny handed it over, and then he just stood there, his head swimming. Divine was Basha . . . Leonius’s mother?
“Wait a minute,” he muttered, tearing the bag from his mouth. Fortunately, the damned thing had already emptied or it would have made one hell of a mess. “Divine can’t be this Basha the mother of Leonius. It’s not possible. She’s immortal. He’s no-fanger. The child gets their blood from their mother, whether they are mortal, immortal, or no-fanger. An immortal woman can’t have a no-fanger child.”
Tiny’s eyebrows rose and then he glanced to Mirabeau in question.
“He’s right,” Mirabeau confirmed at once. “And while I did find a son in Divine’s thoughts, his name is Damian not Leonius, but—”
“So she can’t be this Basha who is Leonius’s mother,” Marcus said with relief.
Mirabeau shook her head. “But I read it in her mind. She is Basha Argeneau.”
“So?” Marcus asked with irritation. “The other Basha could be Basha Smith or even Livius or something. They could both just have the same first name. I’m sure you’re not the only Mirabeau in the world and I’m certainly not the only Marcus.”
Mirabeau remained silent for a minute, and then shook her head. “I don’t know. She looks an awful lot like the woman on the security footage and she thinks she’s rogue or wanted for some reason.”
Tiny peered from one of them to the other and then settled his gaze on Marcus. “I don’t know either, but I think you’d better find out and do it quickly, before Lucian gets here.”
Marcus sighed and ran his good hand through his hair with frustration. “How the hell am I supposed to do that?”
“Like Mirabeau said, you have to spend time with her and gain her trust,” Tiny said simply.
“If only it was as simple as you make it sound,” Marcus muttered.
“It is,” Tiny assured him. “If you do what I say . . . and we have to have a quick chat with Jackie, Vincent, and Madge before Divine comes out.”
Seventeen
Divine had meant to be quick about her shower and she would have been if she could have shut off her brain. Sadly, the moment she was standing under the shower, her mind returned to that morning and what had happened with Marcus. The man was definitely her life mate. Or he could have been, she thought unhappily. She suspected he wouldn’t want her for a life mate if he knew who she was, and Divine couldn’t help thinking how ironic it was that after more than twenty-seven hundred years she met her life mate and he was the enemy.
And she was so pathetic her mind was doing somersaults trying to figure out how she could have him . . . which was impossible. She knew it was. Still, her mind was running in circles trying to work it out. Maybe if she explained what had happened. Maybe if she could make him understand . . .
Of course there was no way of doing that. She couldn’t be honest with him without risking . . . Well, she wasn’t sure what she’d be risking. What would he do if she admitted she was Basha Argeneau? Would he restrain her until Uncle Lucian could get there? Or maybe he’d just kill her as other spies and scouts and so-called Rogue Hunters had been killing her grandsons for the last two thousand and seven hundred years, most of them under the age of ten, innocent children who had done nothing but been unlucky enough to be born her grandchildren.
Divine sighed and pressed her forehead against the cool tiles of the shower wall, suddenly ashamed that she’d even let Marcus touch her, or shared a smile or laugh with Vincent and Jackie. She was consorting with the enemy. People she’d feared and loathed most of her life.
On the other hand, her mind argued, her own grandsons had knocked her out and dragged her away from her RV and possibly later set it on fire, although she wasn’t sure about that. It could have been Allen Paulson, or some other mortal she’d angered over the years by foiling their less-than-pleasant plans.
And her son was lying to her, Divine recalled. Damian had claimed that Marcus had knocked her out and the boys had saved her and brought her to him, when she knew he knew that wasn’t true. She could understand his reluctance to tell her that his sons had done it and turn her against them, but this made her wonder . . . What other lies had he told her over the years?
More importantly, what had Damian done that Abaddon thought she might turn from her own son? That concern troubled her more than anything else. It made her suspicious and want to avoid him, and it made her frustrated that she couldn’t read him. If she just knew . . . well, not knowing, she was imagining all sorts of things, all of them horrible, because it would take a lot to turn her from the boy she’d given birth to. She already knew that. Divine wasn’t happy with the way he lived his life, or the people he surrounded himself with. She wasn’t happy with how he raised his boys or his insistence on having so many of them. But he was her son. It would take breaking her rules on feeding and harming a mortal, or even an immortal to turn her from him. Surely he hadn’t done that, though? She had raised him with the rules she’d been taught. He knew better than that . . . didn’t he?
Sighing, Divine turned off the shower and stepped out to dry herself. It seemed to her that there was only one thing for her to do. She needed to slip away from the o
thers, reclaim her motorcycle, and disappear. She needed to leave America and head somewhere else, perhaps somewhere in Asia this time. North America was too risky now. And leaving the country had the added benefit of putting some distance between herself and her son.
This wouldn’t be the first time Divine had done that. She’d left Europe to put distance between them because of the way he lived, only he’d followed. This time she would have to ensure she didn’t leave a trail. She would be alone again, but Divine was used to that, or she should have been, but somehow this time was different. The idea was wearying beyond belief. Perhaps because this time she would be leaving behind a life mate and any chance of ever having one. It had taken her 2,758 years to find Marcus; she wasn’t foolish enough to imagine she’d find another possible life mate around the next corner. Once she walked away from him, that dream, one she’d never dared to dream before this, was dead. It made the future seem unbearably bleak.
Pushing these depressing thoughts firmly away, Divine concentrated on dressing. She’d found it was always best to live in the here and now rather than waste time with past events or what she couldn’t have and what could have been. Mind you, living in the here and now wasn’t always easy, but she did her best.
When Divine made her way out to the kitchenette, Marcus was standing at the counter, poking Popsicle sticks into apples. Mirabeau then dipped them in the pots of chocolate or caramel and rolled them in the peanuts and/or marshmallows before setting them on a tray to harden.
While they did that, Tiny was manning a frying pan that was putting out the most amazing smells Divine had encountered in her many years.
“Is there something I can do to help?” Divine asked after watching for a moment.
All three glanced around and smiled at her in greeting, but Tiny immediately opened a cupboard door and retrieved two plates to hold out to her, saying, “Perfect timing. The omelet is done. Take these.”
Divine moved up beside the big man and took the empty plates. The moment she did, Tiny cut his masterpiece in half and slid each portion onto one of the plates. She peered down at the steaming plates with interest, unsure what she was looking at and knowing only that it smelled lovely.
“And here,” Tiny added, reaching into the oven with an oven mitt to retrieve a plate with four slices of buttered toast on it that he’d apparently stored there to keep warm. He slid two slices of the golden toast on each plate. He then paused to consider his handiwork before nodding with satisfaction. “Enjoy.”
“Thank you,” Divine murmured.
“Don’t thank me until you taste it,” he said with a smile, and then glanced around the kitchen, pursed his lips, and muttered, “I’m not sure where you’re going to eat though. I’m afraid we’ve sort of taken over everywhere with our apple making.”
“No problem,” Marcus said stabbing one last stick into an apple and then reaching to take the plates from Divine. “We’ll eat in the front cab.”
“The front cab?” Divine asked uncertainly as he started to turn away.
“Yeah. Come on,” he said, heading for the lounge.
“Hang on, you’ll need these,” Tiny said, and when Divine turned back he was holding out a tray with silverware, two cups of coffee, cream and sugar.
“Thanks.” Divine took the tray and turned away to follow Marcus.
He led her through the lounge to the curtained off front of the RV and held the curtain aside for her to pass. Divine slipped by him and then hesitated before choosing the passenger seat. She then glanced to the center console between the two front seats, happy to see that like on hers, a flap could slide forward to make it a table of sorts.
“The seats turn too,” Marcus said, settling in the driver’s seat.
Divine merely nodded and set the tray on the console, then leaned to the side a bit to adjust her seat so that it would turn toward the center console. She then took both plates from Marcus so that he could do the same.
“Thanks,” he murmured, taking back one of the plates. After a hesitation, he turned the tray so that it only took half the console. That left just enough room for their plates to rest next to it and they both set their plates down.
“It smells good,” Divine murmured, peering over the folded-over flap of something pale yellow on her plate. “Tiny called it an omelet?”
“Egg folded over—” Marcus lifted part of the upper flap to see what was inside. “—cheese, onion, green pepper, and sausage.”
Divine lifted the top corner of her half to peer inside. It looked a bit of a mess inside, but smelled divine.
“Christian loves these. Caro makes them for him all the time,” Marcus commented, cutting off a piece. “I’ve never been tempted to even try one before this, but now . . .” He paused and smiled wryly as his stomach rumbled, then shrugged and popped the bite of omelet into his mouth.
Divine watched him chew and swallow and then raised an eyebrow. “Well?”
“Mmmm, amazing,” Marcus announced, cutting off another piece.
“Thank you,” Tiny called out from the other side of the curtain.
Divine chuckled and cut a piece for herself. She was more tentative about putting it in her mouth though. This eating business was really quite new to her still. She shifted the food around inside her mouth, chewed experimentally, and then smiled as she swallowed. Turning to the curtain, she called out, “He’s right. Amazing.”
“Thank you,” Tiny repeated cheerfully.
They ate in silence for a bit, but it had been so long since she’d eaten that Divine was full before she’d eaten a third of her omelet. She hadn’t eaten much last night either, she recalled as she set her plate down and turned her attention to the coffees on the tray. Madge and Bob drank coffee all the time. Divine had never tried it. Now she peered at the dark liquid uncertainly.
“Bob drinks his with cream and sugar, but Madge takes it black. Less calories she says,” Divine commented.
“You don’t have to worry about calories,” Marcus said with amusement. “But if you aren’t sure how you’ll like it, try it black and then add cream and sugar and try it again.”
“Good idea,” she said, and picked up the nearest cup to take a sip, grimacing at the flavor. Good God it was bitter and . . . well, she didn’t even know how to describe it. Swallowing the bit she’d taken, Divine set the cup back and put two teaspoons of sugar in, and then poured some cream in as well until it was a pretty caramel color. She stirred it for quite a while before risking tasting it again.
“Well?” Marcus asked.
Divine shrugged a bit. “Better.”
He chuckled at her lack of enthusiasm and fixed his coffee the same way, then took a sip and sighed. “I like it.”
She smiled at his expression. He looked . . . satisfied, she decided, and sipped at her coffee again.
“Shall I tell you about Atlantis now?”
Divine glanced up with surprise at the question. “Now?”
“You have anything better to do?” he asked.
Smiling wryly, she shook her head. She could hardly escape just now, unless she could come up with an excuse to slip his presence for a bit.
“Maybe you should tell me what you know about our . . . state?”
“Our state?” she asked with amusement.
“Well, why we’re different than mortals. Do you know about nanos?”
Divine nodded. “Yes. My nanny only told me that I was different than others and needed blood to survive, but my gran told me once that I was different because I had nanos and they were what needed the extra blood.” She smiled faintly at the memory. “When I asked what nanos were she said they were basically little tiny miracle workers in our blood that kept us healthy and well.”
“That’s it?” Marcus asked with a frown.
“It was bedtime and she was trying to get me to sleep,” Divine explained and then sighed and added, “I did ask once or twice about the nanos, but we were usually in the middle of something when I thought of it; te
aching me to control minds, or how to stalk prey . . .” She shrugged. “Grandfather promised they’d teach me everything eventually, but the priority was to ensure I knew how to survive and knew the rules about feeding. After that they could teach me our history.”
“The rules about feeding?” Marcus asked, eyes intent.
“Grandfather had rules,” Divine explained and listed them off, “I was never to draw attention to myself, my people, or what we are. When feeding, I was to always treat my host with the respect they deserved and never cause them pain or distress. And never ever was I to feed to the point of harming the health of, or killing, my host.”
Marcus sat back, expression thoughtful. When several moments passed like that, Divine asked, “So what are the nanos? And what has Atlantis to do with us?”
He hesitated and then said, “I’m going to give you the short answer.”
“Okay,” she said.
“Atlantis is where our ancestors came from. It was somewhat isolated from the rest of the world, and technologically advanced. While humans outside Atlantis were still wielding spears and sleeping around fires, our ancestors’ technology was beyond what we have even now today. One of the areas where their science was strongest was in health. Their scientists set out to develop a way to repair the human body internally, to mend wounds and fight infection without the need for invasive surgery or antibiotics and such. Nanos were their answer. Minuscule little . . .” Marcus hesitated and then said helplessly, “I’m no scientist, I’m not sure what they are exactly. I know they’re partially made up of human tissue or blood. They use blood to propel and reproduce themselves and they’ve been programmed like computers, with the human anatomy and whatnot and with the task of keeping their host at their peak condition.”
She arched her eyebrows. “So our needing blood is because the nanos use blood to reproduce themselves?”
“And to make repairs and fight infections, etc.,” Marcus said. “They also repair damage from the sun, pollution, illness, injuries, poisons, toxins . . . basically anything. And apparently it takes a lot more blood than we can produce to do all that.”