Tate's Task

by Lilith Darville

  I wrench my eyes away from his hand and look right at that smirking mouth, then eyes that, once again, look as if they know exactly what I’m thinking.

  I get up and walk over to the coffee service sitting on a side table and busy myself pouring and dressing a cup. But that doesn’t stop me from noticing as Nameless rests his guitar against the side of the chair and glides over beside me. I have to work to breathe as he steps close to my personal space. I step back. He follows. I try to hold my ground, but my traitorous body won’t let me. He walks me back another step until my back hits the wall. He takes the mug from my hands and carefully places it on a small side table, then puts his hands on either side of my head. Dear gods.

  “Please tell me you read minds, too, because if you do, you know I’m telling you to back the fuck off.” Haul my ass over your knee.

  “Don’t worry, little Ren, I’m not here to accost you. It’s my turn to babysit you, that’s all.” He gives me the smirk that goes along with his liquid-sex-filled voice and directly to my blood-filled clit.

  “And now you’re calling me a bird?”

  I’m rewarded with another smirk. “Think what you like. You usually do. Oh, and while you’re on my watch, you’ll do exactly as I say, or I’ll cheerfully warm your ass again. I have your number now.” He leans forward until his nose is three hairs from the line he draws along the side of my neck. He draws in a deep breath, then steps back, pivots and saunters back to his precious guitar.

  “You don’t know me.” Can I sound any more like a sulky child?

  He just grins as he silently strums his guitar. “Au contraire. I’m beginning to think we have unfinished business. I suspect our Francis and Robert are both off trying to solve that little mystery right now, leaving you with me. So now what?”

  I’m about to give him a why-don’t-you-tell-me retort and almost clamp my hand over my mouth to hold the words back. Be careful what you ask for, Tate, you just might get it. I pick up my mug and march back to the desk. “Stop bothering me. I have work to do.”

  He gives me another of his penetrating smoky looks but says nothing. Just keeps strumming that damned guitar with those long, sexy dark fingers. Oh hell. I give my inner voice my very best mental frown and flip open the top file on my desk. The struggle is real. Nameless hums softly and sings a few lines every so often, his deep voice equal parts soothing and sensual. A knock sounds as the office door opens, and Caleb sticks his head in. “Lunch is ready. Bob says all hands in the sitting room right, now.”

  Good. Or maybe not. I’ll be faced with stormy Bob, and I don’t even know how to handle my own feelings let alone everyone else’s. As if I don’t have enough to deal with at the academy, I’m being pulled every which way by these guys’ emotions. I’ve always been very much in tune with Bob’s many moods, but up here, this intuition is ramped up on steroids. Worse yet, I seem to have it to some degree with all four guys. Guys that Francis says are my clan. And I still can’t figure out what dropped Reed to his knees. Too many unanswered questions.

  Nameless and I join Caleb in the reception area. Dorbhe flits nearby with a large smile on her face.

  Caleb has a hand behind his back and bounces with excitement. “Close your eyes, and hold out your hand.”

  Seriously? But he’s so delighted with whatever he’s hiding, I can’t let him be disappointed. “This better not be something slimy.” I smile to take the bite out of the words.

  “Nope.” Caleb places what feels like a box on my palm. “Okay, now open.”

  I open my eyes to a large box wrapped in pink-and-red tissue paper with a huge red ribbon. I look at him questioningly.

  He just grins. “Guess what it is?”

  I shake the box gently and am rewarded with the faint sound of crinkled paper rustling. “Chocolates?”

  “Close. They’re truffles. You wanted something to give to Clare and Elli.” He’s inordinately pleased with himself.

  “You remembered. How sweet. Thank you.” I rise on my tiptoes and throw my arms around his shoulders. He returns the best hug imaginable, then kisses me soundly, almost taking my breath away. Just as quickly, he releases me and steps back.

  “Wow.” I resist the urge to fan myself.

  Worry flashes over Caleb’s face. Beside him, Nameless frowns. I slide one arm through Caleb’s and crook the arm holding the candy. Nameless hesitates a second before adjusting his guitar and sliding his arm into place. “Good! We’ll drop these off after our meeting. I want to make sure Elli and Clare are okay.”

  Caleb grins, flipping right back to his usual cheerful nature. “Yeah, we’d better get to the sitting room before Bob has a seizure.”

  As I sashay down the hall on the arms of two men, I feel their emotional angst ebb away, only to enter the sitting room and get pulled under by Bob’s hot-blooded tsunami. The tension is so thick it almost drowns me.

  But my escorts go about their business, feeling none of it. Nameless lets go of my arm and glides over to the sideboard after resting his guitar beside his seat. He chooses from a selection of vegetarian dishes and adds a large slab of chocolate cake. Trying to be casual, I kibitz with Caleb while he makes himself a monster sandwich and I fill a plate.

  Bob doctors a coffee with loads of cream and sugar before taking his seat in the chair beside me. He positively bristles, and I lean over, put my hand on his arm, and make concerned eye contact. The steer-clear-of-me message telegraphing from his lovely brown eyes feels like a slap. The churning in my stomach ratchets up a notch. I put my plate down, my appetite completely obliterated by all the testosterone-laden messages circulating around the room—I seem to be the conduit for them all.

  Francis stands rigid, looking out into the distant mountains. Nameless looks smug, no doubt still consumed with images of sliding his calloused finger over my clit. An involuntary shiver runs through me at the memory of that finger, and the hand it belongs to slapping my ass. Francis pivots and gives me a penetrating stare before assuming his seat beside Caleb, who manages to look confused and consume volumes of food at the same time.

  “Okay, somebody better defuse this bomb because I can’t stand this much longer,” I say as I look from Bob to Francis and back again.

  “Can’t stand what, exactly?” The sharp edges of Bob’s tone land like shards of glass, and my stomach flips into overdrive.

  “All this tension,” I say. If he thinks I’m going to back down because he’s using “the tone,” he’s got another think coming. “Especially coming from you. What has changed since this morning?”

  “You kissed him.” Bob’s stare almost shatters me, and guilt pulses through me . . . except I have nothing to be guilty for.

  “Kissed who, for gods’ sake?” I can’t hide the impatience in my voice. I have enough to contend with.

  Bob’s narrowed gaze hurts almost as much as the ascension cold fever did. I realize my mistake the second the words are out of my mouth . . . A second too late.

  “Since you have to ask, I’m assuming that means you’ve kissed more than one of them?” One of his eyebrows hits the roof, and his gaze keeps me trapped like the damned bacteria he used to examine in our earthly life.

  I submit to the guilt. For a moment. And then his holier-than-thou attitude sends me over the deep end. I ignore the awareness of Francis searching the cracks and crevices of my thoughts and let mad-as-fuck Tate come out to play. I get up and start pacing. Bob parts his lips, no doubt to add more guilt to my growing burden. I hold my hand up and light flashes. “Stop. Just stop. All of you. I’ve got the floor.”

  Bob’s eyes widen in surprise. Actually, all four guys look a tad shocked. Well, it’s about time they understand no alpha male or clan is going to be the boss of me. I resist the urge to fix my hair and thrust out the girls in response to the heat coming from Nameless and Caleb. Dear gods. Now is not the time.

  I look at each of the guys, these guys who seem to be my clan. Two of whom I can feel at the core of my being, and on my wrist as a
n open flower and a pulsing bud, while the remaining two flicker at the edges of my life, buds on my brand, but nascent, not yet having had the time to mature. When I look at Bob, the holier-than-thou look is long gone, replaced by one of raw fear, and it tears at my soul. It floods me with memories. Losing our daughter. Losing him. And against all odds, I finally have him back. In that moment, nothing else matters. I know what I need to do.

  I ignore Francis’s insistent prodding to get into my head. I get up, and in one fluid movement, I perch on Bob’s lap, cup his cheeks, and gently kiss his mouth. “I’m yours, now and always. I may not understand what the hell is going on here, but I will never let lust come between us.” I speak directly into his ear so he knows my words are meant for him and not for show. I let out a breath when I feel his fear and jealousy recede, and he reaches up to cover my hands with his. He nods. Because underneath all that bravado and alpha male bullshit is a fragile center hidden from all but a privileged few. It’s one of the ways we are symbiotic—he needs my emotional strength to shield him from the emotional bullets that could blow him apart. I need him to keep me grounded, to be that someone in my corner who gives me the reason to be strong.

  “I can’t stand this type of internal conflict. I don’t know how else to describe it, but it’s tearing me apart.” Tears threaten to spill from my eyes.

  Bob grabs my hand, giving me his acceptance and support. Letting me know whatever I say is okay.

  Bloody easy for him to be supportive now that he knows he’s won. I glance at Francis sharply, unsure whether the thought belongs to him or me. He simply stares, unblinking, silently challenging me to be true to myself.

  I wrench my gaze away and continue. “It’s time I clear the air and apologize if I’ve misled any of you. I get that there’s some kind of bond between us.” I lift the underside of my right wrist and expose the pulsing brand. “Clearly, there’s some kind of magic or . . . something going on, which . . . is to be expected whether I’m delusional or whether I’m actually in the hereafter.” I glance at Caleb to avoid the heat coming from Nameless and Francis.

  “But whatever else is going on, I believe that bond must be one of friendship because I feel the pull, the familiarity. But all this sex stuff has got to stop. I’m Bob’s. He’s my one. I will never,” I enunciate the word very clearly, “do anything to jeopardize what we have. I certainly won’t jeopardize our relationship over sex.” I look at each of them in turn, these guys who are my branded clan, my supposed destined mates, and decide it’s time to be badass. “Do I make myself clear? All of this sexy stuff has to cease.”

  Nameless smirks. “There’s just one tiny problem with that, and I’m eager to hear Sir Bob’s and your thoughts on how to deal with that without any of this sexy stuff.”

  “Which is?” Bob says. Dear gods. If we weren’t careful, fisticuffs might break out in Bardo.

  I jump into the fray. “Yes, what are you talking about, Nameless?”

  “I’m talking about our next scene for the Tribunal.” Nameless’s grin tells me just how much he’s enjoying making me squirm. “How are we going to do that without some sexy stuff? Answer me that.”

  And we all look at Bob. Because, I, for one, have no idea. After several beats of silence, I can’t stand it anymore.

  Francis says, “The next scene has to involve floggers and a St. Andrew’s Cross.”

  I jump up and clap my hands in equal parts relief and something I don’t want to take the time to identify. I’m just eager to move this discussion along onto safer ground. “Perfect. Nothing sexy about that, right? Let’s talk about it at dinner. Right now, I’m due back for the staff one-on-ones.” I grab the chocolates and glance at Caleb. “Do I still need one of you to guard me?”

  He jumps up. “Yup. I can go with you.”

  Nameless glides out of his chair, scoops up his guitar, and comes over to where I’m standing. “This is my shift. You’re on at four.” With that, he grabs my hand and marches me out the door . . . And Bob’s heated gaze burns into my back like another brand reminding me of my priorities.

  7

  — Francis —

  “We need a word. Our library.” I wait just long enough to get the almost imperceptible nod from Robert before heading off in the direction of our quarters. One of the nice things about being the management of the academy is the spacious suite of rooms each of us has. Of course, this was by my design, not coincidence. When Zeus commissioned me to build a new Sexy Sins Academy to replace the crumbling pre-biblical structure, he commanded me to build the type of place where my clan would be happy to live during each stay in Bardo.

  I’d taken great care in planning the facility, following the architecture of the times, in consultation with Robert and Gianna. We’d built a place worthy of work and play through the centuries. As such, the main rooms and our suites had magnificent views of the mountains, forests, and the large rainbow-colored river that circles the academy like a moat. Second to the view, I love the rich oak shelves filled with leather-bound first editions from ages past. I designed the room in such a way that the bookshelves covered all wall space except the windows. Normally, I’d take the time to enjoy the view, but I don’t have that luxury today.

  I pull a couple of crystal glasses from the bar and pour a few fingers of Robert’s favorite Louis XIII Rémy Martin cognac. I have just enough time to pour a few drops of the nectar Zeus gave me into one of the glasses before Robert taps on and opens the door. I look up and gesture to the cognac, letting him choose his seat. He chooses one of the armchairs facing into the room. I take a seat not quite opposite, but angled so I can study his reactions without appearing to stare.

  Robert takes up the snifter and sniffs appreciatively before holding the bowl of the glass in the palm of his hand to warm the drink. I do the same, hiding my impatience for him to drink and embark upon my quest. Zeus’s words come back to me, “Appeal to his baser instincts;” however, my gut tells me to appeal to his reason first.

  We sit in silence for a few minutes, much the way we have on hundreds of other occasions. Except this time differs dramatically. This time, the life of our clan depends on the outcome. I feel it in my bones. And, to be frank, my fall into the Fade scared the hell out of me. The idea of spending several millennia or the rest of time floating around as a noncorporeal wisp of ether didn’t appeal to me in the slightest. One might have thought that I’d be bored with life after several hundred years, but not so. Our beloved, no matter what form she takes, makes each lifetime with her fly by in less than a minute. Waiting to see her again fills me with delicious anticipation. We’ve barely scratched the surface of our life together.

  After a few minutes, impatience overcomes me. I make short work of appreciating the color of our fine cognac and couldn’t care less about the notes in it. I take a sip and wait for Robert to follow suit. Normally, the shite is far more impatient than I am, but the competitive streak he refuses to admit pushes me to make the first move. Unlike with Tate, I’m not able to read his mind, but as clan members, our bond means we’re acutely aware of each other’s emotional state. Robert sits back and crooks that damned eyebrow of his . . . and waits. Bastard.

  Finally, he deems his cognac ready to sip. “Sublime. There’s nothing better than the rose and leather notes in Louis the Thirteenth cognac.”

  “What makes you so certain it wasn’t Louis the fourteenth? He was, after all, our first king.” I figure that as good a comment as any to see whether Zeus’s nectar has restored his memory.

  “Technically, Henry the Second was our first monarch. I remember it well.” Robert takes another sip of cognac, sighs once again, then stretches and crosses his legs at the ankle. Excellent. He’s settling in for the long haul.

  “We had some good times.” Robert continues to study his cognac, but his tension lessens a couple of degrees. I let those memories percolate for a moment while I study this man who has first dibs on our Gianna’s love.

  Robert releases one of his me
lodic chuckles. “Do you remember when Gianna caught that little tart who chased our asses around the castle?”

  “The wee nighean was lucky to keep her head.”

  “And we were lucky to keep our balls for giving her the encouragement.”

  “She really was something.” Robert takes another sip, and I know he’s not referring to the wee lass. “Really is something. I’ve never met her equal through all these years.”

  Thankful the nectar worked, I set to appeal to his reason. “And we almost lost her.”

  Robert takes another sip and leans his head against the back of the chair, contemplating the ceiling. “It was debauchery that got her killed. We vowed never to do that again.” And his stubborn streak is back just like that.

  “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

  He levels a look at me. “If you’re referring to the time she almost left because I was unwilling to share her with you, so am I. If we hadn’t broken the sodomy laws, they would never have burned her at the stake. Because of her sodomy, they accused her of heresy. Because of her fucking need for truth above all, she refused to repent.” Robert’s voice cracks with passion, and he hides it by taking another drink. This time, he drains the glass and helps himself to more from the decanter. “She was mine first.”

  “What’s happened every time you’ve made her choose?” I ask.

  “What are you talking about? Nameless? That was her choice,” Robert says somewhat belligerently.

  “Would she have made it if you hadn’t forced it?”

  “She was mine first.” Robert repeats his talking point despite knowing repetition of a false narrative doesn’t make it true.