Kiss Across Chains (Kiss Across Time Series)

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  “When Taylor and I and our friend return to the future, Taylor will disappear, but not Brody and I. We will simply lose all memory of our future selves and become people of this time in fact, not just in pretense.”

  Rafael glanced at Taylor. He seemed to realize for the first time that they were sharing the big chair together. He shifted on the seat, moving over to make more room for her. “You will go back?” he asked diffidently.

  “Yes,” she confirmed. “So will Veris and Brody, but their younger versions will stay here. But ‘here’ isn’t where Veris was last. It was like he went to sleep in Pergamum and he’ll wake up in Constantinople, with no idea how he got here, what happened in between, or how to get back to Pergamum. You’re going to have to tell him what happened and how to get back there.”

  Rafael’s eyes narrowed. “This younger Veris. He will not know who I am. Why would he believe me? He is the same as me, a man of these times.”

  Taylor glanced at Veris who nodded slightly.

  “You are not so confused after all, Rafael,” Veris murmured. “Not if you grasp that much. I will give you some facts about myself that only I could know. You will tell me—the younger me—those facts, as a way of convincing me that you speak the truth. They will be enough to tell me you have access to information I must believe and follow.” Veris gave him a small smile. “I don’t consider myself a fool, Rafael. I can reason well enough that presented with incontrovertible facts, I can be persuaded.”

  Rafael took a long swallow of the wine, as he considered the matter thoroughly. Taylor decided that she liked him. He had a quiet strength about him.

  “You will not be easy to convince,” Rafael said at last. “You are what men call a stubborn bastard and you will not like waking to find yourself not where you were.” He glanced at Taylor. “He has a temper, yes?”

  Taylor cast about for a delicate answer she could give right there in front of Veris.

  Veris gave a soft laugh. “Yes, I have a temper. A thunderously white hot temper that Taylor and Brody have despaired over for years. But there are ways to dismantle my temper before it even gets started and I’ll explain those ways to you. You’re going to have to do all the thinking for yourself when we’re gone, Rafael, because you will be the only one who knows the real truth of what happened in the last few days.”

  Rafael drained his cup and pressed it between his hands, leaning forward. “There is more to this than simply guiding you back to Pergamum, isn’t there?”

  Veris nodded.

  Rafael hunched his shoulders in tight, then flexed them and sat up straight. “May I have more wine?” he asked Taylor. “I have sudden need of it.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Rafael watched only one race, perched on a cushion set on the step their two chairs sat upon. He looked away when a chariot overturned, throwing the driver across the track, and didn’t look back. As soon as the race was ended, he picked up the cushion and turned it so his back was against the stone balustrade. He settled himself on the cushion, facing Taylor and Veris, his long legs crossed.

  “Tell me more about you and the future,” he said. “I care not for this racing.”

  “Nor I,” Taylor assured him, her gaze dropping to the pale bands of flesh circling his wrists.

  The Emperor’s people left them alone. Ariadne was only the daughter of a general, while the general himself sat by the Emperor’s side, and the Emperor was too involved in the racing to care about his guests, anyway.

  So while the races proceeded, all three of them diverted their thoughts from the impending single race uppermost in their minds, by planning for those moments afterwards. As each race was called, they would pause to check the drivers as they were announced, their hearts hammering, then they would return to their conversation, knowing that the next race might be the one.

  * * * * *

  When Oresme’s men hauled Brody out of the cage early instead of Basilides' people fetching him closer to the race, he braced himself for trouble.

  Four of them dragged him into one of the supply caverns just off the main tunnel and Brody realized it was very bad indeed.

  Not just Oresme stood waiting for him, but someone it took him a moment to put a name to. He had to reach back into his human memory for the name, for he had only seen him once or twice in his life.

  Genesios. Genesios the Money Lender. The man who owned these caverns, the chariots Brody drove, the horses…and owned Brody himself and every last slave in the caverns.

  All the spit dried up in Brody’s mouth. Genesios never came down to the pits. It was unheard of. He just sent orders via Oresme or Basilides.

  But the man was here, now. Why?

  Oresme strode toward him as soon as the guards had carried him to within a few paces of Genesios. The guard captain looked mad as hell. He used the momentum from his stride to swing his fist and bury it deeply into Brody’s gut. It was only the fury on Oresme’s face that gave Brody warning enough to brace himself, but the blow still hurt like crazy and drove most of the wind out of his lungs.

  His hearing buzzed and fizzed and his vision grey-out, so he didn’t see the upper cut coming, although he should have anticipated it. Oresme’s fist creamed him, connecting square with his face and snapping him backwards like a twig. Brody felt his nose crunch and the hot spurt of blood.

  The guards that had hauled him in here let him drop to the ground like a felled tree, where he lay curled up like a comma, trying to breath around the blood running down the back of his throat, while his abdomen twitched and spasmed in pain.

  He heard the shuffle of feet on the grit and sand that made up the floors of most of the caverns around here.

  “You’ve been causing my men a lot of grief lately, with your social activities,” Genesios said. His voice came from right over the top of Brody. He was standing next to him. “They’re very unhappy with you.”

  No shit, Brody thought. I would never have guessed.

  “It is only because you are my best driver that you have not been tossed into the Horn one dark night, as beyond the bother of your upkeep.”

  A shudder ran through him. He couldn’t help it. How many late night sessions had Oresme and Basilides had, where they had discussed the benefits of doing exactly that?

  “These are important races today. The Emperor wants the Blues to win, no matter what, and he has given me a purse to ensure that happens. You understand what that means, don’t you?”

  Brody nodded, wiping away the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. If the Emperor wanted a blue victory, then the bribes, tampering and blackmail would be systemic. The idiots thought that would ensure victory, but it simply ensured more accidents.

  More deaths.

  He closed his eyes. Veris and Taylor were out there. Waiting for him.

  Calm washed over him.

  “Give him some incentive to win,” Genesios ordered. “Then strap him into the cart so he has even more reason to bring his chariot home to victory.”

  Icy fingers of fear touched Brody. They were going to beat him, then tie him to his reins or the platform. If something happened to the chariot – if it flipped or was crushed, he would not be able to get clear of it.

  The guards grabbed his shoulders, tearing at the tunic, pulling it away, stripping him for his beating and Brody drew in a shuddering breath that bubbled past the blood and mucus in his throat.

  It was happening. It really was happening.

  * * * * *

  Taylor lifted her head as the drivers of the next race were called. Because they sat next to the Emperor’s box, they had no trouble hearing the crier at all and her hand shot out to clamp on Veris’ with a grip that was painful.

  He sat up, looking toward the chariots that were rolling into the arena.

  Rafael, alerted by Taylor’s tension, turned on his cushion to peer over the balcony. “Which one?” he asked softly.

  “The gold chariot. With the tall driver and the white horses. The one just tu
rning now.”

  Taylor was leaning forward, peering intently. “There’s something different about him,” she whispered. “He’s not standing the same as he did last time.”

  Veris ran his gaze over the chariot and checked off a mental list. Rims, axle, wheels, nave, spokes, felly, pole, pin, ropes, bands. Whip. He ran his gaze the length of each rein.

  Then he saw it. His gut tightened and he closed his eyes for a moment, fighting not to show any fear. Taylor would panic if he did. “They’ve tied the reins to his driving arm.” His voice sounded remote. Distant.

  Rafael glanced at him sharply and Veris shook his head in minute movements, hoping Taylor did not see it.

  Rafael glanced at her, then back down at the sandy arena. His fingers were white on the balustrade.

  The flag dropped, the race began and Veris for one frozen moment felt a fear so overwhelming he knew he was close to a human reaction; panic.

  Only Taylor’s still, slim figure next to him and her heated hand on his kept him in his place…and the knowledge that Brody would need him very soon.

  * * * * *

  Embrace it. Or we all die. Veris’ voice, rich with the still lingering trace of his ancient roots, whispered in Brody’s mind. It was the loudest thing Brody could hear, louder than the horses, the whips, the screaming crowd, the straining leather of the reins, any of it.

  Brody could barely breathe for the broken bones in his nose and the congealed blood that had clotted his airways. He pulled air in through his mouth, but couldn’t suck in enough to compensate. He felt dizzy.

  Not enough oxygen, he realized.

  He realized he was driving on automatic, barely even concentrating on the race, which was exactly what Veris had warned him about. He tried to pull his thoughts together, to build a strategy to win.

  He was in third place, a useful position from where he could move up as he needed to.

  That was when the chariot next to him rammed into his with an impact that flung him against the side of his cart. He heard and felt something crack. Ribs, he realized. The pain was intense and he groaned, all thoughts about winning wiped away for the moment. He struggled to get the horses back under control and the chariot lined up in a straight line. They were coming up on the curve, where he had to maintain control and use some sort of strategy to move ahead at least one place.

  The chariot rammed into him again, slamming him up against the side of his cart. He heard wood splintering. The cart lurched and he looked over at the driver of the other cart. It was a blue driver.

  The Emperor wants a guaranteed blue victory.

  Brody realized that the Emperor hadn’t just paid off Genesios, but every blue chariot owner in the city. No rules would apply out here today. The emperor wouldn’t care for anything except victory. Any victory that included a blue driver.

  Any blue driver. It would pit blue drivers against blue drivers, as well as the green drivers. It was anarchy.

  His horses began to round the bend and the chariot to swing out with the gforce of the curve. It was a particularly vulnerable moment in the race, for the driver had the least amount of control over the chariot at that moment. He could only hang on and wait until he was around the curve and straightened up before attempting anything other than straight driving.

  The chariot in second place, a green chariot, was already pulling out of the curve, and chose to swing wide in an attempt to take the outside line of the straight, and overtake the leader.

  It obstructed the path of the blue driver who had been battering Brody, as he came around the bend with a burst of speed, intending to pass Brody. There wasn’t enough room for the blue driver to slide into the inside lane where the green had been.

  Brody had no maneuverability because he was still pulling out of the curve, still under the pull of g-force.

  The blue chariot slammed into his once more, this time in a square broad-side, their wheels slamming together, the metal hubs squealing and sending sparks flying.

  Horses screamed in fright and surged forward, racing to get away from the danger. His chariot leapt forward and their locked wheels ripped apart, shredding spokes with a sound of cracking wood. Part of a painted spoke flew up into the air and from the color of it, Brody knew it was one of his.

  How bad is the damage? Will I see the end of this race?

  The chariot listed to one side, sagging in a way that told him the damage was severe.

  He couldn’t help it. He looked up toward the Emperor’s box, searching for their faces.

  Help me, he pleaded silently.

  Then the curve was ahead and he was forced to look away, to concentrate on the mechanics of driving and holding the chariot together for a few more minutes.

  * * * * *

  Taylor was afraid to move. Her gaze was locked on Brody’s disintegrating chariot and his figure, which looked so vulnerable, standing on the open platform, as he was tossed about each time the chariot was rammed.

  She knew she held Veris’ hand, but she couldn’t feel it. She could barely hear the crowd. The sound of her own breathing was very loud in her mind. So was the sound of her heart, fast and frantic.

  If she moved, she knew she would spin out of control, into hysterics. So she sat watching.

  Waiting.

  This was it. Brody needed her. That was the only thing that kept her on the chair and a tiny corner of her mind calm and silvered and untouched by the panic and fear tearing through her body.

  * * * * *

  When the rim of Brody’s wheel cracked, just on the other side of the bend, Veris let out a shaky breath. Taylor’s fingers crimped around his like a vice. She had strained the tendons in his smallest finger and broken the joint, but it would heal.

  Right now, pain was good.

  He reached for and found his voice. “Rafael,” he croaked.

  Rafael turned his head and looked over his shoulder at Veris. His face was white and his eyes were huge.

  “Be ready,” Veris whispered. “It’s coming.”

  * * * * *

  When the chariot began to shudder and break apart, wild panic touched him. Brody looked around, calculating, figuring ways out, strategies, maneuvers, but nothing would defeat the reins tied around his wrist. He was bound to the chariot’s fate.

  This is it.

  His breath deserted him as he acknowledged the fact. It felt like he had dropped into a deep, endless hole.

  Then he remembered.

  They were waiting for him. They were watching this. They were watching. God, they were watching him do this. Taylor…poor Taylor and Veris. They would be beside themselves, seeing the cart fall apart around him.

  She had promised to be there.

  Brody reached for the memories of the previous night. Lying between Taylor and Veris. Their hands on him. Their assurances of love. Their promises that they would be there at the end.

  Calm dropped over him, even as the chariot shook and shuddered and the last wheel dropped off and it began to drag along the ground. It would tip in a few seconds and he would be dragged with it. The knowledge didn’t touch him now as it might have. He was in their arms.

  Brody drew in a breath. It came easily.

  He gripped the side edge of the chariot, measuring the progress of the other blue driver coming up behind him.

  “I love you,” he whispered and closed his eyes.

  He jumped.

  * * * * *

  “No!” Taylor whispered. It was the only sound any of them made, as Brody’s body disappeared under the front horses and the crowd made a collective “ooooh!” sound.

  Veris surged to his feet, gathering Taylor up against him. He was moving fast. Too fast. But no one was watching them.

  He lunged for the balustrade. Rafael had already moved out of the way. Veris pressed one hand against the wide stone ledge and leapt over the edge, taking Taylor with him.

  It was a thirty foot drop to the oily sand of the arena, but Veris had vampire power to compensate for the
impact. He rolled, protecting Taylor as best he could, and trying at the same time to watch for any approaching chariots, but the race was over.

  He scrambled to his feet and hauled Taylor to hers, then grabbed her hand and ran toward the still body in a white tunic, over in the middle of the track.

  The audience was screaming with mingled delight and horror. The sound washed over him like a wave of hot air.

  Brody was lying face down, his limbs at odd angles. He was half-buried in the sand, from the weight of the chariot and horses that had passed over him. Veris pushed the memory to the back of his mind deliberately. He dropped to his knees next to him, and carefully turned him over.

  Brody was covered in blood. It was everywhere, mixed with the sand and coating his skin.

  Taylor gave a hiccupping sound that might have been a smothered sob. She dropped to the sand next to Veris and held out her arms. “Give him to me,” she said, her voice shaking.

  Veris had no trouble hearing her despite the roaring crowd. Their noise had receded to a distant murmur, leaving him and Taylor alone with Brody in their own little silvered silence.

  Veris lifted Brody until he was resting in her lap, his head in her arms. His eyes were closed and Veris dropped his fingers to his neck to check his pulse. It was there, but thready and faint.

  Taylor looked up at Veris questioningly. Her eyes were large, glassy and swimming in tears, but none had fallen yet.

  Veris shook his head. “He’s alive. Just.”

  Taylor’s composure cracked just for a second. Her face worked. “Then he’s in pain.” She stroked Brody’s face, wiping away the sand and blood.

  Brody’s eyes opened and he focused on her. Taylor instantly calmed and smiled at him. “Hi,” she said softly.

  “Veris?”

  Veris moved around so that Brody could see him. “Here.” He rested his hand on Brody’s blood-matted chest. Gently.

  Brody sighed. “Thank you.” He looked up at Taylor. “Kiss me.”

  She bent and kissed him gently.