by Monica Burns
enraged him. “Answer me.”
“Yes.” It was a simple word, but its effect was devastating. She’d betrayed him. She’d kept his child from him. After Gabriel, how could she do something like that?
“You didn’t tell him?” Suddenly, the Celeris was almost sympathetic. He didn’t want the man’s compassion.
“Leave us.” The command in his voice made Ignacio jerk his gaze toward him, an intractable look on his face. Clearly the man wasn’t about to go anywhere without orders from Atia. Not bothering to look at her, Marcus ground out his second order. “Tell him.”
“Ignacio, please go.” The apologetic note in her voice fueled the anger flaring up inside of him.
“No, Atia. Tell him.” He bit out between clenched teeth. ” All of it.”
When she didn’t speak, he turned his gaze on her. His jaw tightened. She’d said there wasn’t anyone else, and yet she seemed particularly fond of her Celeris. It had been easy enough for her to betray him when it came to hiding his daughter from him. Why should he think she hadn’t betrayed their blood bond? Deus, help her if she had. Her lovely mouth moved slightly as if she were fighting to speak. He narrowed his gaze at her.
“Ignacio, it’s … he isn’t just Cleo’s father. We’re blood bonded.”
The instant she stepped toward the Celeris, he reached out with his thoughts and jerked her to a halt. Christus, she’d actually started to go to the other man. She turned her head with a pleading look on her face.
“Marcus … please.”
“Address. Me. Properly,” he snarled.
“Eminence.”
He didn’t give her an opportunity to continue as he turned his head back to the Celeris. Satisfaction went spinning through his blood at the man’s thunderstruck expression.
“Go.” He held the other man’s gaze with a cold glare, but the Celeris didn’t move.
When the bastardo suddenly looked toward Atia, his jaw tightened painfully with anger. With a mental grip that instantly had the man gasping for air, he slowly began to choke the bodyguard.
“Marcus—”
“Show respect, Madame Consul.” He saw the color drain from her face as he increased his mental chokehold on her Celeris.
“Eminence, please. He’s sworn his life to protect me, just as I swore an allegiance to you.” Her gaze didn’t waver from his as she pleaded with him.
“An oath you’ve betrayed.”
“For the love of God, Marcus. I’ve not betrayed you.”
His invisible grasp compressed the other man’s throat a little bit more. There was something in her voice that reassured him she was telling the truth. At least she’d not betrayed their blood bond. But their daughter … that was another matter altogether. He dragged his gaze from her to the man whose life he held in his hand. With a snarl of fury, he flicked his wrist and sent the Celeris tumbling backward to the ground. He strode forward to tower over the man. A small amount of respect for the man slipped its way through his anger as the bodyguard didn’t cringe, despite the quickly forming bruises on his throat.
“I won’t tell you a second time. Leave us.”
With a nod, the man staggered to his feet and walked back down the hill. Behind him, Marcus could almost hear the panicked thud of Atia’s heartbeat. She had good cause to be afraid. Slowly, he turned around to face her.
“Does she know?”
“That her father is a Sicari Lord? No.” Atia’s voice was breathless as she shook her head.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” The harsh question made her wince. He didn’t care. She’d kept his daughter from him.
“I was afraid.”
“Of what?” he snarled. “That I’d take her from you?”
“Yes.” Her quiet response was the same as if she’d slapped him. His head jerked backward in response as he stared at her in disbelief. She looked away from him. “I was afraid you’d take her and I’d lose her just like I lost Gabriel.”
“Il Christi omnipotentia,” he rasped. “You do blame me for Gabriel.”
“No,” she exclaimed vehemently. “Nothing could have prevented what happened with Gabriel. But the thought of losing another child … losing a part of you … it was more than I could bear.”
“Did you really think I would take her from you?” The moment he asked the question, he knew the answer. He would have done everything in his power to protect the child.
“You know you would have,” she said fiercely. “Don’t deny it. If the Praetorians had known she was your daughter, they would have come after her for her bloodline alone. And if they’d known she was your child …”
“You should have told me,” he rasped, ignoring her unfinished sentence.
She was right. If the Praetorians had known he had a daughter, they would have done everything they could to find her. The Praetorian Collegium would have seen Cleo as an opportunity to breed. The girl would have endured a hellish life. He spun away from Atia to stare out at Rome now fully illuminated by the morning sun. A daughter. He had a grown daughter he’d never met. While they’d both lost Gabriel, he’d lost more. He’d lost the joy of knowing his daughter—watching her grow up. The light touch of Atia’s hand on his arm made him jump, but he refused to look at her.
“She was safer with me, caro. No one knew you were the father.” The validity of her statement did nothing to ease his anger or pain.
“Does she know who her father is? That I’m even alive?” His jaw hardened as he waited for the blow he knew was still to come.
“I didn’t correct her when she assumed you were dead. It was easier—”
“Easier for whom? You or her?” It was impossible to keep the bitterness from his voice.
“For her. It has never been easy for me. Every second she was out of my sight, I was terrified something would happen to her. Even when—when she learned how to defend herself, I worried. That will never change.”
He didn’t say anything. Nothing either of them said would give him back the past. And at the moment, he didn’t care how Atia felt. Not once since she’d become Prima Consul had she even tried to tell him about their daughter.
“Your Celeris called her Cleo.”
“Yes, it’s short for Cleopatra,” Atia said with a catch in her voice. “I remembered it was your mother’s name. I wanted her to have as much of you as she could.”
“I want to meet her.”
He heard her draw in a sharp breath, and she quickly stepped away from him. When he turned his head to look at her, the fear on her face didn’t even make him hesitate. She’d made her choice, now he’d made his. He wanted to know his daughter.
“I need time,” she said with a flutter of her hands.
“You’ve had plenty of time. Why should you need more?”
“You don’t know her, Marcus—”
“No. I don’t.” He ground out the words, his anger rising to the top once more. “But I’m going to rectify that.”
“You don’t understand … she’s going to hate me.”
“But I do understand, carissima. I understand all too well why she might hate you.”
“It will be more than that if I can’t explain my reasons. It will be as if I’m dead to her. I need time to make her see I only wanted to keep her safe.” Her beseeching gaze met his. “Please, Marcus, please. Give me a week or two to find a way to break this to her gently.”
He turned away from her. She didn’t deserve to have her request granted, and yet he knew he would agree. Deep down, he knew that if he’d been in her position, he would have done the same thing. He couldn’t fault her for her determination to keep their daughter safe. But it would take time for him to forgive her for not telling him about Cleo sooner.
Her betrayal wasn’t something he could easily forgive, and forgetting what she’d done would be impossible. But there was something to be said for delaying the meeting. He needed time to digest the fact that he was a father again. It was a pleasant thought. It felt good to think of him
self as a father after such a long time. His decision made, he faced her once more. The anguish on her face tore at his heart, but he resisted the urge to comfort her.
“You have two weeks.” His jaw went hard with tension as tears filled her eyes. Il Christi omnipotentia, he’d never been able to handle her tears. “Two weeks and no more. I will meet my daughter, Atia, and that’s a promise.”
She nodded her head before she turned and headed down the hill. Pain lashed at him as he watched her go. Christus, he was a dumb bastardo. Even now, when he knew she’d been lying to him all these years, he still found it hard to let her leave him. He was a fool to love her, and an even bigger fool for wanting to keep her with him.
Chapter 14
THE minute Phaedra stepped past Lysander to sit on the couch, the scent of him brushed across her senses. She didn’t think there was a single nerve in her body that wasn’t in a state of high alert as she struggled with a mixture of emotions. She’d been furious when he’d left her bedroom an hour or so after midnight. Furious, hurt, but most of all stunned.
One minute he’d been on the verge of making love to her and the next he was rejecting her all over again. All because she’d cried out in surprise when he’d caressed her with his mind. Reluctantly, she conceded his invisible touch had frightened her for a brief moment. She’d needed only an instant to recognize the stroke of Lysander’s thoughts on her skin, but that fleeting moment of delay had broken the fragile chain of connection between them.
It had given him an excuse to put distance between them. But she refused to believe the only reason she’d instigated their kiss was her need to take control. She’d gone to sleep feeling safe and had awoken to the sound of his heart beating beneath her cheek. Kissing him hadn’t been about control. She’d done it because she loved him. Because she’d missed him and wanted to feel his touch again.
Instead of grasping his hands, she leaned forward to gently examine the wound in his arm then the bruises on his neck. It wasn’t uncommon for a healer to study a wound before the Curavi. It helped them to focus their energy on the worst wound first, but he stiffened at her touch nonetheless. Serious injuries were always healed up to a point where the patient’s body could easily continue the healing process without undue stress and pain on the part of the healer or patient. For her, examining Lysander’s wounds was simply the need for a brief moment to settle her nerves.
Although his injuries tonight were inconsequential compared to his horrific injuries last year, he had to be uncomfortable. Her gaze shifted downward to his throat. The dark bruises on his neck still made her stomach churn. The impressions were clearly from someone’s fingers. Whoever had choked him had to have had great strength to leave these kinds of bruises, particularly when Lysander was so strong himself.
She was certain his throat had to be hurting almost as much as the nasty gash on his upper arm. Deus, was he really going to let her perform the Curavi on him? The last time he’d really needed her touch, he’d refused. She drew in a deep breath at the memory. Her gaze met his, and she frowned slightly. If she didn’t know better, she could have sworn there was a look of panic in that beautiful, deep green eye of his.
She dismissed the idea. What could possibly have him worried? If anyone should be worried, it was her. The pain he’d experienced was only part of what she’d feel during his healing. There was a strong chance she’d receive impressions and images from him, and
not necessarily from whatever had happened to him tonight.
It wasn’t unusual for a healer to see or experience the emotions of their patients. It was the worst part of being able to cure people. Training had taught her the discipline to shield the emotional impact during the empathic process, but when people were in pain, their emotions and thoughts were often intense. It made for an intimate connection she didn’t enjoy. Physical pain always went away, but what her mind registered during the Curavi could sometimes linger for hours. It made for a draining experience.
Tonight it could be worse than anything she’d ever experienced before because it was Lysander she’d be healing. The fact that they’d been intimate could easily make the connection that much stronger. What if everything he’d been saying about their relationship was true? If she saw that in his thoughts—she refused to believe it. She couldn’t. He wanted her, his kisses had said that much. He might have used what had happened to her earlier today as an excuse not to make love to her, but it didn’t change the emotions he’d revealed when he touched her.
“Can we get on with this?”
His dark growl made her jerk her gaze up to his face. The expression on his angelic profile was hard and unyielding. She flinched as he arched his eyebrow at her. The look on his face didn’t help ease her tension. It said he wanted her out of his apartment sooner than later. Where was the man who’d kissed her so passionately just a few short hours ago?
Suddenly she wasn’t so certain of anything where he was concerned. For once, she hoped he succeeded in keeping her from reading his emotions. Because the thought of learning something she didn’t want to know terrified her. She swallowed hard, and with palms up, she offered him her hands.
“With your permission, I must touch you to heal your injuries.”
The traditional opening of the healing ritual made him flinch, and she fought hard not to read anything into his reaction. He gave her a sharp jerk of his head that indicated his eagerness to be done with the whole affair, and slowly he put his hands in hers. Without a second thought, she automatically shielded herself from a barrage of his emotions. The powerful pulse of energy suddenly flowing between them was a clear indicator of his heightened emotions. The raw intensity of it was stronger than anything she’d ever experienced as a healer.
She wasn’t sure if it was her emotional connection to him or if his Sicari abilities were stronger than anyone she’d healed before. Not even Ares’s strength had felt this powerful. Or was it the memory of these large rough hands of his gliding across her body, his fingers stroking her into a frenzy of need. The thought flushed her skin with heat. With determination, she cleared her mind of everything and closed her eyes to concentrate on nothing but healing him.
Slowly, her mind grew still as she focused on the task at hand. The moment she pictured his injuries in her head, a familiar rush of warmth stirred in her blood. It took more than a minute for the healing heat to reach her hands and flow into Lysander’s body. The first sign the Curavi was working was the sting that erupted in her arm. The sensation expanded in strength until it was as if the sword that had stabbed him was piercing her own flesh.
Sharp and slicing, the intensity of the pain made her gasp, while nausea washed over her. She didn’t have to open her eyes to know that a steady stream of blood was flowing down her arm. The smell of it assaulted her senses, and she choked back a cry as the image of a dark figure fluttered through her head. Her training made her push the vision aside. She didn’t want to see the bastard that had hurt him. It was hard enough knowing he could have been killed.
Determination swept through her, and she made herself narrow her focus of concentration until she saw only his injuries. Slowly, the pain in her arm ebbed away, and a different type of throbbing pelted her body. Fire streaked down the inside of her throat as she felt her windpipe slowly collapsing beneath the pressure. Again, the dark image came at her.
Like a bat with enlarged wings, it beat at her mental shield with persistent fury. Something deep inside her recognized the darkness. It had touched her before. She flinched as the pain in her throat increased. There was something about this injury that was different. This hadn’t been a physical assault. Someone with extraordinary telekinetic abilities had tried to kill Lysander. Another image emerged to battle the darker one. Bright and welcoming, the vision drew her to it. She heard Lysander growl something beneath his breath, but she clutched at his hands to keep him from breaking the healing bond between them.
The crushing pain around her neck increased, and it be
came difficult to breathe. Air disappeared from her lungs at a fast rate, and then suddenly she was free. Somewhere in the distance, someone called out to her. She turned toward the sound and stared in disbelief as she saw a woman who could have been her twin, racing forward.