by Monica Burns
He wouldn’t have told her. He still would have kept it from her. The realization was an emotional slap in the face. She struggled to accept his inability to trust her. It was one thing to accept that he wasn’t responsible for his father’s sins, but trust was essential to a relationship. How could she trust him not to keep other secrets from her? And without trust, they didn’t stand a chance in hell.
“I have every confidence in Legatus Condellaire, and I am convinced he and his team will be successful in their mission to find the Tyet of Isis. Longior vivere ordinis Sicari.” As Atia formally closed her address, Phaedra murmured the words, “Long Live the Order of the Sicari.” The phrase that ended all official Council events was second nature to her, and it took her a moment to realize she’d missed the last part of the Prima Consul’s speech. Suddenly overwhelmed by a desire to cry like she had last night, she ducked her head in an attempt to regain her composure.
“That will be all until the team briefing at one o’clock.” Lysander’s voice was brittle, and she didn’t look at him as she stood up to leave the room with everyone else. As she tried to slip out of the room unnoticed, he stepped into her path. “Phaedra, I’d like to see you in the study.”
“Can it wait?” She stiffened. Deus, she didn’t think she was up to this. She barely glanced at him, unwilling to reveal how devastated she was feeling.
“No.”
That was it. No compromise, just a refusal. With a sharp nod, she brushed past him and headed toward the study. Fine. Maybe it is best to get this over with. Less than a minute later, she entered the empty study. She didn’t have to turn around to know when Lysander entered the room. Her body reacted to him like a sonar device gone crazy. At the sound of the door closing, she turned to face him, waiting for him to speak. The tension between
them was like taut piano wire ready to break the minute the wrong key was struck.
His jawline hard and inflexible, he folded his arms across his chest. They stared at each other for a long moment as she waited for him to speak. The emotion penetrating the silence between them only heightened the tension in the room. He was the one who’d asked for this little meeting. Why didn’t he say what it was he wanted to say so she could get out of here? Being alone with him made her feel vulnerable. If this was an intimidation tactic, it was working.
“Say something,” he rasped.
“What?” She stared at him in amazement.
“Say something,” he repeated himself. “Yell at me, rant, whatever you want, but just say something.”
“There isn’t anything to say.” No. There was a lot to say, she just wasn’t prepared to go down that road just now. The pain was too fresh to expose herself to more misery.
“Fotte.”
He took a step toward her in an explosive movement. Startled, she leaped backward in surprise, and a bit of fear too, if she was honest. He was half-Praetorian. The thought made her heart ache. That was unfair of her. He’d never given her reason to think he’d harm her. His features became a carved sculpture of anguish, and he immediately turned away from her. ” Christus, I didn’t mean to scare you like that.”
“You didn’t frighten me.” Her fierce bravado was a lie. She had been scared, and she despised herself for it. She knew he would never hurt her. He faced her again, and she could see from his expression that he knew she was lying.
“I want to explain—”
“Don’t.” She raised her hand.
There wasn’t any explanation he could give her that would ease the anger and pain she was feeling right now. To keep something this important from her showed his lack of trust, and without his willingness to believe she wouldn’t betray him, they had nothing. She knew he was in pain, but so was she, and she wasn’t ready to forgive him everything just yet.
“Damn it, I need to make you—”
“Understand? I understand everything completely.”
“Do you? I doubt it.”
“Let me see if I can clarify it for you.” She glared at him in hurt frustration. “You lied to me.”
“I never lied to you.” His mouth thinned with anger as he stood rigid in front of her.
“It’s called the sin of omission. The Praetorians know it well. You could have told me. Should have told me who you really are, but you didn’t. That’s lying in my book.”
“Who I really am?” The bitterness in his voice made her wince.
“You know who I am, Phaedra. I’m the same man today that I was yesterday before you knew about my Praetorian blood.”
“No. I don’t know you at all. How could I possibly know you when you didn’t trust me enough to tell me your darkest secret,” she said fiercely. “A secret you entrusted to Atia without any problem at all.”
“Il Christi omnipotentia, it wasn’t like that.”
“Yes, it was like that. So why don’t you just drop this charade of you caring about what I think and leave me alone?”
She didn’t want him to leave her alone. She wanted him to take her in his arms and tell her he was sorry for not trusting her. She wanted to hear him say he loved her. She wanted so much and was terrified he’d never tell her what she needed to hear. With a bowed head, he looked away from her until his demonic profile was all she could see.
“I can’t do that.”
“Sure you can,” she sneered. “You managed to do it without any trouble once before, what’s so different this time?”
“It’s different because who I am is out in the open now.” His entire body was knotted with tension as she fired back at him.
“So because everyone else knows now, that makes it okay? Well guess what. It doesn’t. And you want to know why? Because I had to hear it from that Praetorian bastardo instead of you? Even worse than that, you trusted Atia enough to tell her. You trusted her, but not me, and you should have.”
“Can you really blame me for not saying anything?” he rasped as he faced her again, anger darkening the angelic half of his face. “Look how you reacted last night.”
She cringed inwardly at his accusation. “Last night our lives were at stake. Did you expect me to have a conversation with you while that bastardo was announcing to the
world you were his son?”
“No. But afterward—”
“Afterward, I was too busy dealing with the fact that your father—”
“He’s not my father,” he growled with a ferocity that made her jump, but she didn’t back down.
“That bastardo isn’t just any Praetorian. Your father is the same monster who butchered my parents.”
The sharp declaration was like a thunderclap in the room, and Lysander recoiled from her so quickly she thought he was going to bolt out of the room. There wasn’t a drop of color in his face, and his features had hardened into a stone facade of horror. The scarred tissue layering his cheekbone was stretched so tight, she knew it had to hurt.
Even if she’d not been able to see his features, she would have known how appalled and shocked he was by her words. His senses were exploding with a fury that alarmed her. Her gaze pinned to his face, she swallowed hard as one turbulent emotion after another rolled off him. The pain that accompanied his horror squeezed at her heart. Close on the heels of those two powerful waves of emotion was intense shame.
Shame that he was related to Nicostratus and a stark fear that he might be like that Praetorian bastardo. Her heart ached for him, and despite all the anger and pain his betrayal had caused her, she wanted to ease his suffering. She took a step forward only to find herself fighting to remain standing as the tangible impact of his rage buffeted the space and silence between them.
It was dark and unmerciful in its intensity. Worse, it mimicked the hatred she’d sensed in Gabriel, and it frightened her. Not because she feared him, but because she was frightened for him. His rage was for Nicostratus, and she knew without any doubt that he intended to kill the man who’d sired him.
His green-colored gaze met hers, and the tormented anguish s
he saw there was the only emotion reflected in his expression. But she could still feel the powerful rage locked up inside him that was for the Praetorian Patriarch. She didn’t even have to ask the question. The next time he met his father, he’d do whatever it took to kill the man. He shook his head slightly, almost as if in denial, but he didn’t question the validity of her accusation.
“Does Ares know?”
“I don’t know.”
“He needs to be told.” There was a finality and hopelessness to his voice that alarmed her. He nodded his head as if coming to a decision. “I’ll reassign you to a new partner
immediately.”
The harsh rasp of his voice scraped across her senses with the sharpness of a finely honed blade. He was cutting her out of his life completely. The conflicted emotion sweeping through her made her shudder. Deus, how could she walk away from him? She loved him so much. It wasn’t his Praetorian blood that bothered her. The blood in his veins might not be pure, but his heart was what mattered. He was Sicari. And no one, not even her, could question his loyalty to the Order.
It was his lack of trust that stung. Even now, he was showing he didn’t trust her to protect his back when they were working together. It infuriated her. She deserved better than that from him. And if he thought he could avoid her anger by giving her a new partner, he needed to have his head examined. They needed to work this out—together. It was the only way either of them would be able to come to terms with themselves and each other.
“I don’t want a new partner,” she said with quiet determination.
“As Legatus, I make the assignments. You don’t have a choice.”
“And if you insist on reassigning me, I’ll demand Dux Provocare .” Challenging his ability to command probably wasn’t the smartest move she’d ever made. And facing him in a sword fight was idiotic, but there weren’t that many options open to her. She could only hope her intuition was right where he was concerned.
“You aren’t that foolish,” he said in low voice that was dark with fury.
“No?” She sent him a look of disgust and stalked toward the door. “Watch me.”
She took a step forward and he called her bluff. Invisible hands dragged her toward him until there was only an inch between the two of them. On some deeper level, she recognized his spicy scent and breathed it in. She met his gaze defiantly. If he expected her to cower, he was in for a rude awakening. A growl of anger rumbled deep in his chest.
“Damn it, Phaedra. Use your head. You’re in a hell of a lot more danger with me as a partner than if you’re working with someone else.”
“And exactly how do you figure that?”
“Because I’m going to be the Praetorian Dominus’s target every time we meet. He’s got it in for me, and eventually, he’s going to win. I can’t let you be with me when that happens, because I know what Gabriel’s intentions are.”
“His intentions?” She sniffed with irritation. “He wants me as a brood mare. Tell me something I don’t know. Like what your intentions are.”
Surprise made him release his mental hold on her as he straightened upright in a rigid fashion and put some distance between them. “My intentions?”
“We’ve been lovers for more than two weeks now. Exactly what does that mean to you?” She sent up a small fervent prayer as she waited for him to tell her what she wanted to hear.
“If that’s your way of asking for the blood bond, it’s not going to happen.” His sharp reply sliced at her, and she struck back.
“So you’re just like that Praetorian Dominus bastardo. Is that it?”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” The angry words had the same force of a whip cracking in the air.
“Well, obviously you’ve just been using me for pleasure. Or maybe I’ve got it all wrong and there’s some other reason we’ve been sharing the same bed.”
“Il Christi omnipotentia. You know better.”
“Do I? You were the one to bring up Gabriel and his intentions. Exactly what am I supposed to think?”
“I am not him.” This time his voice echoed with a fury that vibrated the air between them.
“You’re right. You aren’t him. But at least that monster is honest about what he wants. You, on the other hand, lied to me. Made me believe … believe there was more to us than you ever intended.”
“I’ve already explained why I didn’t tell you.”
“My reaction. Right. And that tells me you thought I would betray you to the Order if you told me your secret.”
His expression became unreadable, and his neck muscles bunched tight with tension as he stared at her in silence. The only indication he was under any kind of strain was his ragged breathing. It made her think he might be in pain. Were his wounds from last night hurting him? She knew he’d refused the Curavi Violetta had offered him last night, and Phaedra was convinced it was a form of penance. She took a step toward him, and she saw his throat bob as he shook his head hard. Deus, he wasn’t going to give way at all.
“I told you why I didn’t tell you. If you’re looking for something more than that … I don’t have it to give.” It was a rejection. Plain and simple. It made her sag under the weight of it.
“Then there’s nothing more to say.” With as much dignity as she could muster, she
walked past him and headed toward the study door. Her hand on the doorknob, she looked at him over her shoulder. “Remember what I said. If you try to reassign me, I’ll call Dux Provocare. And this time, I’m not bluffing.”
Not waiting for his response, she simply opened the door and left the room. The moment she was in the hall with the door closed quietly behind her, she bit back a cry at the pain assaulting every cell of her body. The force of it was almost crippling in its intensity. Stumbling forward, she made her way upstairs. Stubborn man. How could she forgive him if he didn’t want forgiveness? He cared about her, but he’d rejected her as neatly as he might have sliced open a Praetorian. She stopped in the upper hallway and stared at the door in front her. Ares and Emma’s door. She hesitated before knocking. What was she going to say to him? She didn’t know, but somehow she’d find a way to tell him. She rapped lightly on the door with her knuckles.
“You looking for me or Emma?” Her brother’s quiet question behind her startled her, and she jerked around to see Ares headed toward her with a somber expression on his face. She nodded.
“I was looking for you. I need to talk to you.”
“Come on in,” he said as he ushered her into the suite. “Emma’s in the library with Atia studying the artifact we found last night.”
“Oh.” It wasn’t exactly the response she meant to make, and Ares quirked his eyebrow at her.
“Okay, something’s bugging you. Out with it.”
“Can we sit down?”
He frowned and gestured toward the couch. She sank down on the cushions and stared at the bowl of red roses centered on the coffee table. Leaning forward, she absently stroked the velvety petals. The scent of the flowers reminded her how soft and feminine her mother had always smelled when she’d hugged her good night. She closed her eyes at the memory. It wasn’t fair that that bastardo was still alive and her parents were dead.
“What’s wrong, Phaedra?” Ares never called her by her full name unless he was really worried about her.
“How often do you think about Mom and Dad?” Her question was met by silence, and she turned her head to see Ares staring up into space. As if realizing she was watching him, he shrugged slightly.
“Not as often as I used to. They’re always there in the back of my mind, but it’s not every day. More like I’ll see something that reminds me of them.”
She looked back at the flowers, suddenly uncertain as to whether she should tell him what she knew. Did he really need to know? What if he hadn’t seen anything? It might affect his friendship with Lysander, and right now Lysander needed every friend he could get.