Assassin's Heart

by Monica Burns

  “She said you would know what to do with this.” His friend laid the velvet-covered weapon on the bed.

  “Cassiopeia’s dagger?” he snapped.

  What the fuck was he supposed to do with the damn thing? The thought barely filtered through his head when Phaedra’s heart monitor when crazy. Immediately, he leaned forward, his gaze searching her face in the hope he’d see some sign that she was trying to return to him. A nurse burst into the room and quickly made her way around Emma to check the equipment and examine the IV drip. The minute the nurse pressed the call button above the bed, his heart dropped like a stone into the pit of his stomach. Inside his hand, Phaedra’s fingers flexed, and he leaned into her.

  “I’m here, inamorato. If you can hear me, squeeze my hand.”

  The only response was the sound of the monitor beeping faster as her heart rate accelerated. Christus, what the hell was happening to her? Another nurse charged into the room and ordered everyone out. Ares and Emma tried to pull him out of the room, but he refused to budge. Two more people raced into the room, one of them obviously a physician as she snapped an order and one of the nurses raced out of the room.

  A moment later, Phaedra’s heart rate made the monitor explode with sound. With a sharp order for him to move, a nurse pushed him away from the bed, and he stumbled backward. Stunned by what was happening, he watched the scene in front of him as if it were a nightmare in slow motion. Someone rolled a crash cart into the room and up to the

  side of the bed. The sight of it sent bile rushing to his mouth, and his heart clenched as the doctor reached for the paddles.

  Disbelief pounded its way through his body as he watched them shock her heart. Her body violently arched upward from the electrical jolt, and he choked back a cry of fear. What the fuck was happening? How in the hell could she go from being in a coma to cardiac arrest? The gentle stroke of a whisper touched the back of his mind. He immediately reached out for it, searching for its source.

  “Lysander, I need you. Don’t leave me here.”

  The plea was so soft he wasn’t certain he’d heard it. Deus, this couldn’t be happening. One minute Emma had placed Cassiopeia’s dagger on the bed, and the next Phaedra was in distress. The whisper came again, and this time her voice was faint, but distinct. Desperately, he stretched out his thoughts in an attempt to reach her.

  “Tell me how to reach you, mea amor . Tell me what I have to do.”

  “Lysander, please. He … You … saved me … Don’t let me … die again.”

  Her thoughts were so distant that he wasn’t certain she could even hear him, let alone respond. Christus, she sounded so alone—so terrified. Angry despair slammed into his chest as he watched the medical staff working on the woman he loved. Suddenly, she convulsed in the bed, and in the very next breath, she was gasping for air, her heart rate dropping drastically.

  The sight of her fighting to live sucked every bit of air from his lungs. He could tell by the frantic note in the doctor’s voice that they were losing her and they didn’t know how or why. Another shock of the defibrillator made her convulse again, and Cassiopeia’s dagger, escaping its velvet sheath, fell to the floor with a clatter.

  He stared at it for a second. What was it she’d said? Don’t let me die again. He didn’t think, he simply reacted and leaped forward to grab the blade off the floor. He didn’t have a clue whether this was what she needed him to do, but if there was any chance in Tartarus that it might save her, he’d do it now rather than later. Roughly shoving one of the nurses to the side, he sliced open his palm, the dagger reopening the cut Phaedra had made on his palm that night in the Pantheon.

  “My life for your life,” he said fiercely. “My heart for your heart.”

  With a swift stroke of the blade, he cut her palm open, ignoring the cries of protest from the medical staff. “My blood for your blood.”

  “Say it, inamorato . My blood for your blood,” he commanded.

  “My blood … for … your blood.” It was a clear, yet ragged whisper in his head as he

  clasped her hand in his until their blood flowed together.

  “Our blood and hearts are one.” He squeezed her hand, ignoring the wildly erratic noise of the heart monitor.

  “Our blood and hearts are one.” Her words rang stronger in his head, and he gripped her hand as if his life depended on it.

  “Non posso vivere senza voi, carissima. Don’t make me live without you again.”

  “Lysander.” It was a soft sigh in his head, and he closed his eyes, reaching out with his mind to touch hers.

  This time there was nothing stopping his thoughts from touching hers. As he reached out for her, the sounds of the hospital room slowly faded. When he felt her, the strength of her love and faith in him was overwhelming. It humbled him. Suddenly, images of ancient Rome and their final moments together as Cassiopeia and Maximus appeared in his head. The memories were painful for him, but in her they generated a sense of panic and hysteria that alarmed him. Gently, he touched her mind, reassuring her.

  “It’s the past, Phaedra. Vesta has given us a second chance, mea amor . Come to me, I’m here.”

  “I don’t know how.” It was a soft cry of desperation, and he could feel her slipping away.

  “Yes, you do. You can do this. Trust me, like I’m trusting you. I promise I won’t let go.”

  He embraced her thoughts, pulling her toward him as he visualized the hospital room. Suddenly he could feel her again, her thoughts and emotions clinging to him as he fought to focus on the present. It was a gradual sensation, but the present slowly filtered its way into his consciousness. The heart monitor was the first sound he heard, and it beeped a strong, steady rhythm.

  “Ti amo con tutta l’anima , Lysander.” It was the most beautiful thought ever to flow through his head.

  “I love you with all my heart, too, carissima,” he said out loud as the hospital room came fully into focus. Her fingers flexed tightly around his.

  “What took you … so long to come … for me, you bacciagalupe ?”

  Her voice was a hoarse whisper, but it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard. His gaze jerked toward her face and her eyes fluttered open. It seemed to take her a moment to focus before her gaze met his, and her smile was little more than a twist of the lips. The physician gently touched his arm, but he shook his head.

  “I’m not leaving.”

  “It’s … all right … mea amor.” Phaedra squeezed his hand. “Just … tired.”

  “It’s quite normal for her to be sleepy, il mio signore.” Lysander shook his head, but the doctor smiled at him patiently. “We’ll keep a close eye on her.”

  He looked down at Phaedra to see her close her eyes, but the slight smile on her face eased his fears. As her thoughts merged with his, he realized for the first time he’d been right about her intuitive ability. His telepathic abilities had enhanced her own power.

  “Which means you’ll no longer be able to keep secrets from me, caro .” Her thought was filled with mischief, and he smiled as he raised her hand to his mouth.

  “Never, carissima . Never again.”

  “I love you, Lysander.” It was the last thought she sent whispering through his head before she was asleep.

  Slowly he released her hand as the nurse gently pulled him away from the bed. As he stepped back, a strong hand gripped his arm, and he turned to see Ares staring at him with a look of heartfelt emotion. His friend didn’t say a word. He simply pulled Lysander into a bear hug. His gaze met Emma’s over Ares’s shoulder. She was beaming at him while brushing tears out of her eyes. When Ares released him, Emma stepped forward to hug him as well. He was feeling a bit choked up as Emma pulled away from him, and he was grateful that the doctor took that moment to approach him.

  “She’s asleep now, il mio signore. But we’ll monitor her response to stimuli over the next twenty-four hours.” The physician eyed him sternly. “As for you, you’re to sleep in a real bed tonight. You’ve
done everything for her that you can. We’ll take it from here.”

  “Don’t worry, doc. We’ll see to it,” Ares said with a note of steel in his voice. “As my Primus Pilus, he knows not to go against my orders.”

  As his friends guided him toward the hospital room door, he looked back at Phaedra. She loved him, and she’d come back to him. He couldn’t ask for anything more than that.

  THE sun had dropped below the trees, and in the sky above, the first pinpricks of starlight tried to pierce the bluish purple sky. The small campfire Lysander had made to ward off the evening’s chill was crackling softly in the Michigan spring air. Aside from the wind rustling in the trees and an owl hooting nearby, the only sound was the fire.

  Phaedra stared into the flames, mesmerized. The physical pain of Cassiopeia’s last moments had been excruciating. She shivered. Lysander immediately wrapped the sweater she’d brought with her around her shoulders. She smiled up at him, and he kissed the tip of her nose.

  “Better?”

  “Yes,” she said as she watched him squat in front of the fire to hold a metal rod with two fat marshmallows on it over the flames. “This sunset picnic idea of yours was a good one.”

  “I aim to please,” he said as he tossed her a grin over his shoulder.

  She glanced at the extra-large sleeping bag sitting next to the huge picnic basket he’d carried out to this quiet spot on the White Cloud estate. Even though it was relatively safe, she noticed he hadn’t forgotten to pack his sword.

  “Are you planning on keeping me out here all night?”

  “Maybe. Depends on what my wife thinks of the idea.”

  “Oh, I don’t think she’ll mind at all.”

  The flames caught her attention once more, and as she stared into the fire, an image of Nicostratus flared in her head. In ancient Rome, the Patriarch had been responsible for her death, and if the bastardo had his way, he’d do it again. She knew Lysander was determined to destroy the man, but she was terrified Nicostratus would triumph in this life, just as he had in ancient Rome.

  “You’re thinking about it again, aren’t you?” He kept his eyes on the white spongy confection he held just above the flames.

  “Listening in on my thoughts again?” she teased, knowing he wouldn’t do such a thing without her permission. He shot her a quick glance before he returned his attention to the browning marshmallows.

  “No, I’m just beginning to recognize that look you get when you think about those last moments …” His voice trailed off, and she frowned.

  “I try not to, but there’s something about those last few moments that make me realize how terribly lucky we are to have found one another again.”

  He pulled the marshmallows away from the flames and scooted backward to sit beside her again. He offered her the first treat. She pulled it off and bit into the sugary morsel. Licking her fingers, she watched him pop the last marshmallow into his mouth.

  “I talked to Atia today. Apparently, the only thing the Tyet of Isis contained was a treasure map.”

  “What?” she gasped. “After all we went through, it’s nothing more than a treasure map?”

  “She and Tevy … damn, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to call him Marcus … they think it leads to the potion that gave the Praetorian Guard their special abilities.”

  “If it involves going back to Rome, you’re to tell her no,” she said fiercely.

  “You know I can’t do that, inamorato.” He reached out to trail his forefinger down her cheek.

  “Yes, you can. Even if you kill that bastardo, there will be someone else just as bad to take his place.”

  “That’s not the point. Nicostratus has a personal interest in us. That makes him all the more dangerous. And I won’t let him jeopardize either you or our children.”

  “We don’t—what did you say?” She came up on her knees and turned to face him. There was a hesitant look on his face that sent her heart pounding.

  “I said Nicostratus was dangerous.”

  “No. The part about children.”

  “Children? Did I say something about children?” Lysander lay back on the plaid blanket, his arms folded behind his head. A small smile tilted the corners of his beautiful mouth.

  “Are you saying … you mean … you want children?”

  “Yes,” he said softly. “I want to see you grow round with child, just like you did in Rome. You’re beautiful now, but when you’re pregnant, you’ll be exquisite.”

  He reached out to run his fingertips down her throat to where the first button of her shirt was. The button popped off against the strain of his touch. A slow hum spread its way across her skin, heating her blood. When had he changed his mind? He’d been so emphatic about not having children she’d not broached the subject with him at all since then. Now, out of the blue, he’d changed his mind?

  “I don’t understand. You said … But …” She didn’t know which question to ask first. Confused, she nuzzled her face in the palm of his hand as he cupped her cheek.

  “I said I didn’t want kids.” He grimaced. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot since we came back from Italy. When I said I didn’t want kids, I hadn’t fully accepted that I was Maximus. It still makes me a little uncomfortable, but I keep thinking back to those last moments where Max … you and I were saying good-bye.”

  “You knew.” She breathed in a sharp breath. “You knew about the baby.”

  “Not until afterward. Not until … you were dead.” The memory of that moment sent a sickening lurch through his stomach. Terror is a powerful emotion that can block out pretty much everything except the danger you’re facing.

  “There was nothing you could do, mea amor. It’s over now, and we’ve found each other again. And nothing Nicostratus or anyone else does will change that.”

  She lowered her head and brushed her mouth over his in a light touch before deepening the kiss. The moment her lips touched his, a firestorm went off in his body. Eager to taste her, he parted her lips, and his tongue mated with hers in a kiss filled with love, but hot with passion.

  His hands reached up to undo the braid she wore and freed her hair so it could tumble downward over him. As her mouth left his to wander down the side of his throat, he inhaled a quick breath when she slowly unbuttoned the denim shirt he was wearing.

  The leisurely pace with which she explored his chest with her lips sent him up a wall. Deus, he wanted her. Her mouth captured his nipple and she gently nipped at it with her teeth. It made him suck in a sharp hiss of air. Christus, he loved when she did that. The moment her hand reached for the waistband of his jeans, he rolled her onto her back to hover over her.

  “I think we should get the sleeping bag,” he rasped.

  “Why? Aren’t you warm enough?” she said with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

  Beautiful brown eyes that would always make him forget to breathe. As she wrapped her arms around his neck, he sent her a wicked smile.

  “Oh, I’m quite warm, carissima.”

  “Then why don’t we get down to the business of making a baby,” she murmured as she pulled his head downward.

  “With pleasure, inamorato.”

  He let her pull him into her warmth, his mouth seeking hers in a kiss designed to show her that she would have his heart now and always. A whisper of a thought drifted through his head. She was touching him in a way no one had ever done before. As her hands heated his skin, he merged his thoughts with hers, pulling her deep into the heart and soul of him. With each kiss, caress, and every intertwining thought, time stood still. And just as she pulled him over the edge, he realized that two thousand more years still wouldn’t be enough time for him to love her.

 

 

 
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