by Sue Wilder
“Luca said she’s an ally of Three.”
“The Calata leans toward the more aggressive members, so One walks a fine line. Her territory isn’t as large as Three’s and that makes her more vulnerable to dissent.”
“What about the inquiry tomorrow?”
“The same argument with a bigger audience.” Christan traced his fingers along Lexi’s shoulders, pressing into the knotted muscles and easing her tension. “You’ll be there, but you won’t make any formal statements. If they ask questions about Zurich, tell them you don’t remember. You can confirm the attack if they ask, but no details. They’ll present it in different ways to see if you’re lying.”
Lexi bent her head, blond hair falling across her face as Christan’s fingers moved to her nape. “Luca said everyone suspects we performed a blood bond.”
“They can’t prove what we don’t confirm. The official version of the Piedmont is that two enforcers combined their efforts. The immortal was ancient, powerful but growing frail in his older age so there shouldn’t be many questions. Zurich was a gas leak. Florence was legal and sanctioned. One guessed about the blood bond because she’s close to Three, but Phillipe told her it wasn’t any different from the mate bond, just a bit of telekinetic ability for you. We stick to that.”
Lexi shivered, grateful he held her through the entire exchange. She’d missed his comfort.
“I think Six knows,” she said. “When we were in Zurich and he was walking around me, he said he sensed something different. I said it was because I was human and he said no, he didn’t think I was. Then he told Kace to shift and attack.”
Christan smoothed the hair back from her face. “Then he knows. He can’t discover what that blood bond did to either of us if we pretend it did nothing.”
“Hard to do since you destroyed his building and obliterated someone in the Piedmont.”
“Leave Six to me,” Christan said. “He’s been aggressive for centuries and this is no different.”
Lexi nodded, petting his arm when he tugged her close. “What do I do next?”
“You’re going to hate it.”
Catching the edge of Christan’s expression, she said, “You mean you’re going to hate it.”
The knock at the door interrupted Christan’s denial, and then an older woman entered the room with a large garment bag and a duffel in her arms. Her name was Liliana—she’d introduced herself earlier, and Lexi knew she was human, had worked for Luca for decades and treated his warriors like her grandsons.
“This arrived for you, Enforcer.” Humor twinkled in faded gray eyes. “The clothes are self-explanatory.”
“She didn’t.”
“It’s a formal welcoming ceremony. You know the traditions.”
Christan said nothing, scowling as Liliana draped the bag across the bed. The duffel was placed beside it before the woman scurried out the door. Lexi went to the bed and unzipped the heavy bag. The first garment she removed was a white floor-length gown that, when she held it up, appeared to float around her ankles. A pair of gold sandals with three-inch heels were in a blue box. Lexi reached for the duffel, and Christan cleared his throat.
“Sorry.” He bent his head, stepped in front of her and removed a leather scabbard containing a heavy, engraved sword. Two curved knives joined the sword on the bed, then a pair of black, military-style trousers. Boots were next. Lexi looked into the bag to see what else he would wear.
“Oh,” she said in a small voice.
Christan glared at her. “No laughing.”
Lexi held up the dress that revealed her right shoulder, arm, and an indecent amount of her right hip. The left arm would be covered with a tight sleeve that extended to the wrist. A tiny gold chain at the waist was an attempt at modesty by holding the front and back edges of the dress together. “No laughing,” she agreed.
Christan took the dress, hung it on the bathroom door. He moved with that predatory grace, no wasted movement, keeping his back to her as he returned to the bed and sorted through the weapons. Lexi watched the way his hands moved, hard and competent. Lethally competent when he slowly wrapped his fingers around the leather-wrapped hilt of the sword and withdrew it from the scabbard. He still hadn’t looked at her.
“I didn’t want to leave you with Luca today,” Christan said, lifting the weapon as if reacquainting himself with the weight and balance.
“Why? Don’t you trust Luca?”
“He’s an excellent commander, very capable in battle, but I wanted Phillipe to protect you.”
“Phillipe?”
“I didn’t like watching him train you, touch you. But I’ve always respected his talents. No one would have challenged him today.”
With the words, so quietly delivered, Lexi knew, felt the reality shudder through her veins. When Christan’s hooded gaze slid over her, the obsidian in his eyes was molten.
“How bad is it?” she asked.
“They will demand restitution for the building in Zurich.” Christan slid the blade back into the scabbard with a soft snick, walked to the bureau near the door and placed the weapon within easy reach. It occurred to Lexi that he’d been evasive and a demand for “restitution” could take many forms. When Christan changed the subject, she didn’t argue.
His voice was deep and calm as he said, “Phillipe tells me the training is going well, that you’re developing elegant control.”
“He’s a good teacher.”
“Have you tried shifting?”
“No. I’m not sure I ever will.”
“You should understand it, experience it.”
“Why?” she asked.
Christan picked up the ceremonial knives and arranged them beside the sword. “It would be dangerous if you shifted out of fear.”
Phillipe had explained what talents she might expect from the blood bond, talents from Christan, included shifting. Since nothing was guaranteed Lexi hadn’t asked about the details, just accepted Phillipe’s remark about Tao and knowing when or if she was ever ready to try the shift. Now she was worried.
“Does it frighten you?” Christan’s voice was neutral. “Shape shifting?”
“I’ve watched you and Arsen do it and it seems natural. I can’t think of it as natural for me.” Not when her one experience in Rock Cove had been a pitiful retreat to the bathroom with a claw extending from her right hand.
“Phillipe will help you through it.”
Lexi’s heart faltered. Trust was such a delicate thing; she trusted no other man but Christan if she tried to shift into another form. She wanted him there the way she wanted him to teach her how to protect herself, and he’d handed that responsibility off to Phillipe, too.
It was an unfair thought, but she had it anyway.
“Why are we talking about this?” she asked.
“Because with all the suspicions about the blood bond someone might try to provoke you tonight. It’s possible you would shift out of fear and I couldn’t help you shift back.”
“I’ll be careful.”
Christan was doing something with the black military-style pants, checking the seams. “Let them into your mind if they try—and they will try. Keep them in the usual areas but set up those walls Arsen taught you and keep them out of your deepest thoughts.”
“Won’t that be a tip-off?”
“The fact they get in at all will be proof you’re still human.” He was returning to the bureau, checking something on the scabbard, the harness. “Bore them with what you think of your dress, cara, and they won’t bother with anything more.”
Lexi traced the faint gold lines that curled beneath her skin, uneasy with his continued evasions and the fact that he wouldn’t look at her as he spoke. It was as if he didn’t want her to see the truth in his eyes, and his phrasing reminded her of how ancient he was, made it impossible not to see his immortality and power. The memory lines in her wrist felt clean, sharp with memories and her blood heated.
“Why did One send those clothes for yo
u tonight?”
Christan was walking back toward the bed. With a quick movement, he cleared the garment bag from the comforter and tossed it on a nearby chair. The duffel bag followed, thumping to the floor. He was dressed in the black slacks he’d worn on the plane, and his shirt was half-open. In the shadowed light his skin looked bronzed. When he turned Lexi saw the past in his face, wild and unforgiving. A man who knew exactly how dangerous he was, standing by the bed.
“I would have you over here, cara,” he said instead of answering her question.
“Would you?”
The nerves at the edge of her ribcage fluttered. With one hand, he whipped everything except the crisp linen sheet from the bed. “Here,” he said softly.
She walked toward him. Shadows moved across his face, darkening his eyes.
“I once asked Gaia to hunt with me,” he said, his voice deep and rough. “Will you hunt with me now, cara?”
“Who do we hunt?”
“Enemies.”
Lexi stood quite still, feeling whispers of Gaia in the room, sensed they had hunted together, many times, and that was the draw for him, the thrill. “I will hunt with you.”
Christan unfastened the buttons on her magenta shirt and slid the edges open. He traced his fingers along the delicate wing of her collar bone, then down to cup her breast. Living heat flowed through his hand and into her sensitive flesh, demanding before the pressure in his fingers changed. His breathing grew steady and controlled. Lexi thought his eyes had grown sad, and then his hand gently moved from her skin to slide beneath the hair at her nape. He bent down, pressed a gentle kiss against the crown of her head and straightened, drawing the edges of the magenta shirt closed and refastening the buttons.
Another minute more and she was fully clothed. Christan was moving back. He smiled, half-apologetic as he turned away.
“I will not have you heroic this night.
CHAPTER 10
From the earliest centuries, One’s sympathies had been rooted in the exoticism of the Moors. She had roamed, as most Calata members did, never trusting the vulnerability of a fixed location until territories were tamed and boundaries settled. She found the crenelated walls and secret courtyards aesthetically pleasing, adopting the Moorish architecture as her own. Her compound was built at the top of the hill with a curtain wall several miles in length, and an inner wall guarding the terraces. The location was deliberate, Christan explained, as was the approach. The villa took advantage of the cooling summer breeze and held the high ground against any encroaching enemy.
On this night, the moon was full and in competition with the torches blazing like war fires. Pinpoints of light wavered and grew stronger, marking the curving road through the open fields. Then the vineyards formed straight rows on the approach to the pink walls of One’s compound. There, the heavy wooden gates swung open. Cars were searched by security teams, guests directed toward the path thick with white gravel. Gardens overflowed with fountains. The sweet spice of flowers drifted in the air, voices carried, and women fluttered like birds in bright colors. Men strolled, some dressed in formal clothes, others in the ceremonial garb Christan so disliked. But it wasn’t the knives thrust into the waistband of the black pants, or the wicked sword strapped to Christan’s back, within easy reach over his shoulder—there was something else Lexi couldn’t identify, an electric current flowing through the night air. Tiny pulses raced through her memory lines with a recognizable energy. Christan’s enemies were here.
Lexi paused and pressed her palm against the crenelated wall, waiting for whispers from the earth. From childhood, Lexi realized she had an ability to sense memories locked in the landscape, a form of pre-cognition that revealed the stories of violence, desperation or blinding passion. Every environment held an ancient radiance infused with human presence. Lexi could “see” the tension between love and lust, watch battles being fought and hearts in the process of being broken. She focused on the surrounding garden, looked for a direct threat, but felt nothing more alarming than voices whispering of forgotten pain. Everywhere in Italy, she was likely to find similar impressions.
Arsen and Darius walked ahead, bare chested with swords at their backs. They were relaxed but alert, hard men with hard bodies and exotic tattoos reflecting the night. Drums beat in the distance. Brass lamps illuminated the cypress trees, and the yellow firelight came from the medieval-looking torches. The indigo sky was alive with stars and pulsing energy. It made her senses stir.
The two warriors had taken the lead while Christan walked on Lexi’s right. His tattoos were violent, primitive, reminding onlookers of the enforcer’s dangerous past. Lexi studied the lines history had inked on his body, bronze and black in the firelight, disturbing with the glint of steel at his back.
“You look pagan,” she said.
His hand brushed against the memory lines on her wrist.
“You look beautiful,” he murmured.
“I look half naked.” The dress fit perfectly, but it would since One had an expert eye and a specific goal in mind. While the left side of the dress allowed modesty, covering her from shoulder to ankle, her right side was bare, with the single gold chain lacing the front and back edges together. It was a dress she would have worn only for Christan, not for strangers, and he picked up on her uneasiness.
“One wanted your hand revealed. Immortals are curious. They’ve never seen memory lines.”
“She wants me to feel exposed.” Lexi looked out across the garden where a burst of laughter became a sharp explosion. Goosebumps rose on her skin.
“She wants you to appear harmless, cara. Something they don’t have to fear, just my human mate who remembers her past and nothing more.”
“What we don’t tell them they can’t know.” Lexi plucked at the gold chain, remembering what he’d said earlier. Christan reached down and closed his fingers around her right hand. His thumb stroked against the line she recognized as Gaia, calming the nerves.
“Did you learn anything from Katerina?”
“Not much, other than they ambushed her at the attorney’s office. Katerina wasn’t related to Elene Santori, either, but they put each other down as next of kin. She said Elene fought with her warrior, he disappeared, and Elene came to Portland for help.”
“Did Katerina tell you why?”
“She implied that Elene wasn’t there looking for Javier. We suspected eavesdropping so we talked around it until her attorney came to retrieve her and Luca took me with him.” Lexi paused. “How is Arsen taking it?”
“How do you think?”
Lexi looked at Arsen’s hard back, then glanced at the terraced gardens. “What’s with the drums and torches?”
“This is the traditional welcoming ceremony for Six, including a sword dance. It honors his seat of power.”
“Does that mean you’ll be dancing?” Secret, intimate teasing. Christan pinched her inner arm.
“No.”
“So why did you dress that way?”
“Do the bare chests and weapons excite you?”
“Don’t be rude, I was just asking.”
Christan pressed a kiss to her temple, glancing around as he whispered, “I see your blush, cara, and I’m not going to forgive One for that dress, either. All I can think of is having you naked beneath me.”
Lexi felt the heat of his words and banished it. “What do I need to know?”
“When we enter the ballroom, you’ll be with the women. Invited immortals are here and selected humans, those who keep secrets and understand the consequences if they don’t. Warriors are required to stand guard on the perimeter.”
Christan stopped and they both watched the dancers filling the upper courtyard, double rows of men lining both sides of the wide entry—large, rough-looking warriors moving and chanting in time with the drums. They were dressed in white pants and belted tunics, with black bandoleers, and each man held a ceremonial sword as they stood shoulder to shoulder in a gesture of solidarity. Flashes of red and
dark blue added to the tribal atmosphere and Lexi wasn’t immune. She understood why ancient cultures used the emotional intensity of drums and chants when they prepared for battle. An odd sense of aggression had her pulse racing.
“It’s ceremonial, right?” The drums beat with a furious staccato rhythm, and the tiny hairs at Lexi’s nape tingled in response. Her heart seemed to be fluttering beneath every inch of her bare skin. Christan brushed the back of his hand against her cheek.
“Would you like it better if it were real?”
“That makes me sound bloodthirsty.”
“It makes you sound interesting.” Her hair was down because Christan liked it that way, but in the evening breeze the long strands grew unruly. He watched the gold reflecting in the firelight, then tangled his fingers near her nape as if he couldn’t stop touching her. Lexi thought about his earlier statement, wanting her naked and beneath him; she wished he would ask her again because the sudden need to leave was a pressure in her throat.
“Do you find this intimidating?” he asked.
Lexi frowned before staring at nothing in particular. “This isn’t real aggression, is it?”
“No one wants a war tonight.”
“But tomorrow?”
“Six has war on his mind.”
Lexi glanced around. “Luca mentioned he’d be here.”
Christan nodded.
“You’ll keep me safe?”
“You’ll be safe, cara. I won’t be with you but Phillipe will be in my place. Six won’t do anything if you stay with Phillipe or Luca.”
He took her hand and kissed her fingers. His eyes were black obsidian, his hair darker than midnight and cut short, now, with military precision. The way he looked, dangerous and immortal with the weaponry displayed on his hard body—the death this man could promise was evident in everything he did. Lexi reached out with her senses, pulled up the earth energies. Christan’s enemies were hiding in the night, and Lexi understood why he didn’t want her alone.
Perhaps it was war tonight.
“I have to leave you now,” he said.