by Sue Wilder
She had risked her life with that insane, stubborn, ferocious courage, standing against the most dangerous member of the Calata, an immortal capable of destroying her with one blink of his eyes. And he, he had not been there to protect her. The thought dragged him to his knees. Why had he never talked to her about the blood bond? Talked of the vengeance that could explode beyond her control? Why had he wasted so much time avoiding the changes instead of preparing her for them?
Why had he never thanked her?
She saved his life that day when she held his bloody shirt and cut her palm to the bone, demanding Arsen send frightening energy into her mind. He might not have survived in Zurich if she hadn’t appeared, defiant and giving him strength at the cost of her own.
And he’d never thanked her.
Christan’s emotions were primitive and wild. The moral compass that held him steady disappeared. He needed to burn with the violence, cross the threshold without thought or control. Part of him craved the promise of peace he found in the flames, the moment of incandescence so beautiful it was shattering. The place where he alone existed, pure and unrestrained, until he stepped into the fire and was free.
He was so far from redemption he no longer understood the word. Images were streaking through his mind, those days and nights, caught in a savage jungle; he was the monster Three created and could not excise, and nothing could alter that pitiless fact or change what he’d become through the demand for vengeance. He was the cold wind before the warm rush. The terror in the night. When the old, addictive stirrings filled his mind, Christan stripped them away with a ruthlessness cultivated in the Void. He allowed no emotion to remain. He would protect her the only way he knew how.
The breath Christan dragged into his lungs was so ragged it drew blood. He felt her reach out to him. Her voice, soft in his mind. “I’m sorry.”
Christan tried to release his grip in her hair. His hands curled against her scalp, warm beneath his palms. It took several seconds before he was petting the white-gold strands, not gripping them, dragging his big hands down over the curve of her shoulder. When she reached out and slid her palms against his waist, she anchored him, pulled him back from the edge. She held on, as if needing his strength to remain standing, although she didn’t step into his arms.
“Forgive me.”
“I can’t yet.”
“Help me understand.”
“I need to keep you safe.”
“I am safe when I’m with you.”
“Safe from me.”
“From you?”
Christan watched as the meaning behind the words “safe from me” splintered through her, then stepped back until she was forced to let him go. He removed his weapons, walked to the table against the wall and laid out each item in precise order—the harness, the engraved sword and curved ceremonial knives. The weapons were sharp and deadly.
When the task was done Christan disappeared through a door. He returned a moment later, pulling a black shirt closed across his chest and buttoning it because clothes kept him civilized and he needed to feel civilized now. Lexi stood where he’d left her, braced, and he wondered if she was still frightened. It was possible with the emotions writhing beneath his skin. The tattoos were primitive, a conduit to his energy. Lexi would feel every emotion through her memory lines, and Christan made a conscious effort to wall her from his thoughts. The image in his mind was of a huntress, blazing in the sun too far from him to reach.
“I sorry,” she said, extending a hand which he refused to acknowledge.
“Phillipe and Luca were there to handle Six.”
“Yes,” she agreed.
“But you had to confront him.”
Christan saw her sharp recoil at the bitterness, knew he could be an unspeakable ass. Didn’t want to tell her how out of control she’d been, on the verge of revealing her growing power. Immortals followed an ancient code. An insult was punished. A betrayal meant blood. But there was one crime that was never forgiven. Immortality was not granted to humans, and Lexi had been too deep in the compulsion, driven by the magic let loose through the blood bond. She never heard the mental orders Phillipe had been screaming while he gripped her arm.
But Christan heard them. Reached her in time.
“Six couldn’t hurt me,” Lexi was saying. He didn't want to listen. “I don’t understand how it happened, but I didn’t feel his energy.”
“It wasn’t you. It was the blood bond.”
“How?”
Christan had no desire to explain. “The blood bond is a direct connection from me to you. What you felt came from me and Six recognized that energy. He was reacting to it and would have killed you if I hadn’t gotten to you in time.”
“When you’re in my mind I feel you,” she argued with that stubborn resistance she carried with her throughout all her lifetimes.
“I was there, cara. It’s beyond my control now. And yours. Three’s compulsion is digging into your mind and you’re still too human to control it. What I am, you… will become.”
Part of him was breaking apart. Christan struggled to hold himself together. She seemed to be struggling with the same emotions and he opened his mind and pulled her in, forced her see the monster in that jungle dripping with steam and blood. Let her listen to the screams. The crying birds and burning sun and his descent into hell. She was pale and trembling.
“You aren’t that man.”
“I’ve always been that man.”
“No, I know who I love.”
Christan switched to telepathy. “I’ve known what I am from the start, but you refused to see that truth.”
“I do see,” she argued back. “I see the honor in you!”
“There is no honor, cara. You asked why I refused to teach you how to defend yourself, and I couldn’t tell you that each day you gained immortal power meant one less day we had together. The stronger you become, the more danger there is to you from Three’s one word that I can’t control, and I will not allow that to happen.”
Lexi’s hands were tight fists that still trembled, and Christan was no longer willing to keep the conversation in the intimate space of telepathy.
“I wish there were only good days for you, cara, but we both understand this ending. I thought I could protect you, but tonight the vengeance took control and there's only one way I have left to protect you. We cannot remain together.”
“I won’t accept your judgement, Christan, I can’t. We can find a way around the magic if it’s happening.”
“There is no way around this magic. The longer I am with you, the more the blood bond embeds itself and I ask you to leave. Go back to Seattle. Three will keep you safe now because it can’t be me.”
“I don’t want to leave you.”
“I will not allow you to stay.”
“We can’t even discuss this?” Her strained voice echoed in the room but Christan refused to relent. Blood-letting was better done swiftly and in the open.
“No. It’s done.”
Christan stood silent while the shock settled on her face, and he remembered how Arsen had once asked him how far he would go to keep Lexi safe.
This was how far he would go. He would break her heart, send her away to shield her from his influence.
Christan drew himself up and stood at attention, awaiting her judgment as she plucked at the white dress One had selected to make her feel vulnerable.
“I’d like to change, please.”
“There’s a second bedroom.” Christan gestured toward the darkened hall. “Your things arrived earlier. If there’s anything else you need.” His voice trailed off into the abyss he’d carved between them.
Her chin lifted, golden hair streaming out in the lamplight.
The distance in her eyes was infinite, chasing the sky into the sea.
When she turned and left the room, he lost her.
CHAPTER 12
Life was a bitch, the kind of bitch with nothing left to offer but the pieces on the flo
or. When Lexi thought about it, she wondered why Christan’s attitude surprised her. Why she thought she could reason with him. He believed her confrontation with Six resulted from the blood bond, a power so strong even Phillipe had failed to reach her. But Lexi knew the energy propelling her came from some other place. Not from Christan. It had been her need for justice: for Renata, for Katerina, for the girl at the base of the cliff. For the cat. And what Christan had done just now made no sense at all.
Lexi removed the white dress and hung it up on a hook beside the door, showered and changed into a pair of soft jeans and a long-sleeved gray sweater. It was light-weight but warm and would protect her against the cool night. Then, like a departing tourist she picked up the pieces of her presence and packed them in a bag. It was a duffel with a strap; the strap could be slung over a shoulder. Her passport was in her purse, along with a wallet and several credit cards, sufficient to buy a ticket to somewhere, but she would leave the phone behind. A phone would track her movements and there would be no tracking, no running to Three.
Christan wanted her gone. Lexi was happy to leave, and the plan took shape as she wrapped her hair into a loose knot. Call for a taxi. Check the airport for the next flight, or if the wait was too long, then the train station in Florence would do, a quick trip to Rome, or Pisa, then hide the way Katerina was hiding. Because after what Lexi had seen in Six’s mind it was clear she’d be hiding for the rest of her life.
Lexi shoved her feet into a pair of running shoes, picked up the duffel and walked through the main salon. Christan was leaning against a polished table, arms crossed against his chest, watching. Lexi ignored him, but her hand trembled as she reached for the door. The handle turned. The dark-haired guard blocked her path.
“Ms. North,” he said. “Can I be of assistance?”
“You can step out of the way.”
“That’s not possible this evening.”
The sense of deja vu was disorienting. Lexi flashed to a day more than half a year ago when Arsen said something similar. The man’s expression was polite but unyielding. Her eyes flicked over the dark suit, the alert stance. Reality filtered through her numbed emotions. Security detail. Not for protection. For detention.
Lexi nodded. Closed the door. The room tilted, came back on its axis. Christan continued to watch with a mild frown of disinterest.
“You could have mentioned it,” she said, unwilling to look at him directly.
“You could have asked.”
“We aren’t speaking.”
“Then it’s a moot point.”
“What are we doing, Christan?” Lexi demanded, and even though he knew what she meant, he refused to give the right answer.
“We are detained until the official inquiry is complete.”
“You told me to leave.”
“I miscalculated.”
“I’m a prisoner?”
“So it would seem.”
“What about you? You could shift into a bird or something and fly out the window.”
“I could if there were windows in this room. The design is specific to detainees with particular talents.”
Lexi turned from Christan and noticed the drapes covered artificial windows—thick glass and subtle lights, set in a frame against the wall. The furnishings were comfortable. Fine art hung on the walls, a minor Impressionist landscape and a collection of etchings. No electronics, and the ambiance was sterile.
Lexi dropped the duffel into an empty corner, refusing to take it back to the room she had no interest in using. In fact, she had no intention of doing anything. She walked to the wet bar housed in an alcove. Covered silver bowls sat beside white plates and the aroma suggested pasta. Lexi ignored the food and searched until she found a bottle of red wine in the wooden rack.
As she looked in the drawer for some tool to pull the cork, her fingers trembled. Christan was staring down at a point near his feet. The bronze tattoo on his upper arm flexed as if alive. The scent of wild oranges drifted in the air, and Lexi wondered how she could get through the day without touching him. Despite everything, she didn’t want to give up on them. But they were so far apart now, even standing in the same room he would never find her. Even if he tried.
The silence spilled across the floor until Arsen walked through the door. He was wearing jeans and a somber black tee shirt, his blond hair short and spiky as if he’d scrubbed his fingers against his scalp. His tattoo was as intricate as Christan’s and flexed in the overhead light when he moved his arm. Lexi turned her back, concentrating on opening the wine.
“Did you talk to Leander?” Christan asked as he pushed away from the table.
“He says no one is asking about Six and his building. It’s all about the Piedmont.”
“That was One’s responsibility,” said Christan.
“You didn’t trust her, did you?”
Christan shook his head. “Where One’s concerned, I’m her only problem.”
“We’re all her problem.”
Arsen glanced around the room as if evaluating a battlefield. Then he walked to the wet bar, slanting a glance at Lexi before he reached for a bottle of mineral water. She refused to make eye contact. Christan shrugged when Arsen turned with a question in his eyes.
“The Piedmont was sanctioned,” Christan said. “It’s plausible that both Leander and I had to work together on that execution.”
“You could have done it on your own, Enforcer, even without the blood bond and they all know it. You had enough power to keep yourself in the Void for four hundred years. This comes back to Zurich.”
Christan wasn’t convinced. “Zurich is a building. Six can make his claim and Three will pay restitution. That’s the way it’s done.”
“You didn’t happen to notice the immortals exerting pressure on One tonight, did you?” the blond warrior asked.
“Most of them are allied with Six.”
“Right, and she’s putting on a political show so it looks like she’s doing something.”
“Why bother when it’s Three’s opinion that counts?”
“Think about it, Enforcer. One is caught in the middle. Rumors are circulating about an incident in the Piedmont no one should be worried about, and a dispute that could have been handled through legal departments. Throw in a dead girl in Portland and how do you expect her to react?”
“Exactly the way she’s reacting. But why threaten a diplomatic incident?”
“Because Six threated it, and a Calata war is something we couldn’t ignore.” Arsen frowned as he finished the mineral water. “It’s what you would have done, start so many fires we’d have no choice but to come back to Florence.”
Christan shook his head. “Zurich has too many questions Six doesn’t want to answer. There’s no political gain for him.”
“That we know about,” said Arsen.
“What if it is about Zurich?” Lexi asked from her position against the wall. Both warriors turned to look at her. Christan was glaring. It was Arsen who asked.
“What are you thinking, Slick?”
“What happens if Six wins this complaint?”
“Nothing,” Christan said unpleasantly.
“Hypothetically.”
“It will cost him as much as it costs Three while One remains secure.” Christan turned away. “What’s your point?”
“Calata never do anything without a reason,” she said, tracing her finger around the rim of the wine glass.
Arsen’s voice gentled. “What reason do you see, Slick?”
“It’s not why Six wants you back in Italy. It’s who he wants.”
Lexi watched as Arsen straightened. She watched as Christan turned around to face her, his eyes narrowed down to pinpoints of obsidian, and knew with complete certainty she was right. When Six called her Gaia. When he revealed the mental images in that instant of uncontrolled rage, she’d known she would be standing here, saying words that terrified her to the depths of her core.
“Why else would he deman
d I come as a witness?”
“You weren’t obligated to comply,” Christan pointed out.
“But he knew I’d insist, and you’d agree because you’d want me with you instead of vulnerable in Oregon.”
A trembling started at the base of Lexi’s spine and moved throughout her entire body. This wasn’t about Zurich, or about whether a blood bond had been completed and she was no longer mortal. Six wanted Three preoccupied with Elene’s murder. He wanted Christan at a disadvantage and Lexi back in Italy. And he wanted something else.
Three had once said, “It begins with Gaia, and it ends with Gaia.”
And because Lexi couldn’t look at Christan, she died a little inside and looked at Arsen. “I don’t know, Bucko, but I think I’m scared.”
✽✽✽
Christan had his phone out and was punching in a number. “Get in here,” he said before disconnecting and setting the phone back on the table beside the glinting knives. A moment later there was a single knock on the door and Phillipe entered the room.
Christan didn’t waste effort on the pleasantries. “Call her. Contact her. I don’t care what the fuck you do, I want her here.”
“Three is involved in something.”
“And we the hell are not?” Christan controlled his anger as a gesture of civility. “Phillipe, if there is one time when you need to set your loyalty aside, it’s now.”
Phillipe moved further into the room. Power surged and Christan met it with equal force. The standoff lasted only as long as it took Phillipe to notice Lexi’s stricken face.
“What has happened?” he asked as he walked to her side and cupped his hand against her cheek. Jealousy gripped tight in Christan’s gut. The immortal felt at ease touching her and she seemed to respond to the comfort Phillipe offered. It should have been Christan, holding Lexi in his arms and telling her whatever he had to do to keep her safe he would do it. Self-contempt was a vicious beast, and it was riding him hard.
“Why does Six want her?” Christan demanded.