Ivan (Gideon's Riders Book 3)

by Kit Rocha

  Irena Wolff had been a strong woman. Was a strong woman. She worked herself into exhaustion, year after year, to provide Ivan with the barest scraps of normalcy in a sector that wanted to forget she existed. Her bouts with melancholy only underscored how much Ivan owed her. She’d fought her own inner darkness to make a home for him.

  He was going to be what he’d promised. Loyal. A protector.

  Good, like his father.

  Even when he felt as broken as his mother at her lowest.

  The wind caught Maricela’s hair again, teasing it across her face. He curled his fingers toward his palm, but it wasn’t enough. She was staring at him with those big brown eyes, all open and earnest, and he had never wanted so much to be someone else. Someone who could envision a future with her. A family with her. Someone without treason and shadows and who knew what else running through his veins.

  Hell, he’d settle for being worthy to reach out and brush that hair from her forehead.

  He wasn’t, but he did it anyway. Her skin was so soft under his fingertips, and he hated how big and rough his hand looked next to her face. He was a weapon, a tool shaped for one purpose, and it sure as hell wasn’t touching precious princesses.

  She sucked in a breath and lifted her hand. It hovered over his for half a heartbeat--then it touched his, pressing his palm against her cheek. “Ivan.”

  Her cheeks were flushed again. Her thin white shirt was drying rapidly in the hot sun and the warm summer breeze, but it couldn’t hide her immediate physical reaction. Her next breath in was shallow, ragged, as if he’d already slid his hand down her throat to cup her breast and roll his thumb over the tight tip of her nipple.

  “We can’t,” he whispered.

  “I know,” she agreed instantly. But she was leaning toward him anyway, and if he didn’t stop her she’d sway close enough for his mouth to find hers. It was inevitable. Impossible, reckless, blasphemous. A violation of the oath he’d sworn to Gideon.

  And inevitable.

  She jerked away at the sound of hoofbeats as Reyes rode into view. Ivan let his hand drop to his reins and told himself Reyes hadn’t had time to see anything incriminating.

  Then he turned his horse and caught sight of his fellow Rider’s baffled expression.

  Shit.

  “Have a good ride?” Reyes called, his brow still furrowed.

  “Very nice,” Maricela answered brightly. “Ivan?”

  He was seriously fucked. “Is Nita ready to go?” he called back.

  “She said something about dress fittings.”

  “Oh no.” Maricela urged her horse into a run, leaving Ivan behind to drift into line beside Reyes.

  The other Rider squinted at him. “Is she trying to get in your pants?”

  “Don’t be an asshole, Reyes.” He picked up the pace so he could easily keep Maricela in sight.

  “What? It looked like a thing.” But Reyes let it drop. “How are you handling the festival tomorrow? Want to team up?”

  Ivan wrenched his mind back to his job--a harder challenge than he would have liked. “I could use some backup. Though if Kora’s going with the girls, Ashwin will be there. But he’s been...focused lately.”

  “Never fucking mind, then.” Reyes snorted. “I’m not getting within fifteen feet of Kora until she has that damn baby. Ashwin’s getting mean lately.”

  “You could stop picking fights with him, you know.”

  “Leave it to you to pick the least fun solution to the problem.”

  Everyone always talked in hushed whispers about Ivan’s death wish, but Reyes was the one who seemed determined to find a swift exit out of the world. “Yeah, I’m a real downer. How’s the search for intel going? Have you gotten anything out of any of your family?”

  That made him laugh. “They don’t know anything, and it’s pissing my mother off like you wouldn’t believe. She’s spitting nails.”

  “What does that mean for her?” Maricela topped the hill, and Ivan held his breath until they reached the crest and he could see her again as she rode down the other side to meet Nita. “Politically, I mean. I’m never sure how the nobles are gonna react to shit like this.”

  “Eh, who the hell knows? Or cares?”

  Most people cared. Maricela did, because Lucas could be family. Gideon cared because the man could be a threat. Nita probably cared because if Estela Reyes could see profit in it, she’d be trying to marry her daughter off to the lost Rios heir.

  Ivan cared because political unrest might endanger the person whose life he’d sworn to protect. Which made keeping his mind on the job imperative.

  And keeping Maricela out of his pants vital.

  Chapter Nine

  The summer festival was an explosion of light and color, of sound and joy. Everywhere Maricela turned was chaos, a cacophony of laughter and shouts, and the air was heavy with spices and delicious smells. It wasn’t quite dusk yet, but the children were already running around with lit sparklers, darting in and out through the growing crowd.

  A few of them passed by her so closely that Ivan reacted, wrapping an arm around her as he placed his body between her and the fiery but harmless sparkles popping off their handheld fireworks.

  “Relax,” she murmured.

  His grip on her eased, but only slightly. “I am relaxed.”

  “Right.” On this one night, at least, his job was supposed to be easy. By tradition, no one approached the royal family on festival nights to ask for blessings or air concerns or offer felicitations. Maricela was simply another reveler tonight.

  The street leading to the main marketplace was lined with brightly decorated booths, selling everything from simple charms and milagros to palm-sized holograms that projected tiny images of the saints. Grace and Nita gravitated toward a booth laden with bolts of cloth, while Maricela lingered beside one showcasing necklaces and bangles.

  Ivan stopped beside her, running a finger over a pendant made of carved wood that had been polished to a shine. As Maricela stared, he skimmed his thumb over the smooth, gleaming surfaces.

  She shivered.

  “Maricela.” Lucas stepped up on her other side, his expression almost tentative, as if he wasn’t sure of his welcome. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it.” She picked up one of the bangles and turned it over between her fingers. “Couldn’t miss this one, in fact. A friend’s father is being sainted tonight.”

  “The Rider they’re all celebrating?” His eyebrows pulled together in confusion. “I didn’t think Riders had children.”

  Ashwin would be the first. “It’s not typical, but this is a special case. Ana was born before my brother formed the Riders. William was one of the original members.”

  And a friend of Ivan’s father’s. Though Mischa Wolff had already died by the time Gideon gathered his men and christened them his Riders, people still sometimes acted as though Mischa had been one of them. Like his portrait was on the temple wall alongside the others--and they’d afforded Mischa the same reverence, even before his sainthood.

  Did Ivan forget sometimes, as well? Or was he acutely aware that he was treading new ground in continuing his father’s legacy?

  Glancing at him gave her no insight. His thumb was still resting on the carved wood, but his entire body was tense. One sudden move, and he’d have Lucas facedown in the dirt.

  Maybe that was why Lucas seemed so much more subdued today. “I have a lot to learn about the sector,” he admitted. “And I should apologize for the way I approached you.”

  “Oh, don’t,” she said wryly. “I imagine you accomplished your goals quite handily with that. It was very theatrical.”

  He winced. “That wasn’t how I wanted it to go. I thought I could introduce myself to you. I certainly didn’t think my resemblance to the Prophet was so...pronounced.” He picked up a little necklace bearing a framed miniature of their grandfather. In it, Fernando Rios was depicted as a smiling man with silver hair. “All the pictures I�
��ve ever seen looked like this.”

  Most of the public portraits did. It was easier that way, for the people to have one enduring image of him--older, authoritative. Distinguished but still strong.

  The treasure trove of family pictures at the palace told a different story. Instead of the smiling, benevolent leader on the pendant, they showed a much more complicated man. Snapshots obviously taken only moments apart veered wildly between joy and sullen brooding. Portrait sittings including the whole family were rigid, formal affairs, while candid shots of him alone were much more relaxed. And he never looked happier than when he was posing with cherished possessions or gifts his followers had bestowed.

  After looking through all those photos, Maricela couldn’t like the man. It was impossible.

  But perhaps Lucas would feel differently. “We have a family collection at home. A few even predate the Flares. Maybe you’d like to see them sometime?”

  “That would be an honor.” He put the miniature back on its display and turned to face her. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure I’d be welcome. It would be understandable if the bad blood between our parents was impossible to overcome.”

  “I don’t think that way. What matters to me is your behavior. Your intentions.”

  “Can we start over, then?” He offered her a smile and extended his hand.

  She took it. “Cousin.”

  “Cousin.” He clasped her hand. “So tell me, as an insider. What part of the fair should I be sure not to miss?”

  Nita was calling her name from across the street, so Maricela pulled her hand free. “The food. Now, if you’ll excuse me--”

  A shock ran up her spine as Ivan cupped her elbow, but before she could turn to him, he spun her in the opposite direction to face Nita and Grace, who carried a bolt of luxurious, honey-colored silk beneath one arm.

  At her baffled look, Grace sighed. “I know, but I had to. I’m running out of time.”

  “It’s for her dress.” Nita linked her arm through Maricela’s. “Apparently, she’s just going to whip up a fabulous gown before the ball. Because she’s that amazing.”

  She wouldn’t have time to do anything else--literally. “You’ll be glued to your sewing machine until the party,” Maricela protested.

  “That’s okay.” Grace handed off the bolt of fabric to a guard, who hurried away with it. “To be honest, I’m getting a little tired of fancy people. Present company excluded, of course.”

  “Of course.” Then Maricela leaned in and told her the truth. “I’m getting a little tired of us, too.”

  “We’re exhausting,” Nita agreed as she steered them down a path between two rows of booths. “I need to get some fried dough with sugar and chocolate before we go back. My mother abhors messy food you eat with your fingers. So uncivilized.”

  “Mrs. Petrillo makes the best,” Grace observed.

  Not in Maricela’s experience. “Better than Mr. Cason’s?”

  “By a mile.”

  Only one person could decide this. “Ivan?”

  He glanced between them, but only hesitated for a moment. “Mrs. Petrillo.”

  He could barely bring himself to disagree with her, even over something as inconsequential as dessert. But maybe he was getting there. “I stand corrected,” she murmured.

  They reached the end of the alley and turned again, spilling out into one of the broad main roads. Larger booths from more established merchants lined the prime real estate, and just ahead of them on the right, a rhythmic thud announced Ed’s presence.

  The burly old bearded man was tossing knives casually through the air. Each one sank into the painted red heart of a target, so close to its brothers and sisters that the handles scraped together.

  Ivan’s steps slowed, and he glanced at Maricela. “Do you mind?”

  “Not at all.”

  He waved to Nita and Grace. “We’ll catch up with you at Mrs. Petrillo’s stand. Don’t leave it until we get there.”

  Nita rolled her eyes but dropped a kiss to Maricela’s cheek. “We’ll be good girls.”

  They disappeared into the crowd, and Maricela turned to Ivan. “I could have gone with them.”

  “You know better than that.”

  “They have guards.” And Ivan deserved a moment to himself, so he could catch up with an old friend.

  He reached up, his hand hovering over her elbow but not quite touching. “I’d like for you to come.”

  Her muscles tensed, and she locked them in place to keep from unconsciously leaning closer to him. “All right.”

  His hand hovered a moment longer. Then it dropped, sliding slowly to rest at the small of her back. The lightweight summer fabric of her dress wasn’t thick enough to block the warmth of his hand, and Maricela could focus on nothing else, no matter how hard she tried. She fixed her attention on a group of temple acolytes breezing past, intent on matching their faces with names, but then one of Ivan’s fingers shifted, and her entire world collapsed to that one tiny spot.

  She shivered.

  The final knife thudded home as they stopped in front of Ed’s stall. He turned to greet them, his face breaking into a wide smile even his bushy beard couldn’t hide. “Ivan, my boy! It’s good to see you.”

  “Ed.” Ivan tilted his head and pulled his hand away from Maricela’s back, leaving a cold spot. “You know Maricela?”

  She dropped a quick curtsy, and Ed returned it with an even deeper bow, folding his big body nearly in half. “Always a pleasure to see you, Miss Rios.”

  With the formalities behind them, Maricela peered down at his table. “Did you make me something?”

  “I do have something special...” He pulled over a display case with an impressive dagger almost the length of her forearm. The wavy pattern in the blade indicated that it was forged from his prized folded steel, finished with an intricately carved pommel and a large chunk of polished amber embedded in the handle. “It had a twin, but your sister already bought it. As a gift, I believe, for Bishop.”

  “It’s beautiful.” She held out her hand. “May I?”

  He flipped open the case, eased it from the stand, and offered it to her, handle first. “Maybe we can talk Ivan into giving a demonstration while you look. He’s always been good at luring in the customers.”

  Maricela had watched him, spellbound, often enough to believe it. “A charming thought, but I don’t need to look.” She turned the dagger over in her hand, testing its weight and balance. Both were perfect. “I’ll take it.”

  “Excellent.” He reached for a matching sheath studded with smaller chunks of amber. “Ivan, how are those knives treating you? The ones I modeled off your new friend’s?”

  “They’re good.” Ivan slipped a knife from his belt and held it up so its gleaming surface reflected the light. “You were right about the cut-outs. They’re perfectly balanced.” He bounced the knife on his fingertips, then tossed it up and caught it by the blade. With a flick of his wrist, it flew through the air to sink into the target right next to Ed’s knives. “I can throw it from either end.”

  “I told you,” Ed said with a deep-chested laugh. “Someday, boy, you’ll listen the first time. Always did have a head harder’n any steel.”

  “Some things never change,” Maricela muttered under her breath.

  Ivan half-turned as if he’d heard her, then strode to the target to retrieve his knife. Ed, on the other hand, huffed out another laugh. “He’s not giving you grief, is he, Miss Rios?”

  “Of course he is. But I probably deserve it.”

  “Nonsense.” Ed tucked the sheath into a box and tied it shut with a long piece of twine. “Ivan, you’d better do your mother proud. I know she taught you manners.”

  It could have been a harsh admonition, but the affection in Ed’s voice turned it into something warm and comfortable. And Ivan’s disgruntled look seemed more like a habit or an inside joke than genuine displeasure.

  She’d never seen him this relaxed or unguarded. He didn’t even
open up like this with the Riders, and they were his brothers. It left her feeling...not quite sad, but a little envious and lonely, as if she were standing on the other side of a thick pane of glass, able only to watch them interact.

  The melancholy illusion lingered even when Ivan gestured to one of the guards to sign the payment ledger and retrieve Maricela’s purchase. “We have to catch up with her friends. I’ll stop by as soon as I can to talk about the next set of knives.”

  “I know you’re busy. Whenever you find the time.” Ed leaned over the table to squeeze Ivan’s shoulder, then inclined his head once again to Maricela. “Keep him on his toes, Miss Rios.”

  “I can only promise to try.”

  Ivan’s hand returned to the small of her back as he hastily steered her away from the table. As stern as his expression was, humor kept snapping in his deep blue eyes. “People who knew you when you were a grubby little kid never really believe that you’ve grown up.”

  She barely managed to keep a straight face. “Really? I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

  His lips twitched. “Can you imagine how much Reyes would torture me if he heard Ed?”

  “I don’t think he’d tease you at all. I think he’d find it unbearably adorable.”

  Ivan answered with a rough noise midway between a laugh and a grunt. But his touch on her lower back turned firm. His fingers splayed wider. For the first time, she realized how large his hand was--large enough that he could almost span the distance between her waist and her shoulder blades.

  And if she thought about that too closely, she’d embarrass herself.

  She breathed in deeply, but instead of clearing her head, she only filled it with his scent. “Do you like the dagger I chose?”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “I’m glad you think so, because it’s yours.”

  His fingers flexed on her back, five points of heat blazing against her skin. “That’s too much. Too precious a gift for someone like me.”

  Maybe so--but Ed, God bless his soul, had given her the perfect excuse. “It’s a properly suitable gift, one Isabela obviously felt Bishop deserved. And you’ve worked just as hard as he has.”