* * *
Nicole brushed the back of her hand across her eyes, wiping away the remaining tears. She gave Richard’s hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it. “It is finally done,” she murmured to the men around her. “Christopher can finally have the peace he deserves, after these eight long years.”
She glanced back into the main room, and her eyes caught on Jon. He was standing by the window, a drink in hand. His gaze was steadily on the group, with an expression which was hard to read through the shimmering glass.
With an effort she drew her eyes away from him. “Shall we return to the game?”
By way of answer, Richard took a step forward and pulled open the door for her. She walked through, and Jon fell in with the group as they made their way back to the table.
Jon’s voice was low and somber. “If there is anything I can do, you have but to ask.”
She nodded in appreciation. “Do your best to win,” she offered, her mouth quirking up in a half-smile. “That would be a pleasant distraction for the evening.”
His eyes brightened with gentle amusement, and he gave a brief bow. “I shall do my best.”
She settled into her seat, a sense of completeness washing over her as Richard and Stephen took their places on either side of her, as Ian and Sean resumed their watch from behind. It was familiar and comfortable. And if only …
Her eyes automatically went to the right, to where Christopher would have sat alongside Stephen.
If only her dear, loyal companion were still alive.
Richard’s hand gently patted onto her own, and his eyes followed hers. “He lives in our memories,” he murmured under his breath.
She gave a soft smile. “That he does.”
Then the cards were in motion, and the symbols and numbers drew her out of her musings.
The play held a different timbre now. It was steadier, deeper, more the stealthy creeping of a tiger and less the quick darting of a fox after a mouse. Captain Smythe had taken over Xerxes’s cards, but in only a few hands he had folded, nodding his appreciation of the skill of the table. The sense of a private game intensified, even with the throngs surrounding them. Nicole knew these men around her, knew them intimately, knew every tweak of an eyebrow and lilt of a phrase. She was sinking through the layers, watching for even the slightest hesitation.
There, Stephen was running his index finger along the top of his cards, just the tiniest of movements, but she held in a smile. By Richard’s next bid, he had seen it as well, and in another round Stephen, too, had folded, shaking his head genially at his friends. Perhaps someday she would advise him what gave him away. But then again, perhaps not.
Now only Richard remained, with Jon flanking him. She could feel Richard’s warmth at her side, steady, loyal. She wondered for the hundredth time what his emotions must be as they began this weekend, this turning point which would change everything. For so many years he had been her solid rock, the one she had depended on above the others. He had been the last voice she listened to before making a decision. And now it was likely he would be relegated to a secondary position.
Richard glanced up at her, then over to Jon at his other side. He took up his glass, offering it in toast to Jon. “You are a talented player, Jon; one of the best I have ever seen. If I were to lose to you tonight, I would consider myself thankful for the experience.”
Jon nodded in appreciation and returned the toast. As both man drank, Nicole could see it in Richard’s eyes, the respect and admiration that echoed to his very foundation. A glow settled through her. He was not simply resigned to the change which might soon overtake them all. She forgot, sometimes, how deeply all of them felt it when their group was shattered. She thought at times that only she could keenly sense the tear in their tightly-woven fabric.
Richard turned back to her, and he nodded quietly. “It is your move,” he murmured.
Another round, and Richard’s cards were down. He looked at them for a long moment, then shook himself and slowly moved his eyes between the people on either side of him. He ran a hand fondly along Nicole’s cheek, then stood and stepped back.
“I leave the table to you,” he stated evenly, melding smoothly back into the surrounding throng.
Nicole stared across at Jon, and time stopped. His auburn eyes were rich, deep, and behind them she could sense the flickering of an immense pool, one currently hidden from sight. She longed for that depth with all her heart, but she knew patience was critical. The surface tension had become strong in his thirty years of life. To sharply rupture it could mean disaster.
The world around them fell away, and every moment crystallized into the texture of his hand as it moved a chip, the sound of a card as it ruffled against its neighbor.
She glanced down at their respective pile of chips. He was good … very good. He could play it safe and draw her along for another twelve rounds. She looked down again at her hand, carefully schooling her features to remain even. There was no way he could beat what she now had been offered by the fates. She had to draw him all in. But how?
Her eyes flickered toward the narrow door in the left wall, the one that had not been opened all night. The one which led to the private room below this one, a special viewing room which held six people at the most. And the treasure waiting on the table at its center.
Ian caught the motion and its significance. His brow creased, and his lips pursed together. He ran a hand along the top of his brush-cut hair.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded at him.
His shoulders eased down in resignation, and he turned to disappear through the wall. In a moment he had returned, cradling a square, bowling-ball sized box in both hands. With a sigh he placed it between the two players.
Jon’s eyes lit up in curiosity, but he did not say a word. He simply gazed at Nicole, waiting.
The corners of her mouth tweaked up in a smile.
My, but he was good.
She nodded, then reached forward to lift off the lid of the box. With a flourish, she took hold of the glass neck of the squat bottle within, drawing it out and placing it securely on the table.
There was a rolling gasp of surprise around them as the throng took in the item. The glass was turquoise in color, rich and glowing in the light, and the side of the bottle was embossed with a golden seal.
The local diplomat stepped forward, and his voice nearly cracked as he spoke, running a hand through his thick, blond hair. “Is that really … a bottle of hundred-year-old Hun liqueur?”
Nicole ran a fond hand along the side of the bottle. “Yes, it is,” she confirmed. She looked up at Jon. “I will add this to the pot, and consider it equal to your holdings.”
“It is that and more,” agreed Jon with a nod. He looked down again at the cards in his hand, then placed them face-down at the table. He used both hands to push in his remaining coins. “Agreed. All in.”
Adrenaline surged through Nicole. She had never faced an opponent like Jon, not in all of her years of gambling, and to be on the cusp of victory thrilled her soul. She let the smile, finally, come to her lips, let the emotion surge through her as she leant forward and placed her cards face-up on the table.
“A full house.”
A warm murmur of approval echoed through the throng, and a scattering of applause. Nicole’s eyes held on Jon’s, ready for the sweet taste of victory, of his gracious capitulation.
But … there was that gleam in his eye, that gleam she knew so well, that she remembered from the battlefield at Kismet when they had stood two-hundred against two-thousand. She remembered it from the night, so long ago, in the Paxton Hall, when they prepared to unveil the traitors plotting against them.
No. It could not be possible.
His hand moved forward easily, steadily, and turned over his cards.
They were a royal flush.
She blinked. In all her years of playing, from back-alley hellholes to elegant gold-etched parlors, she had not seen that hand
more than four times. It could not be true.
The roar went up from the crowd, the men at her side were patting him warmly on the shoulders, and her eyes moved from the cards up to his gaze. He sat waiting, watching her. His look melded with amusement, satisfaction, and something else, something warm and rich.
At last she brought herself to wave toward the pile with her hand, her eyes never leaving his. “It is all yours, then,” she murmured. “Yours by right.”
He leant forward. She was intoxicated by the aroma, of musk, and spice, and something intangible which set her soul aflame. His tone, when he spoke, was pitched for her ears alone.
His voice was rough. “All I have, you have but to ask, and it shall be yours.”
He reached his left hand out for the bottle, snagging it by its neck, then drew himself easily to his feet. He lowered his right hand to her, waiting, his eyes steadily on hers.
Nicole could scarcely believe it was real. After the long years, after the longing and fears and heart-stopping efforts, he was there before her. She slipped her fingers into his, and his were warm, sturdy, and all-together real. He drew her to her feet beside him.
His eyes glanced over the men which stood around them, and his mouth eased into a smile. “We will all share this night together,” he offered, holding up the bottle again.
Ian’s eyes sparkled, and in a moment he was leading the way for the group toward the small door.
They descended the tight, spiral staircase, and when they stepped into the small room Nicole’s breath was caught, as it always was, by the spectacular beauty of it. The room was barely ten feet in circumference, a round layout with glass all the way around. Only the slimmest metal frames held each pane in place. A red velvet bench with cushions circled the room, and the center pole held the spiral staircase.
All around them the open cavern yawned, with smooth rock and bubbling magma. The construction of the glass kept away the heat, and it was a show of nature’s forces, constantly moving, always changing.
The men each stopped to take in the power of the display before finding their seat. Jon waited until the rest were in their places before taking the open spot at Nicole’s right. She nodded at him, then reached to a button on the side of the staircase. With a quiet click it retracted back up into the ceiling, and an ebony table rose from the floor.
He looked at the bottle in his hand for a long moment, then with a sharp twist he broke the seal on the cap, laying it down on the table. He held the bottle out to the group in a toast.
“To friendships,” he offered, his eye moving to each man in turn and ending on Nicole.
“And more,” she expanded, flushing with a heat which did not come from the roiling liquid rock around them.
He nodded, then took a sip of the liquid. His eyes closed in exquisite pleasure, and his breath eased through his lips. It was a long moment before he blinked his eyes open again and passed the bottle to Nicole.
Her fingers brushed his as the bottle changed hands, and tingling electricity coursed through her body. She looked down, holding herself in. She had to go slowly. Everything depended on it.
She yearned for his touch … she yearned …
She blew out a breath, fighting off the desire. She brought the bottle to her lips and sipped.
Ah, if anything could hold off her longing for Jon, even for a moment, this would be it. The rich flavors of tangerine, vanilla, and hints of cinnamon swirled around her mouth, intoxicating her soul. There was nothing in the world like it. No replicator had ever managed to duplicate it. And this was one of the only remaining bottles in existence.
A gentle nudge from her left brought her back to reality, and Richard was waiting there, his eyes dancing in delight. He knew well where she had gone to, and she gladly handed the bottle over to him. In a short while all present were lost in the intoxications of the liqueur, drifting in their personal memories of all it represented.
There was no need for words. They had been together far too long for that. There was simply the deep-seated joy in being side by side, the contented trust of a long-teamed pack of wolves curling up in their den after a long, arduous journey home. The bottle had come around to her on its latest pass, and she took a sip, but it was hardly necessary. The flavors coated her mouth, the emotions coated her soul, and she was utterly content.
Out of habit she eased against Richard, and his arm automatically came up around to support her, making a resting spot out of his broad chest. Her eyelids fluttered closed.
Ian’s voice drifted into her thoughts. “Nearly two am,” he advised the group. “And tomorrow is the final day of preparation.”
Nicole nodded, not opening her eyes. There was movement around her, a wrapping of arms, and Richard hefted her up against him as he stood. She blinked her eyes open, and Jon was there before her, his eyes warm on hers. He spoke to Richard without moving his gaze.
“Take good care of her,” he stated in a hoarse voice.
“On my honor, I shall,” agreed Richard. “It has been a privilege to keep her safe until now.”
Something passed between the two men, an understanding that Nicole could not quite name, and then Jon stepped back. He pressed the badge at his chest. She was caught in his eyes.
They shimmered, and he was gone.
Aquarian Awakenings - A Collective Saga Sci-Fi Romance Page 7