by Joy Nash
“Fifty million Euros is hardly the tool of a thief.”
“Please.” Outrage churned in her gut. “Don’t try to justify what you’ve done.”
He stiffened. “I wouldn’t dream of it. I’ve no need to answer to humans. If your people wish to sell off their artistic heritage, I’m more than happy to accommodate them. Look around you, my love. David is hardly alone.”
He swept an arm to one side. Christine’s gaze followed, her eyes widening in shock. Not far from David stood the serene figure of a woman, her upper body nude, her arms lost to the centuries. A little farther on, a headless female figure with graceful wings appeared poised for flight.
“Venus di Milo, too?” she choked out. “And Winged Victory? But…they were both irreparably damaged in a fire at the Louvre.”
“No. They’re here.”
She made a sound of distress. Pivoting slowly, then moving in a daze among the maze of marble figures, she took in the rest of Kalen’s collection. The masterpieces spread out before her like an art history curriculum. Classical and Renaissance Art 101.
From ancient Greece: The Discus Thrower…The Laocoon…a caryatid from the Acropolis. From Roman times: The Dying Gaul…Hercules and Diomedes…The Belvedere Torso.
The Middle Ages were not represented. There were no stiff saints depicted in stilted, lifeless form, heads topped with dinner plate halos. No, after the Fall of Rome, the history lesson skipped a thousand pious years, picking up again at the precise point in time when man once again discovered the glory of the human form. Rosetti’s Madonna and Child…Michelangelo’s Pietà…Bernini’s Ecstasy of St. Teresa.
All were pieces reported destroyed or stolen in the last two years.
She turned to face Kalen. He’d propped his hip against a pedestal supporting a Roman charioteer. She was struck by the fact that his large body, draped only in a kilt, was fully as beautiful as any of the marble gods and heroes on display.
“You…you have to give these back.”
He gave a harsh laugh. “Not likely. They’re bought and paid for.”
“That doesn’t give you the right to own them! You can’t keep the entire history of Western sculpture to yourself! These pieces belong in a museum, where everyone can admire and learn from them.”
“I think not. They were in museums, and their human stewards saw fit to dispose of them. I have to admit, it surprised me these treasures could be had so easily. Human honor has diminished greatly in the last century. And all but disappeared completely in the last year.”
Christine sucked in a breath. That last was true, and she knew the reason why. It had to do with Tain and Kehksut.
“Maybe that wouldn’t have happened,” she said shakily, “if the Immortals hadn’t disappeared. The human world needs you now more than ever. That’s why I came here looking for you.”
“I’m not interested in why you’re here. Humanity’s trials are none of my concern.”
“That’s a lie. You’re an Immortal. Sworn to answer the Calling.”
“If I’m not mistaken, the Calling has been forgotten.”
“No. My coven cast it a week ago. But the spell was broken by dark forces. Did you hear it?”
“No. But that means nothing. The Calling no longer has any power over me.”
“Adrian seems to think differently.”
Kalen started visibly, pushing away from the charioteer’s pedestal and pacing toward her. When he spoke, his voice held the first hint of real emotion Christine had heard him utter. “What do you know of Adrian?”
“He’s the oldest Immortal. Your brother. You were raised with him in a place beyond the human world. A place called Ravenscroft.”
“And you’ve seen him? Recently?”
“Well, not in person. He’s in the United States, with another witch from my coven. We call ourselves the Coven of Light.”
“Adrian, consorting with witches? I find that hard to believe. He never liked them.”
“He’s a…friend…of the coven leader. He’s been working with her to track down the source of the surge in death magic. He said you, Darius, and Hunter would fight for us.”
There was a flicker of something deep and cold in his eyes. “Ah yes. Adrian has a penchant for giving out assignments. I cannot speak for Darius and Hunter. As for me, it’s out of the question. I’m no longer bound by the Calling.”
“But Adrian said—”
“Adrian doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about. Not where I’m concerned. I’m no longer a warrior. I will not answer any Call.”
“But you don’t know what’s at stake! It’s bad, Kalen. Very bad. The human world needs the Immortals desperately.”
“They do not need me.”
“But—”
He took an angry step toward her and caught her wrist. She drew in a sharp breath at his touch. Heat flooded through her body, pooling in her belly and in the tips of her breasts. Her naked breasts. Goddess, with the shock of seeing all those lost masterpieces, she’d forgotten she was topless.
He yanked her past the statuary toward a steep stone staircase hugging one side of the great hall. Christine stumbled, trying to keep up with his long stride.
“Wait—you can’t just refuse! I won’t take no for an answer. You have to help.”
He hauled her up the stairs with a decisive tread. As they climbed, the candles in the great hall winked out, leaving the room once again shrouded in shadows.
“I don’t have to do anything,” he said. “Mankind’s gotten along fine without me—without any of the Immortals, in fact—for the last seven centuries. I’m amazed a coven of twenty-first-century witches would even have heard of the Calling. The spell was lost long ago. No.” He checked himself. “Not lost.” His tone deepened dangerously. “The Calling was declared blasphemous by the very humans it was designed to protect. Do you know how many witches were burned at the stake just for knowing that spell?”
“Believe me, I’m well aware of the history of the Craft. A lot of people mistrust witches even now.”
He halted on the landing midway up the stair. “How did you learn the spell?”
“Adrian told us about it, but he didn’t know the exact words. The Coven of Light searched all over the world for it. I got lucky. I’ve been living in Rome, and I found the spell inscribed in Latin on a fragment of medieval parchment in the basement of a small museum there. Adrian was able to verify the spell as the real thing.”
“Adrian again.” The way Kalen spat out his brother’s name made Christine wonder what trouble stood between the two Immortals. Amber hadn’t mentioned anything, but then again, maybe Adrian hadn’t confided in her.
Kalen reached the top of the staircase and released her at last. Turning to the right, he strode down another long, dark passageway without so much as a glance in Christine’s direction. Evidently, he was so sure she would follow that he no longer felt the need to drag her along.
Christine hesitated, glancing back down the stair to the gloomy hall below. He was right—where else was she going to go? Even if she could find her way out of the castle, Kalen lived on an island and didn’t need boats for transportation.
She’d come a long way to find him. He might not be the hero she’d expected, but he was an Immortal. If there was a shred of a chance she could convince him to add his vast power to the Coven’s cause, she had to try.
She rubbed her bare arms, suddenly chilled. And maybe, just maybe, she could convince him to lend her a shirt, too.
She padded after him into the cool darkness. The corridor was punctuated by tall doors on either side, all closed. Kalen stopped before one of the arched portals. When she reached his side, he lifted the door latch.
The burnished panel swung inward without so much as a creak. The room beyond was as dark as the hallway, allowing Christine to sense only vague shadows of its furnishings.
“Can you turn on a light? I’m afraid I don’t have your night vision.”
“Of course.�
� A subtle wave of Kalen’s hand summoned the soft glow of a dozen candle flames twinkling from an elaborate iron candlestand.
Kalen held the door open and gestured for Christine to enter. The first item that caught her eye was a tall mirrored wardrobe, easily big enough to hide a half dozen people inside. A marble and mahogany dressing stand stood nearby. From there her gaze passed over an enormous four-poster bed, a claw-footed secretary, and a matching chair. The wall covering was golden and looked like silk.
A graceful statue of a Greek nymph stood in a domed alcove, but the sculpture wasn’t the only artwork in the room. Apparently, Kalen’s artistic sensibilities reached beyond statuary. The chamber’s high walls were hung with oil paintings in heavy gilded frames, displayed in tiers five paintings high. Artwork completely filled the space between a low wainscoting and a high, ornate cornice.
Christine took in the pieces, dazed. She recognized most of them. Giotto. Caravaggio. Rafael. Rembrandt. Titian. Each work had been mourned as stolen or destroyed.
She gripped the edge of a marquetry table. The treasures in this room alone were beyond imagination. She’d seen the vastness of Kalen’s castle from her perch on the battlements. The place was beyond huge. Was every room crammed with masterpieces?
Kalen’s hand lifted again. A fire sprang to life in a hearth on her left. She turned, her gaze snapping to the painting hanging above the baroque mantel. She jumped as if scalded.
“Goddess. The Mona Lisa, too?”
“Of course.”
“Then the one hanging in the Louvre…?”
“A copy.”
Really, she should’ve guessed. “Every painting in this room was done by a master.”
His brows rose. “You’re knowledgeable about art?”
“I studied art history in college. And…I paint.”
She pivoted slowly, trying to take it all in. Finally, her gaze returned to Kalen. With a sickening twist of her stomach, she realized he wasn’t looking at his collection, but at her. At her naked breasts, to be exact. With a good dose of pure, masculine interest.
Abruptly, she recrossed her arms. “Do you have a shirt I can borrow?”
He chuckled. “For what purpose?”
“To wear.”
He moved closer, his gaze all too intent. “In my opinion, you’re somewhat overdressed as it is.”
She took a step back. “I don’t think so.”
He advanced as silently and as slowly as a large cat. “I do.”
She matched each of his forward steps with a backward one. “Don’t get any ideas. I’m not going to have sex with you.”
“Oh no?” He smiled, but the expression didn’t reach his eyes. “I don’t believe you. After all, you placed a vision of your naked body in my arms. Now that you’re here…” His gaze raked her body. “I find I’m quite ready to finish what you started.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Kalen watched with some amusement as alarm sparked in Christine’s clear blue eyes. He should have been angry she’d interrupted his plans with Leanna, but truth be told, he was relieved. He didn’t think Leanna had been casting death magic, but in truth, he couldn’t be sure. She’d been up to something in that circle she hadn’t told him about ahead of time. He’d been a fool not to pay closer attention. He felt as though this little witch had given him a last-minute reprieve.
“That…that night you saw me here,” Christine stammered. “It wasn’t on purpose. I didn’t mean to put myself there. In your arms.” She cleared her throat. “With you.”
“No?”
“No. It just…happened.”
“You were spying on me.”
She swallowed, her delicate throat moving convulsively. “No. Not spying. Scrying. Watching.”
He lifted his brows. “Please enlighten me as to the difference.”
“The scrying…it was necessary. I needed to find you. I’ve already told you why—the human world is in danger.”
He snorted. “The human world is perpetually in danger. I told you, it’s no concern of mine.”
“It used to be.”
Pearl had told him the same thing just the day before. But neither Pearl nor this human witch understood the constraints he was under. He sent Christine a dark look designed to silence her. But when she flinched, he felt a stab of guilt.
He felt driven to make her understand, though he knew he wouldn’t be able to adequately explain. “I’m no longer a warrior. I have a different life now.”
“And that’s what, exactly? Putting on sex shows for tourists? Pilfering the artistic heritage of Western Civilization?”
“That was the first tour I’d ever been on,” Kalen said curtly. “And as for my collection, I will not apologize for it. I take my pleasures where I may.”
He eased closer to her,drawn by the scent of her burgeoning awareness of him. Her chest rose sharply beneath her crossed arms. He wasn’t sure what it was about her that fascinated him so completely. Her modesty,perhaps? It put him in mind of women from days long gone. And her hair was especially beautiful. The tangled dark locks were thick and glossy,falling to her waist. He’d wager it had never been cut in her life—a rarity in these modern times. He was even starting to get used to the blue streak at the temple.
It took very little imagination to picture her naked, clothed only by her unbound hair. His phallus tightened at the thought.
“Tonight,” he told her. “You will be my pleasure. And I will not apologize for that, either.”
“Oh no.” She took another futile step backward. “I don’t think so—”
“I do. I know.” He stalked her, his slow steps muted by the thick Persian carpet. He was herding her toward his bed, though he doubted she realized it. “Why so shy? You weren’t shy the night you intruded on my interlude with Leanna.”
The back of her thighs hit the edge of the bed. She put out a hand to steady herself. Panic—and arousal—flared in her blue eyes when she realized her hand was spread on a high, soft mattress.
“I told you, that night was an accident.” The upper swell of her breasts went pink, the color spreading swiftly upward to her neck and face. “I didn’t mean to put myself in Leanna’s place. It just happened.”
He halted a bare inch in front of her. “A witch of your power would never allow such a thing to ‘just’ happen. You must have done it for a reason.”
“But I didn’t! You don’t understand. Yes, I have strong magic, but certain kinds of spells make it…” Her cheeks deepened to scarlet. “…hard to control myself.”
He gave her a slow smile. “That sounds interesting.”
He caught her gaze, then deliberately let it drop in a frank and thorough appraisal of her body. Her breasts were small, but exquisitely shaped—even the defensive spread of her hands couldn’t hide that. Her stomach was flat, her hips slim, her legs too well hidden by her shapeless denim pants. They were singularly ugly; he couldn’t imagine why any female would wear such a garment. Not for the first time, he cursed the last hundred years. Before the twentieth century arrived, women dressed like women.
No matter. Christine’s jeans would soon be gone.
He reached for her.
She gasped and scrambled up onto the bed, the only refuge available. “Don’t touch me.”
Too late. His hands clamped on either side of her slender waist. He watched her eyes flutter closed, heard her breath hitch. Her muscles went taut, then soft. One arm lowered; he caught a glimpse of the pebbled tips of her breasts. The sweet musk of feminine arousal drifted toward him.
“Stop it,” she said weakly, shutting her eyes. “Just stop whatever magic you’re using on me. It’s not fair.”
She opened her eyes and looked up at him. Her eyes were out of focus, the blue of her irises a narrow ring around wide, dark pupils.
“I’m not using any particular magic.” He released her wrist and ran one hand up her arm. She trembled. “I can feel yours, though. It’s interwoven with your arousal.”
; “I don’t want you to feel it.” Shaking herself as if rousing from a dream, she scooted across the mattress and dropped to the floor on the other side. But, really, there was nowhere for her to go.
“Christine. Get back on the bed.”
“No. You don’t understand. I didn’t come here for this.”
“You bought a ticket for a sex tour,” Kalen pointed out. “That generally means you want to have sex.”
“The only reason I bought that ticket was that I recognized Leanna on the poster. I thought the tour might lead me to you.”
“And so it has.” He rounded the bed with a few quick strides. She was no match for his speed. In seconds, he had her lower body trapped between his hips and the edge of the high mattress.
She strained against his entrapment, wriggling her hips and making his already rigid phallus go even harder. She must have felt it because her eyes widened with alarm. She laid her palms on his chest and shoved. But the gesture was weak. The scent of her arousal strengthened. Kalen had almost three thousand years of experience with human women. He knew when one wanted him, and he knew when one did not.
Christine wanted him. Badly.
His body tensed with the anticipation of having her. No human woman had ever excited him as much as this one did. It was her magic, he realized. Strong and deep as the sea. It drew him to her in a tide of longing.
He brushed his finger across her cheek, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Why fight? Your body knows what it wants. It’s already surrendered.”
“You’re wrong. I don’t want you. Not for this. I only…” She shoved at him again. When he moved not at all, she sagged against him, trembling. A small, utterly sensual moan escaped her lips. “I only wanted to talk to you. About the Calling.”
“That subject holds no interest for me.” He lifted her hands and placed them on his neck.
She blinked, clearly struggling to keep her mind focused on the conversation. “It should.”
“It doesn’t.” He released her hands and felt a sharp spike of satisfaction when she didn’t jerk away. He allowed himself the pleasure of cupping the underside of her breasts. They were much smaller than Leanna’s oversized globes, and more delicately formed. Her waist firm and muscular, wider than Leanna’s, which was so dainty he could span it with his hands. He liked Christine’s body very much. It was a genuine woman’s body. He’d always suspected Leanna enhanced her figure with glamour.