by Joy Nash
Christine’s cheeks flamed, but somehow, she couldn’t tear her eyes away. Two-thousand-year-old pornography, that’s what it was, pure and simple. A naked woman reclined on her back, her legs spread wide. One hand toyed with her own breast, the nipple erect and dark. Standing before her was a man with an erection as long as his forearm, the tip buried in the woman’s vagina. The entire scene was rendered in extremely accurate detail.
The couple was only one of several pairs of lovers circling the urn’s surface. Ten inches to the left, a woman was on her knees, suckling a man. Another step clockwise put Christine face-to-face with a man mounting a woman from behind. And in a fourth scene…
A step sounded behind her. She swung around in time to see Kalen’s broad form emerge from the stairwell. He was dressed in his kilt from the night before, but he’d added an old-fashioned white shirt much like the one she’d pilfered from his wardrobe. The laces at the neck were undone, revealing a V of crisp dark hair. The ends of his unbound hair brushed his shoulders. His feet were bare.
Christine sucked in a breath. The sensual force of Kalen’s presence was incredible. She resisted the urge to retreat, but it was difficult, especially while the memory of all the things he’d done to her—all the emotions he’d made her feel—was flashing in vivid neon through her brain.
She bit her lower lip. Kalen regarded her silently, his gaze raking her body, lingering a beat too long on her bustline. Christine didn’t have to look down to find out why—she was well aware her nipples had drawn tight at the first sight of him, and that the fine linen shirt probably did nothing to hide them. She crossed her arms over her chest. He responded with a grin, and she knew he was remembering the many times she’d covered herself last night.
It was the first time she’d seen him smile—really smile—and the effect was breathtaking. His teeth were straight and white,and his left cheek sported a surprisingly boyish dimple. He was an incredibly handsome man—Uni certainly hadn’t stinted on masculine beauty when she created her son. His smiling gaze flicked to the urn,then back to her face.
“Do you like it?” he asked softly.
She pretended she didn’t understand. “Like what?”
He strode toward her. “It was one of the first pieces I acquired. It was crafted in the first century AD and excavated from the ruins of Pompeii in 1752. I bought it that same year.” He paused before the urn, his finger hovering over one of the couples. “This scene is my favorite.”
She didn’t want to look, but couldn’t seem to help herself. The pair he’d chosen showed a woman lying on a waist-high platform. A man standing between her spread legs, his cock fully buried inside her. His hands were on her breasts; the woman looked like she was on the verge of climax.
“Do you like it?” he asked again.
“No.”
He chuckled. The sound was rich with promise, like a low rumble of thunder before a summer rain. He was somehow different today than he’d been the night before—he seemed more relaxed, less cynical. She found the transformation far too appealing.
“I think you’re lying to me,” he told her. “I think you’re very much intrigued with the piece.”
He was right. She blushed and he laughed again.
She turned her back and walked to the sole window in the room that was set at eye level. It had the added advantage of being the only aspect of the room that didn’t have anything to do with sex. Each and every other item in the room was sensual, from the mosaic lovemaking scenes under her feet, to the erotic tapestries on the walls, to the painting of a Bacchanalia orgy on the ceiling. Even the low, circular couch in the center of the room, covered with fur and strewn with satin pillows, hadn’t escaped erotic decoration. The couch’s antique wooden frame was supported by four legs carved to resemble penises.
Had Kalen made love to Leanna there? For some reason, the thought made her ill.
“No.” His whisper was soft in her ear.
She turned, startled to find him so close. How did a man so large move so silently? “What?”
“I’ve never taken a woman on that bed. In fact, I rarely allow anyone in this room.”
She stared at him. “Is mind reading part of your Immortal magic?” Amber had told her each Immortal had unique powers. It occurred to her she didn’t have the slightest idea what Kalen’s special talents were. Translocation, certainly. And he seemed to have a grip on spellcraft. What else?
He laughed softly. “No, I can’t claim to be a mind reader. But when a woman looks at her lover’s bed with an expression like that, it can mean only one thing.”
Pointedly, she looked out at the sea. “I’m sorry I stumbled on this room. I didn’t mean to invade your…um…private space.”
He placed his hands on her shoulders. His magic flowed over her skin; just that small contact was enough to make her legs go weak. She locked her knees and gripped the window’s wide sill. She would not give in to this mad feeling. She would not.
His head dipped, his lips touched the side of her neck, just beneath her ear. Her hold on the window tightened to a death grip. A heated rush of desire threatened to melt every bone in her body.
She jerked away,breaking contact. His magic was clouding her mind,making her forget what she came to Scotland for.
“Please. I think it would be better if you didn’t touch me. Last night was nice, but it was a big mistake.” She tried for a casual laugh, but the sound came out far too shaky. “I don’t know what got into me. I’m not the type of woman who…” She coughed, trying to clear a sudden catch in her throat. “I don’t usually fall into bed with strangers.”
“Are we strangers, Christine?”
She wished he wouldn’t say her name. She’d always thought it a plain, mundane sort of name. On his lips, it sounded exotic and forbidden. Like it belonged to someone she didn’t know.
“Yes, we’re strangers.”
“Nonetheless, last night was not a casual experience for you.”
“But it was for you, wasn’t it? You’ve probably had sex with more women than you can count.” The words bit into the space between them with a vehemence that surprised her. What right did she have to berate him?
His shoulders lifted and fell. “Sex is one of the more interesting things about the human race. Far more interesting than, say…politics.”
A sudden distressing thought struck her. “We didn’t use protection. I could be…” She couldn’t complete the thought.
“No,” he said. “You’re not. An Immortal has control over such things, and I would never father a child without a woman’s knowledge.”
“Oh,” she said, battling an unexpected surge of disappointment. Which only proved how messed up she was. There’d been a time when she’d very much wanted to conceive Shaun’s child, blissfully unaware that he meant to use her blind love as an avenue for demon possession. But Kalen’s child? Of course she didn’t want that.
He reached for her. She took a quick step back, but not, apparently, quick enough. Once again, his big, warm hands descended on her shoulders, causing her traitorous body to thrum in response. For a trembling moment, she expected him to pull her into his arms, and she started gathering the strength to resist him. But the embrace never came. Instead, he kept her at arm’s length, merely turning her to face a painting displayed on a nearby panel. Releasing her, he stepped back.
The painting was Peter Paul Rubens’s Abduction of Europa. Zeus, depicted as an enormous bull, was carrying a frantic woman, Europa, into the sea. Rubens had captured Zeus’s bestial power and Europa’s feminine helplessness with brutal intensity. The painting was dark, brooding, disturbing in its sensuality. It was hard to tell whether Europa’s expression was one of fear or of ecstasy. Heat crept up Christine’s face. She knew how the poor woman felt.
“Does the scene arouse you?” Kalen asked softly, surprising her again with his nearness. He was standing way too close.
She struggled for air. “I don’t think I want to answer that.”
“Ah.” A thread of knowing laughter laced his voice. “Too…vibrant for your taste, perhaps. What about that one?” He nodded toward another oil.
Titian’s Venus of Urbino. A nude woman, reclining on a couch. Her nipples were erect and the fingers of her left hand curved over her sex as if she were about to pleasure herself while the artist watched. At least there was no man in the picture, but even this was too much with Kalen standing so close.
She looked around, desperate to find something less suggestive. Her gaze fell on a wholly unexpected painting of a fully clothed man and woman. She headed toward it. “I much prefer this one.”
“One of my favorites as well.”
She thought at first he was joking. But no, she couldn’t detect even a hint of irony in his voice. She stepped closer to the painting. The scene took place in nondescript surroundings—an alley, or perhaps a servant’s hallway, devoid of decoration. The man wore a simple brown traveling cloak, a hat with a single feather resting on his head. The dark-haired woman in his arms wore a rich blue gown with white lace at the sleeves.
The pair shared a kiss, the man’s hands framing the woman’s face, the woman clutching the man’s neck. An air of desperation surrounded them, as if the meeting was fleeting. Forbidden. The fear of discovery was palpable.
“Il Bacio,” Kalen said.
“Francesco Hayez,” Christine murmured. “Nineteenth-century Italian Romanticist. The Kiss is his most renowned work.”
Kalen looked pleased. “You know it.”
“I saw this painting in Milan.” She scowled. “Not more than two months ago, I’ll have you know.”
Kalen flashed her a clearly unapologetic grin. “And now you’ve seen it a second time.”
She shook her head. “I can’t believe this! Do you have the Sistine Chapel somewhere in this castle, too?”
A sudden bleakness appeared in his eyes. “No,” he said. “I couldn’t get to it in time. The Sistine Chapel is truly gone.”
“Oh.” The stab of pain was almost as great as it had been on the terrible day almost a year ago when a terrorist bomb had destroyed Michelangelo’s crowning achievement. She saw her grief mirrored in Kalen’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“No more than I.” He sighed. “The fate of the Sistine Chapel convinced me humans could no longer be trusted to guard their own heritage. A heritage for which the Etruscans laid the foundation. It was after the Sistine was destroyed that I started collecting masterpieces in earnest. These statues, these paintings…they’re all I have left of my people.”
Shame seeped through her. She’d thought Kalen selfish and arrogant, an unprincipled museum raider. In reality, he was a hero. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”
He reached for her and she went to him, allowing herself to be wrapped in his powerful arms. He held her as though she were as precious as the artwork he revered. Framing her face between his palms, he dipped his head until his lips grazed hers.
“Let me make love to you again, Christine.”
His touch worked on her like a drug. His thumbs flexed on her cheeks. His eyes grew dark. She was beginning to get used to the waves of aching weakness she experienced whenever he touched her. She wanted nothing more than to melt into his arms. And she would—just as soon as she gained his cooperation.
“I need to talk to you,” she said seriously. “About the Calling.”
He tensed,subtly. “I told you,I’m no longer bound by it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“The other Immortals were created to guard all humanity. I was not. Uni created me to guard her chosen people, the Etruscans. More specifically, the line of Tyrrhenus.”
She frowned. “Who was Tyrrhenus?”
Kalen’s smile was tinged with sadness. “The first leader of the Etruscans, now long forgotten. The only trace left of him is the sea that bears his name. Il Mare Tirreno. The Mediterranean. Almost three thousand years ago, Tyrrhenus was cast out of his homeland in Asia Minor at the height of a brutal famine. His band of half-starved, ragged refugees sailed across the sea to the Italian peninsula. In the first months in their new home, roving packs of zombies led by a demon queen known as Culsu nearly wiped them out.
“My goddess mother, Uni, was furious. When Tyrrhenus appealed to her for aid, she sent me as the answer to his prayer. I had precious little time to prepare Tyrrhenus and his warriors for battle with Culsu’s zombies. The imbalance of power was laughable…four dozen hungry, ill-equipped farmers and herdsmen, along with an equal number of starving women and children, against a zombie army that numbered in the thousands. I needed every ounce of cunning and strength I possessed during that war. In the end I prevailed, and Culsu withdrew. Afterward, Uni gave me a new role—teacher, guardian, and counselor to her chosen people.”
“You were more than a warrior?”
“Yes. I transformed a ragtag band of desperate refugees into the most glorious civilization on earth. Art, culture, government, engineering—the Etruscans excelled at these things. Uni required me to answer the Calling spell only when it was cast by a direct descendant of Tyrrhenus. I guided his line well, and when the Etruscans merged with a neighboring tribe, I became guardian of the new city of Rome. Uni became Juno, queen of the Roman pantheon. As Romans, my people spread art, civics, and order throughout the world for nearly one thousand years.”
“But it didn’t last.”
“No,” he agreed. “It didn’t. The government grew corrupt, the people became lazy and greedy. They valued Uni less than Jupiter and Mars, and she became angry and vengeful because of it. As for me—I allowed myself to become distracted by Adrian and his endless battles. Because I neglected my people’s spiritual needs, Rome fell. Demons and vampires roamed freely. The line of Tyrrhenus survived the Fall, but the plagues of the Dark Ages took their toll. By the Middle Ages, the last of Tyrrhenus’s progeny was gone.” He let out a long breath. “So you see, the purpose for which I was created no longer exists.”
“You’re kidding me, right? Look, I’m sorry your original people are gone, but that doesn’t mean your purpose in life has ended. There are people alive who need you. You have so much power—you can still use it for good.”
“No. Everything has changed. My choices—and my life—they aren’t what they once were.”
“So you’re just going to turn your back on us? Is that it?”
His expression darkened dangerously. She’d pushed him too far. Abruptly, he released her, sending her stumbling backward.
“I’ve told you my views on the matter. Accept them or not, that is your choice. It will make no difference. I will not fight.” Pivoting, he started for the stair.
Christine stared after him for a moment, then ran and grabbed his arm. “Please. Just listen to what I have to say. That’s all I’m asking.”
He stopped and looked down at her hand, then up at her face. “Go ahead, then. Talk. Get it out of your system. But I warn you, it won’t do any good.”
“I…” She faltered. Faced with his anger, she nearly lost her nerve. But the danger was so monumental, so widespread, she had to try to convince him. “It’s about your brother,” she said finally.
He frowned. “Adrian?”
“No. Not Adrian. Your youngest brother. Tain.”
His surprise was evident. “Your coven has called Tain to battle?”
“No. Just the opposite. Tain is the reason the Coven of Light is searching for the rest of the Immortals. I don’t know how to tell you this, but Tain…he’s out of control. If you and the other Immortals don’t find a way to stop him, he’s going to destroy the world.”
CHAPTER NINE
“Tain? Destroy the world? That’s preposterous.”
Christine’s small fingers tightened on Kalen’s forearm. His lower body responded, despite the fact that sex was clearly not on the witch’s immediate agenda.
“I only wish it were preposterous,” she said. Her face was flushed. “But Adrian and Amber have proof. Tain’s b
ehind the alarming spread of death magic. Haven’t you been reading the newspapers? Watching the BBC? Crime is epidemic—murder, rape, demon assaults, terrorism, war in any number of countries—you name it, it’s out of hand. Vampires are prowling in packs, attacking humans in their homes. Resurrectionists are setting zombies loose on the human population in record numbers. Sorcerers are getting bolder—”
Kalen dismissed her harangue with a chopping motion of his hand. “Evil is nothing new. The world has always known it.”
“Not like this it hasn’t!”
“That’s where you’re wrong. Though I suppose that’s only understandable for someone who’s only lived—” He sent her a questioning glance. “What—twenty-two, twenty-three years?”
“Twenty-six.”
He nearly laughed. She was so incredibly young, he almost couldn’t fathom it. “Twenty-six years is a mere instant in human history. You think the world is falling apart now? You should have seen the Fall of Rome or the Crusades. The Vampire Wars of the Dark Ages. The Unseelie Menace. Those were terrible days, too, spurred on by demons and death sorcerers. But those times didn’t last. Eventually life magic reasserted itself.”
“With the help of you and the other Immortals. Humanity couldn’t have survived without you.”
Kalen found her faith touching, if naive. “The Immortals helped, yes, and we certainly saved some human lives that would have been lost otherwise. But the tide would have changed regardless. Balance is the nature of things.”
“This time is different. Balance will be permanently lost, if we don’t act now. The world will never be the same once Tain gets through with it. It might not even exist.”
Kalen sighed. Over the course of his long life, he’d seen countless zealots and believers, many of whom hadn’t hesitated to lay down their lives for the sake of dogmas that were patently ridiculous. Each one had had the same desperate, fanatical expression that was currently etched an Christine’s face. She truly believed Kalen’s youngest brother was going to destroy the world.
But that was absurd.