by Jasmine Walt
“Greece was under Ottoman rule for over four hundred years,” Tres pointed out.
“Yeah, I know.”
“The sultans battled hard to keep control of that little piece of the world. You ever wonder why?”
“Same stupid reasons as always—territory, resources, freedom. Or the infidels were worshipping the wrong gods. Or the most common reason—because those savages who are different from us are evil.”
Tres smiled and shook his head. “There’s another, more common, stupider reason.”
I frowned as I racked my brain for an alternative answer. Only one other option remained, and it was unfathomable. “No way,” I said.
He nodded, a huge grin lighting his face.
“Really?” I breathed, leaning in and whispering as though it were a great secret.
“Truly.” Tres chuckled.
I couldn’t believe it. The other stupid reason that men went to war was love. But Bet? My curiosity was piqued.
Tres’s handsome features rearranged themselves into something more boyish. I couldn’t help but stare. But soon, the boyish grin faded and the curl of a man’s mouth stepped into its place. I looked away, turning my attention to Bet and his War of the Roses with his paramour.
“Tell me about her,” I said. “This goddess Demeter.”
“You knew her better than I did. And she didn’t prefer me with you.”
“Who did she—”
The darkening of his gaze shut me up. I knew which Immortal my forgotten BFF, Demeter, preferred. “Well, if it’s any consolation, Loren is totes Team Broody Billionaire.”
“Totes team what?”
“It doesn’t matter.” I shook my head, not wanting to let him know that not only did we have a nickname for him, but we also talked about him like girls hanging out in the bathroom at the school dance.
Tres and I stood close, but there was a gulf of tension between our bodies. Out before us, a group of men in tall, fuzzy top hats and dark clothes took center stage. The clothing identified them as Whirling Dervishes—followers of the ancient philosopher, Rumi.
Rumi taught tolerance, love, and the liberation of women—radical ideas that caused his sect to never be accepted by Orthodox Islam. Along with these beliefs, the Dervishes had another practice that was unpalatable—they danced.
Rumi and his followers believed the union with God could be achieved through dance. Music notes filled the air. The Dervishes shed their cloaks, casting aside their earthly ties. The men raised their right hands to receive the blessings of the divine. They lowered their left hands to distribute those blessings down to earth. And then, they began to spin.
“Broody?” Tres’s deep voice rumbled down through the cone of my ear.
I took a deep breath to stave off the shudder. Then I looked up at him. “Well, you do have the scowl down.”
And then he went and smiled. The lifting of his lips reminded me of the mischievous of a little boy mixed with the devilish knowledge of a grown man.
“Do you like the scowl?” he asked. His face was soft. Those dark eyes twinkled under the fading light of the setting sun.
He was flirting. Tresor Mohandis flirting with me was a force I didn’t know how to reckon with. Thankfully, I was saved by the bell. Or rather, the song.
The sound of singing filled the air. It was the call to prayer. The people gathered around raised their hands in supplication. When the evening prayer was done, they broke bread and began to eat. Which then reminded me of my unfulfilled hunger and the rumbling that had migrated from my belly southward.
I turned from the festivities toward the mosque. It was the Rustem Pasha Mosque. It was empty since everyone was out in the marketplace breaking their fast. I felt Tres behind me as I entered. It felt like I was prey and he was stalking me, playing with his food before he pounced and devoured his quarry whole.
“Are you waiting for me to give you an answer?” I asked, bringing the conversation back to whether I liked his scowl.
“No need.” His deep voice echoed off the mosaic walls of the mosque’s interior. “The fact that you keep running away from me is answer enough.”
I turned. It was foolish to put my back against the wall to such a worthy adversary. Especially when his body would block my exit. But the route to the exit was free and clear. Tres leaned against a wall nowhere near me or the doorway. Still, his presence filled the room.
The allergy no longer bothered me. It was only him, and we’d only been alone for a few minutes. But I still felt the prickles all over my skin.
I relaxed my stance, but not my guard. “I know I haven’t called.”
“Because you’re back with him.”
“No.”
“No?”
I ran my fingers over the blue tiles of the church walls. The color was turquoise. Turkish blue. Turquoise. Huh? French and Turkish made blue. I turned from the tiles and faced Tres.
“I haven’t seen Zane since . . .” I swallowed hard. Then I closed my eyes to the memory.
After the nightmare of the Gongyi with the Lin Kuie, I’d gone to find Zane in the South of France at the cottage we’d gone to when we’d fallen in love. He’d waited there for me. We’d argued. Well, I’d argued. He’d taken my ire as his due. Then, once all the fight had gone out of me, there’d been none left to fight for us. He’d left me alone. My chin wobbled at the memory of opening my eyes to find him gone.
“I’m sorry,” Tres murmured. He was still behind me, but his voice sounded closer. Then I felt his breath on my ear. “I made an assumption. Breakups are hard, I know.”
After Tres and I had broken up a thousand years ago, we’d gone to war with each other. As a land developer and an architect, Tres had a nasty habit of building on historic sites I wanted to excavate. Problem was, there wasn’t much untouched, viable land left on this earth, which meant that just about everywhere had some historic significance to someone or other.
We’d had our own War of the Roses for hundreds of years. I just hadn’t realized ours wasn’t over control of land. It was over heartbreak that I’d banished from memory.
I used to think him a heartless tyrant. As I looked at him now, leaning casually against the wall, he looked like a gentle giant. No, check that. He looked like a dark panther toying with his meal before pouncing.
“You’re thrilled Zane and I are apart,” I said. “Now you can make your move.”
But he didn’t move. Tres ran his hands across the mosaic tile, just beside mine. Our fingers were close. He could reach out and grab me. But he didn’t.
“Did you know I built this mosque?” he asked.
“You did not. Mimar Sinan built it back in the sixteenth century.”
“He designed it. I built it. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
I looked at the arching domes. The work was exquisite. The colorful patterns and geometric shapes were hypnotic. They urged people to stare, to tilt their head further back and marvel until the blood drained and left them dizzy.
“I don’t just tear things down,” Tres said. “I’m capable of making something beautiful.”
I ran my hands over the mosaic patterns, still steering clear of his fingertips. The colors between us were blue and a light red that looked like . . . “Fuck weasel.”
“Pardon?”
“Nothing.” I dropped my hand from the wall. I had no intention of explaining to Tres the inside joke about autocorrect and colors that Zane and I shared.
“Are you headed to Greece?” he asked. “To find Demeter?”
“Yeah.” I nodded. “Loren and I are probably gonna catch a flight out early tomorrow morning.”
I needed to check on her. It wasn’t only because I didn’t want to stay here under his gaze, which was making my heart skip beats. Loren was likely wreaking havoc during the holy hour somewhere.
“I’m headed there,” Tres said. “To Greece. I can give you a lift.”
I tried to shake my head to decline his offer. Instead, I stared at h
is gleaming teeth under the light of the dome. I had the sensation that this man could eat me alive if I let him get too close. He took a step forward. I couldn’t step back. My back was against the wall.
“I’m sailing,” he said. “You like boats, if I remember.”
Sailing was one of my great joys. But I kept my mouth shut. I wrapped my hands around the pillar against my back. There was a dagger at my hip, but I didn’t feel the need to reach for it as he advanced. It would’ve been ineffectual against the assault he was putting into place against me.
“I have a yacht,” he said. “What if I let you take the wheel?”
“Why? What do you want from me?”
“Why do you suppose anyone offering you a hand has an ulterior motive?”
I quirked an eyebrow. “Trust issues.”
Tres’s grin spread. “Then let me be clear: I want to spend time with you. During that time, I plan to demonstrate many of my great character traits to entice your interest in having me as a sexual partner.”
“Oh . . . that was . . . a thorough explanation.”
“I like clarity in all things,” he said.
He was standing toe to toe with me now. One more inch and he’d brush my blade. But he held himself back.
“Is sleeping with you the cost of passage?” I had intended to put snark in my voice but failed. Again, it came out breathy.
Tres chuckled. His breath sailed across my lips. “No. The ride is free. I won’t sleep with you.”
Was that disappointment at the center of my chest?
“Not on this passage,” he said. “I have very definite designs for you, Theta. First, I’ll lay a solid foundation by wining and dining you. I’ll impress you with witty conversation and stories of my accomplishments that show off my impressive intellect and expertise. You know, we used to call that courting in another time. Then I’ll build the tension between us, brick by brick, until I reach your pinnacle. That’s when I’ll stake my flag. And trust me when I tell you, when you come to my bed, we won’t be sleeping.”
My stomach was in knots. My thighs were squeezed together. Both my hands were balled in fists. He was so close to me. He only needed to lean down an inch and his lips would meet mine. But he pulled away.
“So, Dr. Rivers, can I take you for a ride?”
7
“I’m king of the world.”
Loren stood at the helm of the yacht as it pulled away from the Turkish port. Her feet were hooked on the railing and her arms were thrown wide. She could’ve easily fallen over and into the depths. It might not kill her, but it would certainly injure her.
“Loren,” I called. “Get down from there.”
“One more minute, Mom.” She flung her head back and let the wind catch her blonde locks as the ship picked up speed. “Near . . . far . . . wherever you—oh!”
She wobbled, and I grabbed for her. She landed in my arms like a damsel swooning. Only difference was the bag slung over her shoulder with a deadly weapon in its belly. The cane that sheathed a sword dug into my ribs.
“See what I mean?” I admonished. “I told you to be careful.”
“I was fine,” she insisted as I held her aloft in my arms. “Why, Dr. Rivers, I declare. I’ve never been quite so swept off my feet.”
I rolled my eyes at her. She grinned as I set her on the ground.
“I knew it,” she said. “You do have a girl crush on me.”
I gave her a shove, but she only laughed at my rejection. Contrary to her belief, I didn’t have a crush on her. But I had gotten used to her presence over the last couple of months. I would’ve dove in and fished her out of the water. That was also because she was wearing my vintage jeans.
Being an Immortal was a lonely lifestyle. I’d had human companions before. Some I was close to, others I wasn’t, most I’d forgotten. It was hard watching people I cared about grow old and die while I remained forever unchanged physically but mentally ancient. Loren would only be around for another eighty years at best. But I had the feeling I’d remember her for the rest of my endless days.
As she brushed off my jeans and straightened a top I wasn’t sure I’d lent her, a butler came up and presented us with a tray of food. There were crudités, pastries, and pomegranate seeds. Loren double-fisted a sample of each dish and gobbled them down.
“I was born for this lifestyle,” she said around a mouthful of food, then promptly washed it down with the contents of the wine glass that was handed to her. The vintage, I noted, was three times her age.
“You were born the daughter of a scientist,” I reminded her.
Loren frowned. “The last place I should be is in a lab with beakers and chemicals and maths.”
“Is that why you traveled with your dad?”
Loren’s father had been a world-renowned archaeologist. That was before he was caught forging an artifact. That artifact happened to be the reason Loren and I had met. Dr. Van Alst had found evidence of an ancient Chinese dynasty in a small, forgotten province in China—the Gongyi. Years later, his daughter had led me to the same tribe. Since then, our paths had remained interwoven.
“Loren, you never told me about your mother.”
Loren gulped down the remaining contents of the wine glass before she answered. “She died when I was young. She was English. I barely remember her.” Loren continued to speak as she nibbled her food. “I traveled with my dad because none of my relatives, nor any boarding school, would have me.”
“Doesn’t surprise me.”
“You know what doesn’t surprise me? The fact you’re over here talking to me instead of chatting up the Broody Billionaire over there.”
Tres stood at the helm of his ship, talking to the captain of the vessel. He must’ve felt my gaze on him, because his head rose a second after I laid eyes on him. He smiled and nodded his head.
My gaze dipped to the floor.
“Wow.” Loren’s sigh was disappointed. “You are seriously bad at flirting.”
“Shut up,” I growled, turning to look out at the sea. “I’ve been in a relationship for over five hundred years. I’m just a little rusty is all.”
Something splashed in the depths of the water. It looked like the tentacle of an octopus. Octopuses were common in tropical waters such as the Mediterranean, but they preferred shallow, coastal lines. We had pulled a good distance from the coast of Turkey.
I peered down into the fathomless waters. Upon further inspection, I noted that the tentacle looked a bit furry, like a bundle of hair and not tough skin. I leaned over the railing. As I squinted, it looked like the creature had more than eight tentacles, as though the octopus had a head full of furry locks.
“Do you see that?” I pointed at the waters.
“See what?” Loren peered over the railing. “I don’t see anything.”
“I . . .” I searched the waters and saw nothing. “Never mind.”
“Nia?” Loren waited until I turned away from the water and gave her my full attention. “Flirting is all about getting someone’s attention.”
We were back on Tres. “I know that.” I looked back into the depths of the water, but my eight-legged, hairy friend, or whatever I had seen, had gone.
“Nia?”
“What?” I turned to Loren.
Her blue gaze raked over me, looking for something. “Do you want Tres’s attention?”
It wasn’t often that Loren struck a serious tone. This was one of those rare moments. The mischief faded from her gaze, and I saw myself reflected in her eyes.
I saw uncertainty and hesitation. I also saw desire. I couldn’t deny I was attracted to Tres. I couldn’t deny that whatever had been between us a thousand years ago was still there. Remnants of feelings swirled around my head and chest like the steam over a piping hot cup of tea that, even after sitting on the coffee table for an hour, still hadn’t entirely cooled. Even though it might have gone tepid, I knew it would still be satisfying.
I blinked and pulled my gaze back to foc
us on Loren’s entire face. Her brows were lowered as though they’d give me a lift. Her lashes pulled together as though they’d surround me with support. Her lips were in a thin line as though she’d stand behind me in solidarity with whatever decision I made.
I had difficulty pushing the two words past my lips, so I began by nodding my head. Then the words tumbled out as though my attraction to Tres had pushed them through. “I do.”
“Oh, thank God!” The cool, supportive, nonjudgmental facade melted away from Loren’s face and was replaced with glee. “Because I’m supposed to live like this, Nia.” She waved her hands around the massive yacht whose deck we stood upon. “And I will be the third wheel pushing you to that man if it keeps me in this lap of luxury.”
“Great, Loren,” I said, chuckling. “Way to be supportive.”
“I am so your wingwoman. Okay, here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to go and talk to him. You’ll tell him what a big, massive boat he has.”
“That’s not subtle at all.”
“But you’re going to change first. That shirt is far from revealing.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Did you say wingwoman or pimp?”
“Too late. Target approaching.”
Loren gave me a whirl and shoved me forward. I wobbled and fell into a hard chest. Tres caught me. His hands held me by the elbows. Once he was certain I’d regained my balance, he set me back on my feet. But he didn’t let me go.
“I trust you ladies have everything you need?” he asked, looking into my eyes.
I was thousands of years old, but whenever this man spoke to me, I was as tongue-tied as a schoolgirl.
“We do,” Loren answered. “Nia was just commenting on how big your boat is. Maybe you should give her a tour.”
“I’d love to show you around . . .” he said. His voice was silky-smooth. After a pause, he finished, “. . . my boat.”
Tres gave me his arm. I took it with shaky fingers, glancing over my shoulder at Loren. She mouthed, Don’t screw this up for me. I rolled my eyes and began walking alongside Tres.