by Jasmine Walt
I tried again. “Everyone has memories of me that I don’t have. Sometimes, I don’t know who I am. You want me to be one way—”
“No,” he said quietly. “I have never asked you to be anything but who you are.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, balling my hands into fists under my armpits. “Well, I don’t know who that is right now.”
“And so you kiss Tresor to find yourself?” he asked.
I jerked my arms to my sides. My posture went rigid as I glared at him.
“And you come to Rome and sleep with me—to what, lose yourself?”
Heat rose to my cheeks. An angry outburst bubbled up my throat. But the look on his face was like a bucket of icy water thrown atop my head. My head dipped. I stared at the ground, my gaze going hazy with mounting tears.
“I’m not trying to hurt you, Zane.”
“And yet, you are.”
His voice was so soft, so quiet. Part of me wanted him to yell, to rage. But he didn’t. I glanced over to see that his hands were also balled, but in a loose fist, as though he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hold on or let go.
“You hurt me every time. And I still keep coming back for more.” His grip slackened. He straightened his fingers, flexing them as far as they would go.
I felt the world rocking around me. How had things gotten so out of control? I needed something to hold onto. I stepped up to him, but he held out his hand. Not open in welcome. His palm faced up in the universal motion for stop. His fingers didn’t touch me, but it felt like they’d shoved me backward.
“Don’t,” he said. He seemed to say it more to himself than to me. “You know, this is the definition of insanity. I wait hundreds of years for you, for just a few moments in time, and it always ends with you running away from me. Yet, I keep coming back, expecting it to be different each time.”
His voice was softer than a whisper, but it rattled its way through my bones. It felt harder than when Cronus shook the ground the other night, louder than Hera’s cries for attention. I felt it pulling me down into a dark mound deep in the earth. Whatever I was made of, be it energy or spirit, it felt like it was being sucked out of me with the quiet desolation of his voice.
“Zane?” I reached out my hand, but he took a step back.
“I need some space,” he said.
I pulled my hand away, but the movement felt like I was lifting a heavy boulder with the effort.
“Okay,” I said, but the two syllables were heavy on my tongue.
Zane’s gaze found mine. His dark eyes were clouded with hurt and confusion. I couldn’t stand to see his pain. I took another step toward him, but he retreated and I stumbled.
We stood there. Only a few feet separated us, but the chasm felt wider than the Mediterranean. There had never been empty space between us. I didn’t know what to do with it.
“This is confusing,” he said with a humorless laugh.
“I know. For me too.”
He looked at me. For the first time in this lifetime, I couldn’t read his gaze. “I need you to do something for me,” he said.
I nodded my head in agreement before he asked.
“Don’t call me,” he said. “Don’t text me. Don’t email me. Don’t try to find me. Just give me some space.”
I felt my heart plummet to the floor. When I looked once more into his dark gaze, I almost wished there was a red rim there so he would do what I wanted and stop hurting. But there wasn’t. He blinked, and then he stepped away from me. Without a touch, without a kiss, without another word, he was gone. He left through the same door as Tres.
27
I stared out at the setting sun over the Mediterranean. Where the sky met the sea, it looked like a mashup of black and blue. Pretty much how I was feeling right now.
A pair of arms came around me. In one hand was a wine glass. I took it and downed it in two gulps.
“Does drinking and driving apply to boats?” Loren asked as she sat down next to me with a glass in her other hand.
I shrugged. I planned to get stupid-drunk and then dock somewhere in the middle of the ocean. Or maybe I should switch that order? We were taking a true girls’ trip, away from boys and any other distractions, in order to mend our bruised and broken hearts. There were no cares about getting a groove back right now. Men were not welcome on the dance floor of this boat.
“Nia? Are you sure you want to take this trip right now? I wouldn’t hold it against you if you wanted to go after Zane.”
I shook my head. Zane was never coy or cryptic. He always said exactly what he meant. When he said he didn’t want to see me, I knew I should believe him. Though it was still hard to comprehend that those words had come out of the mouth that used to worship me with words and kisses.
“You could take this trip with Tres instead,” she offered.
“We could go and look for Baros,” I challenged.
She held up her hands in a placating fashion. “Touché.”
“Zane and Tres know what they want. I’m the one who’s confused. I just need a moment to figure out my life away from both of them, away from all men.”
“Then out in the middle of the ocean it is.” Loren took a sip from her glass. Then she rose and headed for the back of the ship. “I’ll go and pull up the anchor.”
I lounged in the deck chair and put my feet up, staring out at the bruised sky. As the darkness of night settled more firmly, the color evened out. It looked like there had never been a tear on the horizon. All it had taken was the passage of time for things to settle. I had that in spades. I just didn’t know what to do with it.
Once again I felt the weight of my age crashing around my shoulders. Growing old was easy. It was the growing up bit that was hard to do.
“Let me help you with that,” said a deep voice with a bit of a burr.
I sat up straight, my senses on full alert. My bare feet slapped onto the deck floor as I leaned forward in my chair.
I couldn’t see who spoke to Loren, but I recognized that Scottish accent. People from the United Kingdom visited Greece all the time, but that burr was older than modern times. I stood slowly, knowing exactly who I would see when I made my way to the back of the boat. When my eyes confirmed it, I groaned and made my way over to them.
“Loren, back away from him.”
“But he’s so cute,” she said, twirling a lock of her blonde hair. “Can’t we take him with us?”
All her memories and hurt that had been caused by a certain Spartan king appeared to flee her mind as she stared at the broad, ginger-haired man on the dock. He stood well over six feet with a strong upper body that looked as though it were made for jousting. When he smiled, twin dimples rose on each side of his chiseled jaw.
“Hello, Dr. Rivers,” he said.
Loren’s grin fell. “Damn, Nia. Do you have dibs on every cute guy on the freaking planet?”
“What do you want, Lance?” I demanded, ignoring Loren’s pout.
Lance grinned. “Can’t I just stop by to say hi to an old friend?”
“In that case, you should hurry up and go find them.”
“Are you still mad about Seure?” Lance asked.
He was referring to an ancient sword used in a battle against the Saxons. “That sword belongs in a museum.”
“No, lass, it belonged to my ancestors and is therefore my birthright. You were poaching on our lands.”
Technically, he was right. About fifty years ago, I’d gotten word that a group of archaeologists had found interesting artifacts on a burial site believed to be the location of the great Battle of Edington that occurred in the eighth century. I may have flashed my credentials and dipped in to see if the fabled sword was there. It was. But Lance had beaten me to it.
“You know you need permission to come onto our lands,” Lance admonished from his place on the dock, his youthful grin belying his true age.
“I was just doing my job,” I said, feeling superior as I stood over him on the deck.
> He smirked up at me, completely uncowed. “Archaeology is your hobby. The recovery and protection of magical artifacts is the very reason for my existence.”
I tilted my chin and regarded him, trying to uncover his angle. “What does he want?”
Lance bit at his lip. But in the end, he held up his hands like he was ready to come clean. “He needs a favor.”
“Then he should get someone who works for him to do the job. Not a little hobbyist like me.” I reached for Loren and made to turn us both away.
“It has to do with the Grail,” Lance shouted up to me.
That stopped me in my tracks. My spine straightened, and I slowly turned back to see Lance grinning. He knew he had me with that one word.
“What about it?” I asked, feigning a nonchalance that neither of us bought.
“I can’t discuss it off hallowed ground. You’ll have to come to the castle.”
I rocked back on my heels. Then I nearly kicked up my feet to dance a jig. My voice was breathless when I spoke. “Arthur is inviting me to the castle?”
“Desperate times call for desperate measures, it would seem. So, can I tell the boss to expect you?” Lance asked.
The answer was yes. It was hell yes. But I schooled my features. I wasn’t that easy. I cocked my hip and shoved my hand onto my waist to present some modicum of cool.
“Well, Lancelot,” I said. “You go and tell The Arthur that I’ll make some time to come and see him. After I handle some important business of my own.”
Lancelot grinned. Then he bowed his ginger head like the courtly hero that he was. “I’m at your service, my lady.” He spared a wink for Loren and then took off down the dock.
The moment he was out of sight, I dashed to the helm of the ship, preparing to take off across the seas. Loren was at my heels.
“What just happened?” she asked. “You called him Lancelot. You said Arthur.”
“Yup.”
“Like Lancelot and Arthur?”
“Hmm.”
“Wait? There really is a King Arthur?”
“Not the Arthur, The Arthur.”
“Yeah.” Loren shook her head slowly. “I don’t get the distinction.”
“I’ll explain on the way.”
“Where are we going?”
“To Camelot.”
To be continued…
The adventure continues! Nia will return in Templar Scrolls, Book Three of the Nia Rivers Adventures. Click HERE to get your copy!
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About the Authors
JASMINE WALT is obsessed with books, chocolate, and sharp objects. Somehow, those three things melded together in her head and transformed into a desire to write, usually fantastical stuff with a healthy dose of action and romance. Her characters are a little (okay, a lot) on the snarky side, and they swear, but they mean well. Even the villains sometimes. When Jasmine isn’t chained to her keyboard, you can find her practicing her triangle choke on the jujitsu mat, spending time with her family, or binge-watching superhero shows on Netflix. You can connect with her on Instagram at @jasmine.walt, on Facebook, or at www.jasminewalt.com.
Aside from being a writer, professional reader, and teacher, INES JOHNSON is a very bad Buddhist. She sits in sangha each week, and while others are meditating and getting their zen on, she’s contemplating how to use the teachings to strengthen her plots and character motivations. Ines writes books for strong women who suck at love. If you rocked out to the twisted triangle of Jem, Jericha, and Rio as a girl; if you were slayed by vampires with souls alongside Buffy; if you need your scandalous fix from Olivia Pope each week, then you’ll love her books! You can reach Ines at her website www.ineswrites.com or on Facebook.
Also by Jasmine Walt
The Nia Rivers Adventures:
Dragon Bones
Demeter’s Tablet
Templar Scrolls—Coming Soon!
The Baine Chronicles Series:
Burned by Magic
Bound by Magic
Hunted by Magic
Marked by Magic
Betrayed by Magic
Deceived by Magic
Scorched by Magic
Tested by Magic (Novella)
The Gatekeeper Chronicles
Marked by Sin
Hunted by Sin
Claimed by Sin—Coming Soon!
The Shadows of Salem Series:
Shadow Born
Shadow Marked
Shadow Hunted
Also by Ines Johnson
The Nia Rivers Adventures
Dragon Bones
Demeter’s Tablet—Coming Soon!
The Bright Series (Paranormal Romance)
Bright
Blaze—Coming Soon!
The Moonkind Series (Paranormal Romance)
Moonkind
Moonrise
Moonfall
The Cindermama Series (Fairytale Retellings)
Pumpkin
Rumpeled
Beau
The Watchers Crew Series (Erotic Romance)
Test Drive
Cruise Control
Dangerous Curves Ahead
Slippery When Wet
The Pleasure Hound Series (Erotic Romance)
The Pleasure Hound
The Loyal Steed
The Clever Fox