by Jacey Ward
“Rowan wants it.”
Circe’s eyes narrowed and she shook her head.
“Rowan is not the only high priestess.”
Arya swallowed the lump in her throat.
“You are willing to get yourself killed for no reason whatsoever,” Circe continued. “That is foolish and uncharacteristic of you. Danger, you avoid. You would not put yourself in such a position without good reason.”
“It’s happening, Circe. Just drop it.”
She snorted contemptuously.
“Who has the Chasm?”
Suddenly Arya wished she had not told Circe until the very last minute but a small part of her knew she had been aching to get the secret off her chest. Her life seemed to be spiralling out of control and she needed an anchor.
“It doesn’t matter. If I’m successful, you’ll find out soon enough. If I’m not, well, you’ll hear about that too.”
“I can be your backup,” Circe snapped. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Arya hung her head and sniffled slightly before looking back up at her friend.
“You are going to be my back up,” she whispered. “I need you to take care of Jasmine if things go awry.”
The slap came without warning and Arya fell back against the chair, her eyes widening with shock.
“You fool!” her friend screeched. “No one will be taking care of Jasmine if things go awry! You can’t do this! Just ask the demon to borrow the book and we’ll find another high priestess.”
Arya’s hand reached to rub her face and she choked back her indignation. Circe had every right to be concerned, to be fearful. The news was not uplifting and the Valkyrie loved her and her pixie-faced daughter intrinsically.
But she could not bring herself to tell Circe why she couldn’t ask to borrow the book from Dantalion Carmichael, not without opening a resealed can of molding worms.
“You’re afraid that you’ll lose her business if you refuse,” Circe spat.
“If you think that’s the reason, you don’t know me at all,” Arya whispered.
“Well I can’t think of any – “ Circe stopped talking and her pupils dilated with understanding. “Who owns the Chasm, Arya?”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, trying to stand but Circe pushed her down, her face inches from Arya’s. The goddess grabbed at her shoulder and forced eye contact between them.
“He’s Jasmine’s father, isn’t he?”
Her pale face turned even more opaque but she didn’t respond, her eyes darting around in panic.
“Who is it, Arya?”
“Please, Circe, don’t make me tell you,” she mumbled. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“Who is it!”
Arya inhaled deeply, knowing that Circe would not leave it alone until she answered.
“Dantalion Carmichael.”
Circe’s body heaved as if Arya had delivered her a blow and she sank back.
“Oh Arya, no. You can’t think about robbing him. He’s ruthless and cruel. There is a reason he’s the lord of the earthly underworld. He will kill you. Shit, he might even kill Jasmine if he’s pissed enough. That man does not have a good reputation!”
Tell me about it; I’ve been cyberstalking him for three years.
“I know.”
“You can ask him for the book, you can – “
“No, I can’t!” Arya yelled, leaping from the chair, her face flaming in anger. “Even if I thought I could face him again without losing it, he’ll find out about Jasmine – and I can’t have that. I don’t know what kind of father he’ll be, Circe, but I would bet good money that he doesn’t give a rat’s ass if she lives or dies. I can’t have that. Not now and not ever!”
Circe was silent, finally fully understanding of the inner turmoil Arya faced.
“There has to be a better way…” she muttered but the words were as empty as Arya felt in that moment.
“I’ll be careful,” she promised her friend. “I can do this for Jasmine. I have never been more motivated in my life.”
But no matter how motivated she might be, Arya could not shake the impending cloud of doubt slowly brewing over her head.
Her visions told her that the heist would be successful but the aftermath would have devastating consequences, not only for her but for all the immortals.
I don’t have a choice, she thought firmly. In three days, I will be inside the walls of the Carmichael estate. Gods willing, I won’t lay eyes upon him before I steal one of the most treasured possessions of the earthly underworld.
Why was it then, that Arya could not stop imagining what it would be like to see him again?
“Arya, you can’t fuck this up,” Circe told her unnecessarily and Arya guffawed.
“Yeah, I know,” she replied tightly. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“It’s not that I…”
But Arya didn’t hear anything Circe said from that point forward because like a bolt of lightning in her mind, Arya realized how she could achieve the feat of stealing the Chasm and sate her unyielding desire to see Dante again in one fell swoop. And they were not mutually exclusive tasks.
You are doing this for Jasmine, she told herself fiercely, the need to protect her daughter overriding all else.
Yet she could not deny that what her new plan entailed had a little bit to do with herself too.
Chapter 8
The grand ballroom was a sea of penguin suits and tight-fitting gowns, people spilling into all angles of the camera’s wide lenses for photo ops and general narcissism.
Dante couldn’t claim to know half of the uptight tuxedos in his house, most of them invited through Paul, but he did glimpse dozens of famous Hollywood and political types who were apparently good for exposure. He didn’t care but he knew they were pertinent to the cause.
In the mix were the allotted doctors and sick kids they had requested and for a foreign second, he felt a stab of guilt. The children seemed ill-at-ease, as if they knew they were being used as pawns in a game.
This is wrong, he thought, his eyes scanning the crowd for Paul. They don’t need to be here in the shark tank. We’ll put them in the game and theater room so they can actually enjoy themselves while they’re here, not sitting around watching failed presidents eating caviar with arthritic fingers.
With a champagne glass in his elegant hand, he circled the room, a genial smile plastered on his face as he made small talk with the guests and waited for the formal dinner to commence.
How is this only cocktail hour? I’m already aching to set my own house on fire. What the hell was I thinking?
Having the gala in his home went against every fiber of his being, showing off the opulent home he had guarded so closely.
It’s only one night, he reminded himself. You can do this for your company.
“You’re losing your charming smile,” Paul piped in his ear and Dante wondered from where the middle-aged hipster had materialized.
“Get the kids out of the ballroom,” he ordered. “Set them up downstairs and put on a movie. Order them some pizza or something.”
“But, sir, we need them here!” he protested. “They are the reason people are throwing money at the – “
“Do I look like I need to be mansplained to?” Dante hissed, his multi-colored eyes flashing in fury. “You’re a smart guy. You can’t figure out how to have cameras on the kids without them being here?”
Paul paled and nodded.
“Yeah, of course you’re right,” he agreed quickly, knowing that an argument would not serve him well. “It doesn’t look good if the kids look uncomfortable.”
“Do it now,” Dante ordered, turning away as a bejeweled woman touched his arm.
“Dante, darling!” Corinna Dupris cried, air kissing his cheeks phonily as she clung to his arm. “How wonderful that you are doing such a lovely thing for the children!”
Dante cast Paul a warning look and the PR manager disappeared into the crowd to round
up the kids.
“Well, Corinna, you know that the Seattle Children’s Hospital is one of my favorite charities. I figured that there is no reason that everyone shouldn’t get the opportunity to share in my love for such a worthy cause.”
She laughed merrily, her voice reminiscent of Shax’s high-pitched shrill and he wished she would release her claws from his forearm.
“Some people believe that this is a publicity stunt,” she told him, leaning in conspiratorially. “But I know you’re kind-hearted underneath that powerhouse exterior.”
It wouldn’t be the first time that Corinna had tried to seduce him and Dante knew it would likely not be the last. Every time he saw the senator’s wife, she seemed to grow more aggressive as if she would eventually win against his immortal indifference to her nouveau riche status.
“You’re kind to say so,” he replied, slowly removing his extremity from her grip. His eyes moved over her dyed platinum chignon toward the entranceway, a familiar prickling sensation rising on the back of his neck.
Corinna was purring something else in his ear but Dante could no longer hear her, his eyes traveling like lasers over the horde of people, his pulse beginning to race.
She’s here, he realized, gulping back his disbelief.
“Excuse me,” Dante muttered, pulling himself away, his body temperature rising as he made his way out of the ballroom, toward the foyer. He could sense her nearby, the same way he had in the hospital.
Was she a doctor? One of the guests?
In the back of his mind, Dante could not let go of the idea that Arya was there as more than just a party guest.
“Where are you going?”
“Where is the guest list?” he demanded and Paul shrugged, pointing toward the security milling around the entranceway.
“They all have it on their tablets,” Paul replied, his face scrunched in perplexity. “Why? Do you see someone here who doesn’t belong?”
But before he could open his mouth to respond, he saw her.
For a moment, Dante was sure he was imagining things, taken away by the feeling of intoxication which had overcome him.
“Boss?”
She slid inside the house through the open double doors, nodding curtly to security as she ventured through.
They had no reason to suspect she didn’t belong. After all, she was dressed in an expensive floor-length gown in a stunning teal blue, and adorned with a gold and diamond set which accentuated her sparkling eyes and auburn hair perfectly. The shoulder length waves were pinned to the sides with pretty combs, the tresses spilling against her naked shoulders to curve around the line of her chin.
Instantly, Dante remembered the feel of her jawbone against his lips and without warning, he felt a telltale tug in his pants.
As she walked across the marble floor, a pair of black slippers peeked against the hemline of her dress and she clutched a small jewelled handbag tightly with her fingers.
It was only her hands which gave away her nervousness, her beautiful face not displaying an ounce of insecurity as she stared about almost indifferently. Even as a liveried waiter strolled past with a full tray of goblets, she picked one up with ease and nonchalance, her eyes displaying nothing.
What is she doing here?
She seemed to either sense him or hear his thoughts, her head rising to stare at him directly and time froze between the two, a heaviness hanging in the air.
Dante knew that her presence could not be met with anything but suspicion yet he would be lying to himself if he said he was not dizzy with desire for her.
He didn’t remember crossing the floor but suddenly they were standing face-to-face and he was peering into her fair face, searching for his voice.
“Hi,” she offered first. “Did you come to steal my drink again?”
He gaped at her for a moment, his mouth parted as he tried to understand why Arya Ambrose was standing before him. There was an underlying bitterness in her tone, despite the bemused smile on her face but before he could respond, a security officer appeared, seizing her by the arm.
“I’m sorry, miss. You’re not authorized to be here.”
Arya’s face contorted into anger as she wrenched her arm away indignantly.
“Don’t touch me!” she spat. “I am authorized to be here. You’re wrong.”
“Come with me, miss and we’ll sort it out from outside the gate. The facial recognition software has flagged – “
“It’s all right, Henry. She can stay,” Dante interjected. “Don’t touch her.”
“But sir, if she’s not on the list – “
“Is this my house or yours, Henry?”
The guard lowered his head but Dante caught the twitch of defiance in his face.
“I am just looking out for your safety, Mr. Carmichael. She is – “
“I just said she’s fine. Do I need to say it again?” Dante’s eyes fixated on the security officer’s face, his gaze boring into him with fury.
Henry cleared his throat and backed away.
“No, Mr. Carmichael.”
Dante dismissed him with a wave of his hand and turned his attention back to Arya.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “But you did sneak in here.”
“I didn’t!” she replied hotly. “I was invited by Jefferson Cutway but he ditched me as soon as we walked in.”
Dante felt a pang of jealousy snake through him.
“Jeff Cutway? I thought he was gay,” he replied evenly and Arya laughed.
“I never noticed,” she replied. “Anyway, thanks for rescuing me. It’s good seeing you again.”
She turned away and Dante felt a stab of panic grip him as he realized she was leaving him.
“Arya, wait!”
She eyed him warily.
“What is it?”
“I – I just – ” he stopped abruptly, suddenly realizing how many eyes were on the two of them.
Cameras were flashing from every corner and suddenly he felt very conspicuous.
“Can we go somewhere and talk privately for a few minutes?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she murmured, taking a quick sip of her drink, her eyes shifting about.
“Please. I owe you an explanation.”
She eyed him reluctantly.
“I don’t think that – “
“Dante, who is your friend?”
An obnoxious male reporter whose name evaded Dante at that moment approached and Arya turned away, her face reddening with embarrassment.
Without responding, Dante grabbed her arm, sensing she was about to slip away and guided her away from the crowd, down the hallway toward his study.
“Dante, I really don’t need an explanation,” she murmured but she didn’t fight him as they made their way into the library.
He secured the doors at his back and watched as Arya slowly wandered through the large room, her eyes fixated on the endless books lining the high walls toward the stained-glass skylight.
The room was his sanctuary, a place he went to escape and it seemed fitting that he was sharing it with Arya when it was off-limits to everyone else.
“How have you been?” he heard himself ask. “You look well.”
He wasn’t flattering her; she had a quality about her which enhanced her already lovely looks, a maturity which had not aged her in the least. She still looked exactly how he remembered her, the way she played out in his memories and sometimes, his dreams.
“Thanks. You too,” she replied quickly, downing the rest of her drink with one gulp. She was looking for an escape, her nervousness overcoming her but he was not about to let her go so easily.
“Arya, I came looking for you,” he told her, striding toward her as she stood, looking out the rectangular windows into the rose gardens beyond. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since that night.”
As he neared her, she didn’t turn but her shoulders tensed, sensing his approach.
“You haven’t?” she re
plied easily. “That’s flattering.”
Again, he heard the cynicism in her voice and he knew that his actions would not be easily explained but he had to try. Whatever they had shared was a bond he couldn’t deny. And he could tell that despite her wariness, Arya felt the same or else she would not be standing there.
“Arya, I didn’t leave you on purpose. I had to go. It was beyond my control.”
“It’s fine, Dante. I’m not mad.”
He didn’t believe her proclamation in the least.
“Will you please look at me?” he growled. “I am trying to tell you what happened.”
“That was a long time ago, Dante. A lot has changed. I’ve changed.”
The words lacked conviction and he was not ready to give up so easily.
“You came here to see me,” he said and she slowly turned, her emerald eyes filled with something he could not quite understand.
“You missed me too,” he told her, pulling her closer. “I can tell you did.”
She shook her head in denial but he caught her mouth in mid-swing, pressing his lips against hers.
Three years of pent up passion bubbled at the surface as the electricity he remembered so well coursed between them. Arya moaned slightly, her lips parting. As he stared at her face, he saw the resolve dissipating slowly.
“It’s okay,” he murmured, pulling back to stroke her face. “I won’t leave you again. I swear.”
Her hands encircled his neck and she pulled him back toward her, sighing deeply as they locked into another embrace, the heat between them rising.
For the first time in years, Dante felt right, his body pressed to hers as she bucked forward to feel the bulge at his crotch.
Her fingers twined into his hair almost painfully but he was far too caught up in the moment to notice the anger in her clutch, even as she forced his face along the ridge of her chin.
She smelled the same and yet different as if her pheromones had evolved, the scent of her skin driving him wilder, his kisses becoming bullets of lava, splotching along her shoulders.
Arya pulled him back, her calves contacting the window seat where she fell, pushing his face lower into her bosom.