Zo pushed his hands through his dark hair. “Damn it. She’s not answering her phone. We have no way to warn her.”
“It’s okay. I’ll track her. Stay here in case she comes back.” It took effort for Phaidros not to let his own fear and worry show.
“She told me what happened on Badija. You’ve got a right to be upset, Phaidros, but please don’t antagonize her. Just bring her home.”
“I’ve no intention of making her angry.”
Zo managed an amused smile. “If she’s out drinking and flirting about, try not to kill anyone either.”
Phaidros opened the door to the palazzo. “You know I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”
OUTSIDE, THE weather was warm, and the sea breeze kept the humidity from being too oppressive. Phaidros closed his eyes and did the one thing he never liked doing; he reached out with his magic and found the ghost of Aelia’s energy. It glowed like a trail of fuchsia and gold, and his magic hummed as soon as he brushed against it.
“At least you’re on foot,” Phaidros murmured.
She had gone to a small wine bar in Dorsoduro before walking across the Accademia Bridge. Her erratic pattern in the Campo Santo Stefano told him that she’d danced to whatever the violinist busker had been playing. Then she’d headed to another wine bar for a stop before winding farther through the streets.
During summer, there were always street festivals, markets, and the occasional party in a square, but it was a private party that Aelia’s energy led to. The bodyguards in front of the gated palazzo in San Marco barely looked at him as he threw up a glamour and walked right in.
The beautifully restored palazzo was filled with celebrities and socialites, and melodic dance music played low enough that people could talk just below shouting level. In the ballroom, dimly lit chandeliers cast the guests in shadows as they danced. The side of the room opened out to a long balcony on the Grand Canal. The cool night air drifted in.
There were so many people and so much energy in the room that Phaidros’s senses where overwhelmed. He was just about to close his magic off when he saw her.
Aelia was dancing with a group of handsome young men, her dress a red, glittery handkerchief that caught the light. Her golden-bronze hair was a loose tumble of wild curls that swayed with every movement of her body. Like always, Phaidros was momentarily struck dumb by the sight of her. He understood the pained, entranced looks on her admirers’ faces better than he’d ever like to admit. Aelia herself looked lost in the music, like she had surrendered to her magic and let it take her to a place where only the music mattered.
Phaidros didn’t want to be the one to wipe that look off her face—he could’ve watched her forever—but Kreios being as close as Florence kicked his protective tendencies into overdrive. As he approached, the men around Aelia took one look at the feral, predatory gleam in his golden eyes, and their energy shuddered with fear. They disappeared into the crowd before he was even close enough to touch her.
Aelia’s eyes were shut. While she moved in her own world, Phaidros’s heart slammed in his chest. He let his energy twist into hers and pull him into the music with her. She turned and smiled at him, so he moved behind her, slipping an arm around her waist. She leaned back against his chest, her head resting against his shoulder.
“You took your time,” she said.
“If we were playing hide-and-seek, you should have hidden better, Princess.”
“Who said I was hiding?” Aelia laughed. “Spin me.”
Phaidros obeyed, taking her hand and twirling her before bringing her close again. “You know that dress is dangerous enough to be considered a war crime.”
Aelia ground her hips back against him, giving him a full view down at her beautiful breasts. “I’m so glad you noticed.”
“Everyone in Venice has noticed. Is there a reason you’re exposing yourself like this tonight?”
“Are we still talking about the dress?”
“Kreios is back in Florence, and I doubt that he’s there without priests. None of us should be outside of the palazzo alone.”
Aelia reached her arms around the back of his neck, and he fought down the desire that rushed through him. “But I’m not alone. You’re here with me.” Her lips brushed his ear. “Exactly where you should be.”
“Look, I know you’re upset about Badija, but if you’re out looking for a rebound, I’m not it.” Phaidros had to say it, even if it made her furious and ruined whatever this moment was. Aelia had damaged his heart enough over the years. He didn’t want to be a temporary lover while she got over Constantine rejecting her for the first time in their long lives.
“I don’t need a rebound. I need you to dance with me, because no one dances with me like you do.” Aelia’s grip on his hair tightened. “I can feel your magic brushing against mine.”
Phaidros flushed. “I’m sorry. It’s an energy thing—”
“I can always feel it when it lightly touches mine. It’s as shy as you are,” Aelia teased. “Let it out, Phaidros.”
His heart stopped beating, and he froze. Aelia continued to move against him as she started to hum. Her power curled around him, coaxing him back into the dance. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”
“Yes, Phaidros, I do.” She released him so she could curl about in his arms and face him. She pulled him close. “Stop being so afraid and come play with me.”
Her magic tugged at him again, and knowing it was probably the most self-destructive thing he’d ever do, Phaidros released his magic. She gasped. Her face lit up in surprised joy as his magic joined her energy. He opened his mouth to say something, but she placed her fingers over his lips.
“Shhh. Just dance with me,” she said, then turned in his arms once more.
So he did, their magic and energy so caught up in each other that nothing else existed. Phaidros couldn’t have imagined a more unlikely scenario when he woke up this morning, but he was too far gone in the moment to question it.
Aelia had always fucked with his head, and no matter how many centuries passed, she always made him feel like the inexperienced youth, one that had fallen so hard in love with the girl that he’d never be capable of letting her go.
Aelia might never let him hold her in such a way again, so he was going to make the most of it. His magic licked against her skin, and she trembled as he moved his hand down her hip to where the hemline of her dress met skin. Throwing all caution to the wind, he pressed his lips to the back of her neck and breathed in the rose-and-sex scent of her skin.
“Tell me to stop,” Phaidros begged.
“No.” Aelia pressed her glorious ass against him, and his grip on her thigh tightened. She took his other hand and guided it across her rib cage, trapping it over her breast and pressing it there so he couldn’t move it away even if he wanted to. Phaidros had had too many lovers to count over the centuries, but he suddenly felt like a trembling virgin who couldn’t believe his luck.
His lips against the shell of her ear, he asked, “Why?”
“Because I want you, and nothing else I’ve done has made you see it. Stop being such a chickenshit, Phaidros. If you want me, then prove it.” Aelia pulled out of his arms and strode off through the crowd.
Anger and confusion and desire swirled hot through Phaidros as he followed her up the winding staircase, pushing past the other partygoers. He caught the gleam of her red dress as she bewitched the security guards, who were responsible for making sure the guests didn’t get into the private parts of the house. They didn’t stop him as he followed after her. He was furious at himself for letting her walk away from him in the first place. As soon as Phaidros stepped into the dimly lit room, Aelia’s magic was around him. She stood there with a challenging glare on her face.
“I don’t think we’re meant to be up here,” he said, his hands tightening into fists so he wouldn’t reach for her.
“Does it look like I care?”
Phaidros’s heart rate was erratic again now
that they were alone. His energy still pulsed with hers, refusing to detangle. “What do you want from me, Aelia? I told you I won’t be your rebound—”
“You’re so frustrating. Your magic is connected to mine; can’t you feel what I want?”
Phaidros could feel it—lust and anger and want and need all churned up. He didn’t know what was hers and what was his.
“We need to go back to the palazzo. The others will be worried—”
Aelia picked up the decorative vase next to her and threw it at him. He dodged it, and priceless porcelain shattered against the wall. “I’m not going anywhere!”
“What was that for, you psychotic woman?” He closed the space between them. “Are you going to trash this person’s house because I’m trying to keep you safe?”
“You’re not trying to keep me safe. You’re scared of us more than you are of Kreios. I might have carried guilt over you coming to save me, but I’ve been right here for centuries, and you’ve been too much of a coward to admit what you want.”
“I’m not the only one,” Phaidros hissed. His temper flared, finally getting the better of him. His magic roared over her, making her gasp. “I can feel your desire right now, and you still don’t want to make the first move? You’re angry because it’s your decision to make, as it’s always been. You’re too frightened to take what you want, in case I reject you.” Phaidros bent down until he could see the fire in her violet eyes. “I won’t be the one to grovel to taste you, Princess. I’m not just another one of those powerful men you make beg for that piece of heaven between your thighs. You want me? You respect me as an equal, or leave me the fuck alone.”
They glared at each other for a long, charged moment before Aelia launched herself into his arms and pressed her mouth urgently against his.
Phaidros gripped her to him and held her up as she ripped open the buttons of his shirt. He placed her down on a side table so he could free his arms from the torn fabric. Her hands were back on him in seconds, an appreciative sound coming from the back of her throat as she explored the planes of muscle. Her legs locked around his hips, bringing him close so she could undo the buckle of his belt.
Phaidros ran his hands up her bare arms, then slid the thin straps of her dress down. His mouth broke free of hers, and he dragged his teeth down the side of her neck to the thin black lace of her bra. Aelia cried out as his mouth found her hard nipple.
“Phaidros…” she whimpered, and the ache in it sent him wild.
He dragged her off the table and carried her over to the bed. Her clothes were off in seconds, and he was almost undone by the sight of her naked on the sheets. A whisper of a melody escaped her, and magic shivered over her. The smooth, bronze surface of her skin melted to reveal the dark tattoos over her scarred chest and stomach. Phaidros let his eyes drift over the marks on her forearms and curved thighs. Panic flashed across Aelia’s face, but he reached down to stroke her cheek.
“Sometimes, I hate the gods for making you so fucking beautiful,” he said, because there was not a single part of her he didn’t want to worship. Phaidros didn’t give her a chance to hesitate. He lowered his head and licked the scarred glyphs between her breasts. Her hands tightened in his hair as his mouth reached her stomach. He ran a hand down the curve of her hip and dipped his fingers into the silky wetness between her thighs.
She groaned as he explored her. “You’re killing me.”
“We could be in this room for the next century, and I still wouldn’t have done half the things I’ve imagined doing to you, Aelia.”
Her aura exploded with light as her orgasm raged through her. She gripped at his shoulders, pulling him up and kissing him so fiercely she was almost biting him.
She ripped open his jeans. “Play games later,” she said and gripped him so tightly he almost lost control. He removed her hands so he could kick his jeans to the ground.
Aelia stared at him. “And you say I’m beautiful.”
“You are when you aren’t arguing with me.”
Her hands glided down his spine, her sharp nails digging into his hips as he moved slowly inside of her. She reached up to kiss him with soft lips. Her gentleness lasted for a moment longer before she bit his bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.
“Stop acting like I’m going to break and fuck me,” she growled.
“You’re not the boss of me,” Phaidros hissed, but he slammed into her, all pretense of gentle lovemaking gone. Just when he sensed her energy spike toward another orgasm, he pulled out. She let out a cry of outrage, and he only laughed.
Phaidros flipped her over, dragged her hips up, and thrust back inside of her. Aelia cried out in pleasure, pushing back against him, meeting his furious need with her own. He braced himself over her and licked the sweat off the curve of her backbone, making her tremble. Aelia gasped as he fisted her hair and forced himself deeper inside of her.
This time, when her orgasm flared, his own roared with it, until they both collapsed onto the bed, sweating and shaking. Phaidros didn’t know how long he lay there, a dazed mess, but Aelia’s warm lips brought him back to the present. She brushed the damp curls from his face and kissed him again. His arms came around her, unwilling to let the dream of her go just yet.
She ran her fingers along his chest. “What was it you were saying about Florence?”
“Kreios is there, too close for comfort. He got a message to Penelope, and Alexis almost blew up the palazzo.”
“Sounds like I missed an eventful afternoon.” She propped her head up on her hand. “I suppose we should get back before Zo works himself up too much.”
She was right, even if his hand tightened on her. “Whose house is this?”
“I have no idea, but they aren’t going to be impressed when they find the state of this room.” They both laughed wickedly.
Phaidros brushed his knuckles against her cheek. “What does this mean, Aelia?”
“For once, I have no idea, but it will either be the death of us or make us into something else entirely.” She brushed her lips against his. “And isn’t that just a wonderful thought?”
“It is, even if you scare the shit out of me.” Phaidros tangled his fingers in her hair.
Aelia’s face lit up in delight. “Good, that means you want it as much as I do.”
“And may the gods have mercy on us both.”
The next day, Penelope eyed Alexis over the top of her book. He sat at the other side of her office, busily scribbling notes onto his copy of Tim’s manuscript. Alexis seemed to be back to the normal, academic version of himself as opposed to the sheer vortex of a magician from the day before.
They had told the others about Penelope’s visit with Kreios. They all agreed that Kreios could’ve manipulated the dream space to show Florence, just as he had shown Penelope his palace in Atlantis, and it didn’t necessarily mean the priests were active so close by. None of them seemed surprised that Thevetat was planning on summoning more demons.
“I hate to say it, but Kreios is right. It won’t be a problem if we can stop him from getting into a body of his own,” Phaidros had said.
They all were taking it better than Penelope was. She was terrified at the thought of more creatures out there like Thevetat.
As a precaution, Alexis requested that no one go anywhere alone until they were positive Kreios and the other priests weren’t trying to get back into Venice. He’d been rippling with so much magic and authority that not one of them had dared to question him—not even Aelia, who looked like she’d been out partying for hours.
“What’s the matter, Penelope?” Alexis asked without looking up from his work.
“Nothing.”
“And nothing involves staring at me?”
“It’s my favorite way to do nothing.” This earned an amused lift of his eyebrows.
“Is that so? Have you found anything interesting?”
“As a matter of fact, I have.” Penelope put her book down and reached across her desk for her l
aptop. “I did some digging into Frederick II’s involvement with the Teutonic Knights, and it looks like he sponsored them quite extensively. His buddy Hermann von Salza was the Grand Master of the Teutonic Order at the time of the Sixth Crusade and even helped him out with the pope when Frederick was excommunicated. If Frederick did give Solomon’s ring to Hermann as a good luck gift, we could safely assume it reached Acre and the safekeeping of the Teutonic Order’s headquarters there.”
“It makes sense. The Order was founded in Acre in 1192, and he may have seen it as the safest place to house and protect a relic of Solomon,” Alexis said. “Tim did mention a set of black-and-white heraldry in his other crusader’s reference.”
Penelope scrolled through the document on her screen. “Exactly, and the mention of Acre got me thinking, because Tim also talked about a city preparing for a siege.”
Penelope found the passage she was looking for and read aloud:
“The city was afraid after they received the message of no mercy or quarter to be given. They had to try again, talk their way through it, and save those living in the city. There was a room full of men arguing, black-and-white crosses mixed with other insignia on soldier’s uniforms. They didn’t think talking with the sultan would fix anything. They were willing to wait until reinforcements arrived, and they would do everything to hold out until then. Sir Philip would go to Cairo and beg if he had to. I watched his group ride out from the city, banners raised and horses proud, despite the fear that they left behind. It was on the following day that the priest arrived in his rough brown robes. He was a Florentine and was determined to study in Baghdad despite the danger. I told him to rest and plan to leave the city, for by the end of the year, we’d surely all be dead.
“I don’t know if it was days, months, or only hours that passed, but I was suddenly in dark tunnels built under the Order’s chapel, shoving a small, olive wooden box into the priest’s hands. By dawn, I had smuggled him out of the city. Then there was only blood and screaming and fire; the walls were surrounded by the enemy. There would be no peace. Frightened people were slaughtered, and the city’s buildings were reduced to rubble. I was dying of a gut wound, but I’d done my duty. The priest had gotten out on time, and he’d keep the ring safe.”
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