by Aliyah Burke
The door opened, and Nik stepped through, morning’s light gleaming in his hair. His intense eyes zoomed to where she stood holding the youngest daughter, Ianna, in her arms. The intensity faded to be replaced by tenderness, which brought tears to her eyes. Ivan followed in behind him, but Nik never took his gaze off her as they talked. Cleo could feel her body reacting to his endless gaze.
Nikolas.
Sending him a smile, she dragged her eyes from him, needing to focus on something else before she turned into a pile of mush. And, so, she paid attention to the child she held. Breakfast was a simple fare, after which she stood by while Nik readied his horse, Tyr. Cleo watched him say farewell to his friend, her own goodbyes over. Seated before him on his horse, a touch on her leg grabbed her attention. Mariska stood there, holding out a small wrapped package.
“What’d she say, Nik?” Cleo questioned, without taking her eyes from Mariska.
“She wants you to have that.”
Cleo took it and smiled at the blonde woman who had been so kind to her. “Thank you.” Mariska’s gentle eyes shone with tears while she patted Cleo on the hand. “Nik, tell her I’ll never forget her kindness.”
Nik relayed the message, and soon, they were heading out. After riding in silence for a while, Cleo asked. “What’s the plan?”
“I’m going to call him and get him to send you home.”
Her heart hammered in her chest. “No. I won’t go without you.”
They stopped at a wide, open field and Nik slid off. “You will.”
Scrambling down from Tyr’s height after him, Cleo grabbed his arm. “No.”
His eyes were hard as he stared at her. She immediately knew before her was the uncompromising warrior. The dominant, overbearing alpha who got his way. Nik sighed heavily and gently touched her face.
“Yes,” he whispered. “Loki!” Nik thundered in the next millisecond. “Show yourself.”
“Nik, don’t,” she whimpered.
“Loki! I know you can hear me.”
Fear raced to the surface, and she shivered when the air shimmered before them, only to become Loki. Handsome and coldly calculating. Cleo trembled again.
“Send her back,” Nik bit off.
Cleo could feel the anger radiating from Nik’s powerful body. He kept himself between her and Loki, even though she could see the god. Nik remained unarmed, not even reaching for his sword.
Crossing his arms, Loki sighed. “Why?”
“What would it take for you to return her, safely, to her own time and home?”
“Are you saying what I think you are, mortal?”
Cleo looked frantically at Nik, who refused to meet her gaze.
“Yes. On the condition she is sent home, safely, and you stay away from her.”
“Nik, no!”
An eerie gleam filled the god’s chilly gaze. “I can do that.”
Cleo’s heart plummeted.
“Give me your word as a Norse god.”
Loki lifted a finger and made an ice blue X in the air. “My word as a god. I will send her home safely, and I stay away from her, causing her no injury.”
Nik faced her. In his eyes, she read his love for her. Soft Russian flowed from his mouth while he used one hand to cup the side of her face. His callused thumb pad trailed lightly over her lips.
“Goodbye, snežinka.”
Tears filled her eyes. “No!” Cleo gripped his wrist with both hands. “We’ll find another way. Don’t do this, Nik. Please, don’t.”
“Pledge your loyalty to me, mortal.” Loki’s icy voice intervened filled with a perverse bunch of glee.
Cleo held on tighter, fat tears spilling down her cheeks. “No. Nik. Don’t.”
He swallowed hard, and she saw pain edge into the depths of his amazing brown eyes. “I love you, Cleopatra Yurandol Laurens. Never forget that.” His mouth descended upon hers, lighter than a feather. “I’ll love you for the rest of my life. Goodbye, my love.”
Cleo clung harder, but it was no use. She couldn’t feel him, anymore, nor could she see him. “Nik!” she wailed. Everything spun out of control, and when she felt well enough to open her eyes, Cleo found herself back in her room. Alone.
Nik was gone.
Nik! The tears flowed fast and furious. Stumbling to the bathroom, Cleo puked. When there was nothing left in her stomach and the dry heaves stopped, she got up and rinsed out her mouth before sinking into a ball and crying until she had no more tears. Time had no meaning for her, and she was curled up in her bed, wearing one of Nik’s shirts when the phone rang.
Cleo glanced across the bed to where the light flashed on the cordless. Drawing a pillow closer, she turned her back to the phone. With a sigh, Cleo reached up and adjusted her necklace before settling back into her cocoon. Two seconds later, she bolted from the bed, moving at a fast sprint to her laptop.
“I will find a way, Nik. I will.” Cleo put on her headset and pressed a preset number. Her fingers drummed impatiently while waiting.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Kenya.”
“Cleo. How are you?”
Tears threatened at Kenya’s comforting voice. “Staying busy. How are you doing?”
“We’re fine here. What’s up?”
“I need some help.”
“What?”
“Your programmer friend. Do you think he could, or would, give me a call and talk me through something?”
“What’s going on, Cleo?”
Forcing her tone to be as normal as possible, Cleo said, “I’m trying to decode some old script. Meroitic script, actually. The problem is, I can’t figure out how to put it all on my computer.”
Kenya’s sigh of relief reached her. “I was worried there, for a moment.”
“Don’t be,” she said, truly touched her friend was worried. “I’ve been buried in this every free moment, so I just—”
“No explanation needed. I’ll call Deacon and give him your number.”
“Thank you, Kenya. So much.”
“No problem. Oh, and Cleo?”
“Yes?”
“I’ll expect an honest explanation, later.”
“About?”
“About why a Russian history professor is translating a language born in the Kingdom of Kush. We’ll talk soon.” Kenya ended the call.
Cleo disconnected on her end and ran a hand over her eyes. She forgot, at times, just how intuitive Kenya was. She jumped when the phone rang, a few moments later.
“Hello?” she asked after seeing “Private Caller” on the ID screen.
“May I speak to Ms. Laurens, please?” a man questioned.
“Speaking.”
“Ms. Laurens, this is Deacon Trask, Kenya asked me to give you a call. She mentioned something about script translation on your computer.”
Damn, that was fast. “Thank you so much for getting back to me.” Licking her lips, Cleo began to explain what she was looking to accomplish. Twenty minutes later, she raced through the apartment to get dressed for Deacon was on his way. He’d been in Madison, Wisconsin and had said it would be no trouble to stop off in Cheyenne on his way to Seattle. Her heart felt hopeful when she met Deacon at the airstrip. It was even more so when she dropped him back off. Deacon Trask was a very giving man. He’d brought her a brand new computer with the capacity to handle what she’d told him she wanted to do.
In fact, at the very moment, her new computer was decoding while she took him back to the airfield. With a sincere hug and wave, Cleo watched until his plane had taken off before she left. Then, she headed home and kept a close eye on the translation. Well past midnight, and it stopped.
Cleo sat down and scowled at the translations sitting before her on the screen. She turned her attention first at the one from behind her pendant. There was no exact match, so with a scowl, she clicked on the one from the pommel.
“What?” She read it a few more times with the same reaction. Clicking open the one from the hilt, Cleo read that translation,
as well. Can this be? Brows furrowed, she opened all three and shared her attention between them.
“I wonder,” she murmured. Cleo pulled up the images Nik had sent of his sword and zoomed in on the six stones. “I knew it!” There behind each stone sat more of the script. It took a bit, dropping the resolution so she could see it but soon those parts were being run against the computers databank.
Midnight.
Immortal.
Lion.
Of.
Guardian.
And finally—Love. The last word showed up when she put her piece in there. Staring at them sitting in the sword, she read it aloud. “Love. Immortal Guardian Lion of Midnight.”
Shoving away from the desk, Cleo dressed in warmer clothes and headed back to her living room where she placed some calls. Moments later, she was speeding toward the airport to catch a flight back to Moscow.
Her belly was in knots as she walked through security, and they checked her ticket, passport, and one bag of luggage. The flight did nothing to calm her. Each minute that passed her anxiety grew. Sleep eluded her. Instead, she tried to keep calm. Seriously jet-lagged and exhausted, Cleo grabbed a taxi at the airport and had it take her to the museum where she first saw Nik in the weaving of the tapestry.
Heart in her throat, she entered the building, her backpack slung over one shoulder. Cleo moved purposefully toward the small room. There were a few others inside, and Cleo had to clamp her lips together to keep from demanding they leave.
Freya. She frowned. How the hell am I supposed to call a goddess? Cleo swallowed a few times. Freya. Please, I need to talk to you.
“Hello again, Cleo,” a male voice said.
Glancing to her right, she saw Serge standing there, holding his hat before him in his hands.
“Serge!” She smiled at him and hugged him, uncaring if she made a spectacle of herself or not. “It’s so good to see you.” Her gaze narrowed slightly. “What are you doing here?”
A kind smile filled his expression. “You called for me.”
Cleo shook her head. “I called a taxi. But it…” She trailed off as Serge’s eyes changed color to an intense blue. “Oh…oh, no…no, no, no, no.”
“Yes.”
The single word made her legs shake. Cleo wanted a place to sit down. And a paper bag because I’m seriously close to hyperventilating.
Serge waved his hand, and he disappeared, leaving in his place a tall voluptuous woman. Her hair shone like the blackest night and hung down her back with the exception of a thick braid around her scalp. Pale skin was covered in a remarkable and elegant gold dress that shimmered, giving off a glow around the woman.
“Freya,” Cleo said in shock. Oh, this is getting to be too much.
“Why have you summoned me?” Slanting her gaze, Cleo noticed people seemed to look right through her. “They cannot see us. Why have you summoned me, mortal?”
Cleo forced herself to stare directly at Freya. “Nik.”
“I cannot break his service to Loki. I am sorry.”
“No. Hear me out. I want you to send me back.”
Freya’s eyebrows shot up, and Cleo knew she’d shocked the goddess. “Why do you want to go back?”
“Nik sacrificed himself for me. I can’t live with that on my conscience. Especially not when I may be able to get him back where he belongs.”
“To you?”
Lifting her chin, Cleo responded. “To this time. I won’t demand he be with me.”
“You are full of bravery.”
“Not at all. I’m so scared I want to throw up, and my legs feel like they should have given up long ago. Will you send me?”
Freya sighed, looked at her hard, assessing what she saw.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Nik whirled and thrust his sword into the belly of the man he fought. Lifting it, he nearly cleaved him in two. Withdrawing, he ignored the man who collapsed and, instead, turned to his master. Loki. The screams and cheers of the spectators meant nothing to him. He’d been forced to become a prizefighter, a gladiator.
Dropping the bloody sword, Nik continued on past the armed guards toward the small room he now called home. Well, for their duration in this spot. He waited, knowing full well Loki would be along soon. Sure enough, he showed up, disguised as a rich man with three women in tow.
“Good fight tonight, Nik,” Loki said from the doorway. “I even brought you a gift. Some of my finest.”
“Take them with you,” he bit off.
“Why would you turn them down? They’re here to please you.”
Nik raked his gaze over each of the women before staring back at Loki. “Leave them, then, but I tell you now, they won’t be alive come morning.”
Loki’s eyes widened slightly. “Why would you do that?”
“Because they mean something to you.” His tone full of harsh promise.
“I’d kill you.”
“Good,” he growled.
Understanding flared in Loki’s gaze. “Oh, no. I’m keeping you around. I like having you as a pet. Rest up; we leave tomorrow.” He walked away, the women following behind him, and closed the door.
Nik sat down, ignoring the sweat and blood on his body. They’d be along soon enough with water for him to bathe. Cleo. He closed his eyes and called forth her image. Her large eyes focused on him with love in their depths.
I love you, Cleo.
Being separated from her was pain. He cared nothing for the injuries he got fighting. They were minor.
“I’d do it all over again if it was the only way to save you, Cleo,” he muttered.
Once the water arrived, he washed quickly and lay down, wishing it would end. Praying for salvation from this pain.
He rode his gray the next morning as they headed for the next destination. His mind drifted as they rode. It touched on his brother and family, Vassi, and, of course, Cleo. The enticing aroma that seemed to touch her flowed over his skin, sending tiny pinpricks of electricity through him. Nik jerked and scanned the area, senses attuned to any and everything. Nothing seemed out of place, and yet, he felt uneasy. Antsy. Like the day I met Cleo.
That night, he lay under the stars and fell into an restless slumber. The feeling never left, and even as he battled, four days later, it still remained with him.
“You know, Nik, you need a woman,” Loki said one night after Nik had finished his fights.
Stopping by his table, Nik glared at him. “Don’t you have other mortals to torment?” he hissed in a low tone. “Maybe battle yourself, instead of sitting so much.”
“No one could come close to defeating me.” Loki shrugged. “And you mortals are a source of amusement.”
The crowd was loud and very full of drink.
“Are you saying there isn’t a greater swordsman than yourself?” a nearby man asked with a loud belch.
“Exactly,” Loki said, running a hand down his fine attire. Nik snorted in disgust.
“I know one who could.” A different voice, feminine this time, spoke.
Nik watched Loki’s eyes grow hard. The din faded, and the crowd moved slightly. He figured the person who’d made the comment was coming closer. A wave of protectiveness swelled within him, and he frowned.
“No one can beat me,” Loki insisted. “And I don’t fight women. No sport in it. I have other things in mind to do with wenches.” He laughed rudely. “Who do you claim can beat me? And why do you hide your face?”
“The Lion of Midnight.”
Nik’s skin prickled. No.
A cloaked figure pushed through and stood before them.
Loki glanced at Nik and the men surrounding them. “I could defeat the Lion of Midnight,” he announced. “But I already own him, why would I want to fight him?”
“I didn’t think you were scared to fight a bleeding man.” The response was dagger sharp.
Nik put his attention on the caped woman. Could it be? He reached out toward the person, only to have Loki grab his arm. Snapping his gaze to
the god, Nik arched a brow.
Looks like you get your wish, mortal. I will kill you this time.
Nik was sore, he bled already, but he was more than ready. A sneer curved up one side of his mouth. “Let’s do it.”
“Bring him a sword,” Loki announced.
Nik was shoved back into the fighting pit and tossed a sword. He kept scanning for the small figure. Loki jumped in, sword in hand.
“Wait.”
All eyes landed back on the covered figure. She stood near the edge.
“That isn’t the Lion of Midnight’s sword. Come on, you know that, Loki.”
Nik willed the person shrouded by a dark brown cape to expose her face. But he kept his gaze on Loki. The god had been pretending to be human so people would bet against him. Now, the secret was out.
“Show yourself!” The god’s demand fell in a low growl.
“Will you fight him? A god against a man who has defeated many already tonight?” A short pause. “Or am I right, and you’re scared?”
“I. Am. Not. Scared. We gods fear nothing.”
“Good. Then, give him his sword.”
The cape and hood disappeared, and Nik found himself gazing up at a sight he never believed he would see outside of his dreams, again. Cleo.
Nik stared. That was all he could do. She took his breath away. His body knew who it was, and it moved him toward her. Reaching up, he hauled her down into the pit and into his arms. Then, he kissed her. Devoured her. Life poured into him as her taste was reintroduced to his system.
Cleo. My Cleo!
“Enough!” Loki’s voice cracked like a whip.
Nik growled low, ending the kiss. He turned, deliberately keeping Cleo behind him. She ignored the silent order and stepped out before him. Loki had returned to the form by which Nik knew him best. Handsome and arrogant.
Chin held high, Cleo looked down her nose at Loki. “Give him his sword.”
“Cleo, stop,” Nik said. What the hell is she doing here? She’s supposed to be safe. Not back here with me.
“And when I win?” Loki asked.
“You have two slaves instead of one.”
