But there was one other human still living in the villa.
Mariana pressed her lips together, trying to measure whether calling upon her would be appropriate, then gave up. She was too agitated to think. So do.
She left the suite, moving with purposeful strides and deliberately squashed any speculation about the future, any recall about her day and every scrap of hurt that floated into her consciousness.
* * * * *
Because it was mid-afternoon, Deonne was in the communications wing of the agency, although Mariana found her striding around the PR pool, talking about the upcoming gala with her hands waving.
Mariana stepped inside the big room and stayed by the wall, watching Deonne as she worked. She ran her gaze over the skin-tight übersilk suitdress she wore, the classic heels and the way Deonne had clipped her hair into an elegant bun low on the back of her neck, her hair gleaming in dull gold curls and sweeps. The artless, unstudied look was not for Deonne. She wore the latest fashions, she wore them well and she paid close attention to every neat detail about her. Mariana didn’t know where she found the time. Looking at her as she leaned against a table and discussed press releases with one of her staff, it was impossible to tell that she had delivered a baby only six months ago.
Finally, Deonne looked over to where Mariana stood and got to her feet with a smile. “Does Nayara want to see me?” she asked moving over to her. Every movement Deonne made seemed to draw attention to the length of her legs and her elongated body.
Mariana shook her head. “Actually, well…it’s personal.”
Deonne’s brows lifted. Then she smiled and this time the smile was warmer. “Really?”
“Is that…do you mind?” Mariana asked hesitantly.
“I love that you’re asking. Come on. Walk with me.” Deonne twisted to look over her shoulder. “Cassie, I’ll be back in ninety minutes.”
“No, really, I don’t want to pull you away from—” Mariana began, but Deonne took her elbow and steered her back into the open passageway on the other side of the door. “Believe me, it isn’t you pulling me away. You just look like the reason I’m sneaking off.”
“I don’t understand,” Mariana said simply.
“You will. So what’s wrong, Mariana? Is there something wrong? Is that why you finally came to see me?”
“I’m forever in your office,” Mariana pointed out.
“The CEO’s personal executive assistant is always in my office. I don’t believe Just-Mary has ever dropped in to say hello.” Deonne steered her into another corridor. They were heading for the personal wing again.
Just-Mary. Mary had been the diminutive she had used online and how she had introduced herself at the Agency, that first night when Cáel Stelios had brought her to meet Ryan Deasmhumhain and Nayara Ybarra in person. That had been when the geo-stationary space station had been agency headquarters, before Gabriel blew it up. “That nickname….” Mariana sighed.
“It’s cute,” Deonne said.
“Exactly. I’m not cute.”
“No, cute is one of the last words I’d use to describe you, back then or now.” Deonne was still smiling. “So, how can I help? I’m going to presume you want my help, you see, even though you avoided the question.”
That made Mariana smile, despite the heaviness in her heart.
Deonne held up a hand. “Just give me five minutes, then I’ll give you my undivided attention.” Then she pushed the door in front of them open and went inside.
Mariana followed her in. She knew what this room used to be, for she had helped assign its purpose as a common room for personnel living at the villa to use for socializing. But now it was a day nursery. Deonne’s pregnancy and her status as one of Gabriel’s most wanted had decreed that she remain in the villa as much as possible. One of the largest suites had been reworked to suit her changed status and her new family and this room had been remodeled for daycare.
Justin still grumbled about not living in Australia, although even Mariana could see that he didn’t really mean it. Adán seemed to be happy to commute between London, where most of his business interests were centralized and Rome.
A middle-aged woman stepped out of the small utility room, a baby girl sitting on her hip. The girl had black eyes and black hair and her mother’s fair skin.
“Oh, you’re just in time,” the nurse said, smiling. “We just woke up.”
Deonne held out her hands. “Gema, my little sweet one. Come to momma!”
The little girl, whose eyes were unmistakably Adán’s, giggled and cooed and raised her arms for her mother to pick her up. Deonne held her in her arms and the pair of them talked baby-talk together, both smiling with delight. Deonne kissed her every few seconds which made Gema giggle harder and smile widely, displaying her single tooth.
Mariana couldn’t help smiling, either. Mother and daughter were so clearly enraptured with each other. That it should be Deonne, whose ambition and career drive had pushed her into almost blackmailing the Agency into contracting with her for an outrageous amount of money…well, it seemed unlikely on the surface. But when Mariana actually looked at Deonne in her smooth grey suit, with her daughter on her hip, it didn’t seem odd at all. Motherhood was another major thread of Deonne’s life that she had gripped with both hands and twisted into the skein with awe-inspiring dexterity, just like she had incorporated two men into her life and barely missed a step.
Deonne glanced at her. “It’s pathetic isn’t it? I once thought babies were the most boring topic on earth.”
“But not anymore,” Mariana concluded.
“Oh, I still think babies are boring as hell—anyone else’s but mine. My baby is better than every other baby in the world.” She kissed Gema one last time then handed her back. “I’ll be done around six, if that’s okay?” she asked the nurse.
“I’ll have her fed and bathed for you.”
“Thank you, although it might be Justin or Adán who picks her up tonight.” Deonne waved to Gema, who enthusiastically waved both arms in wild motions that rocked her entire body and gurgled again.
Deonne led Mariana toward the door. “I won’t inflict you with any more,” she said. “I just had to get a kiss or two in. Shall we get a coffee?”
“From the kitchen? Mmm, that might help.”
Deonne stayed silent until they reached the small kitchen the humans in the villa could use if they did not have facilities in their own quarters. Mariana used the kitchen for all her own meals and knew where everything was. She dialed in two espressos and set the machine to run, then sat down at the table nearest the counters where Deonne had settled.
Deonne leaned back. “God, that smells wonderful. I’m severely cutting back on caffeine at the moment, which makes it smell so much better.”
“Yours is decaffeinated,” Mariana assured her.
“You don’t miss things like that,” Deonne said, her tone one of agreement. She crossed her legs and then her arms, her long slender fingers splayed out against her biceps. She studied Mariana. “You look unhappy. That’s not something I think I’ve ever seen you look, before.”
Mariana considered. “Yes, I think I am unhappy,” she said. “Or restless, or discontent, or something. Especially when I see you.”
“I’m making you unhappy?”
Mariana shook her head, frustrated. “No. I’m not being clear. Wait….” She took a breath and ordered her thoughts the way she saw Nayara do it when she was under pressure. Calm, then order, then clarity, Nayara said.
The words came to her. Mariana sat forward. “You are a human woman, living among a cohesive group of vampires, but you aren’t lost among them. You have a position. Respect. Most of them barely remember you are human, most of the time. If you walked around with Gema on your hip I suspect some of them would be shocked into next Tuesday. They just don’t think of you that way. I want to know why. I want to know if it’s because you contribute so much to the vampire agenda.”
Deonne gave it serio
us thought. She didn’t answer for a long minute and Mariana got up and brought the finished coffees over to the table and sat down again.
Deonne sipped and sighed. Then she came back to considering Mariana again. “First of all, what makes you think you don’t contribute to the cause?”
I can’t stand here waiting for your human-slow brain to get it.
His withering tone.
Mariana took a deep breath. “I’m not respected like you are.”
“Who hurt you?” Deonne asked softly.
Mariana pressed her lips together. “No one,” she lied. “I just can’t seem to see ahead to the future at all. I can’t see how to get what I want.”
“What is it you do want?” Deonne said, her tone still gentle.
Mariana reached for clarity once more. For calm. “Acceptance.”
“You are accepted,” Deonne said instantly.
“Not as an equal.”
“But you’re not equal. You and I are weak, mortal humans. They can’t forget that. They have to make allowances for that and they do, every day. But they do value you for your unique qualities, nevertheless.”
Mariane wanted to dispute that. She wanted to cry out, “But he doesn’t value me at all!” So she said nothing. Instead, she stirred the foam in her coffee cup.
“Is it the respect of the entire agency you want, or just one agency member?”
Mariana stirred faster. She would not answer that question. She wouldn’t. Never.
“Is it Brenden?” Deonne asked. Her voice was softer than ever.
Mariana got to her feet. “I have to go. I have…Nayara needs me.”
Deonne stood up, too. She towered over Mariana by a good foot and generally Mariana didn’t notice it but right now, she did.
“Come by and see me again,” Deonne said. “Make it soon.”
Mariana hurried away, her heart hammering. She knew it would be another two years before she voluntarily spoke to Deonne again. Or anyone. Things always went awry when you shared.
Life had been much simpler when she had been a stay-at-home neural geek, fat and self-indulgent. Chocolate ice-cream had been a far better friend than sharp-eyed intelligent blondes with too much insight.
Chapter Three
Chronometric Conservation Agency Headquarters, Villa Fontani, Rome, 2265 A.D.
Everything ached, even his eyes, which he couldn’t seem to open.
Ryan let himself drift. It was easier. But slowly, more coherent and complex matters occurred to him, stringing themselves into a causal chain. Then:
“Nia!” He spoke the word aloud, terror filtering through him like cold, old blood. He struggled to sit up.
“Shh… Ryan, I’m here.” Hands on his shoulders. Soft.
Ryan fought to open his eyes and closed them again as bright light speared them. He hissed.
“Turn the lights down,” came the soft command from a voice he knew. It wasn’t Nia’s. Another woman, whose name wouldn’t come right now.
“Now try,” Nia murmured. Her fingers touched his face.
Ryan poured energy into it and opened his eyes. Slowly, so slowly. The light was much dimmer, this time. Tolerable.
He was looking up at a plain ceiling. Not one he recognized. He turned his head and that took more effort than opening his eyes.
Nia was standing next to him and she smiled when she saw his gaze reach her. “Welcome back,” she said softly.
A woman with dark hair came up behind her. “Good day, indeed, Ryan,” she added. She touched Nia’s shoulder. “Five minutes. He’s very weak.”
Nia nodded and the woman moved away. Ryan heard the pneumatic hiss of a pressure door then the peculiar, thick silence once more and knew where he was. In the medical wing. Marley. The woman’s name was Marley, their human medical specialist.
He looked at Nia again, taking in her loveliness, drinking in that she was here by his side. He swallowed. His throat was astonishingly dry. He couldn’t remember it being dry like that except after a long night of drinking, back in the past. When he was human.
He tried to talk, but scratchy sounds emerged. He tried again, forming the word carefully. “Cáel?”
Nia’s smile warmed even more. She stepped aside. In the corner of the room, Cáel was sprawled in a chair, asleep. He had a heavy beard and he was wearing the cotton pants and shirt he usually wore when he was at home on his private island in the Aegean. But the last solid memory Ryan had told him the Assembly was still in session.
“How long?” he whispered.
Nia understood. Her smile faded. “Three weeks.”
Three weeks. Longer than ever before.
“Marley says there was no degeneration. Not like a human would go through. But you might need your cane again, because it was much longer this time.” Nia bit her lip and he reached up, fighting every shrieking nerve and muscle to do it, and touched her lips, making her stop. “I’ll be fine,” he told her.
But she didn’t seem reassured. He reached for something that would bring back her smile. “I don’t need a cane for what I’m most interested in, anyway.” His dry throat hurt when he spoke, but he didn’t care.
A ghost of a smile touched Nia’s lips. “I suppose that is one way to rehabilitate your muscles,” she said slowly.
Cáel stirred at the sound of their voices and woke. His waking was instant. His dark eyes settled on Ryan and he bounced out of the chair with muscular agility. “Ryan, you’re awake…” and he dropped into ancient Greek. “You scared the crap out of Nia, you stupid son of an Irishman. I should shoot you to save her the worry.” But it was Cáel’s eyes that were filling with tears and even as he was speaking, he lifted Ryan and wrapped his arms around him. “Moi cherie,” he whispered, in Gaelic.
Ryan kissed him. It wasn’t nearly hard enough or thorough enough to express everything he was feeling. But it would have to do. “That’s a promise,” he said weakly.
Cáel pushed his thumbs into his eye sockets and wiped away the telltale moisture. “It had better be. You have a lot of ground to make up. You’ve neglected Nia completely.”
“And you didn’t step into the breach, you horny Greek? Nia looks sleek with satisfaction.”
Cáel sat back and smiled. “Well, we all have our specialties,” he said airily.
Ryan snorted. Gods, it was good to be back. He let Cáel and Nia chatter for the remainder of their allotted five minutes and ignored the questions nagging in his brain.
How long ‘till next time? How long have I got?
* * * * *
Justin stepped into the consult room and shut the door.
The blond man sitting at the table was as recognizable a public figure as most of the clients Justin had dealt with over the years. Perhaps more so. Laszlo Wolffe, though, was better known for his personal life entanglements than his business acumen or sporting prowess or any of a hundred other accomplishments each famous person could lay claim to.
Even Deonne’s interest had perked when Justin mentioned who his first appointment of the morning was.
“I thought he was on Evergreen with that neuro actress, the one with the big breasts. He’s supposed to be getting over the end of his marriage.” She’d laughed. “Six months, it lasted. I’m not sure what all the women that go out with him see in him, if he can’t hold it together for six months.”
Adán had lifted his brow, looking at them over the top of Gema’s head, as she chewed with her one tooth on a rusk with single-minded determination. “Should my male pride be wounded?” he asked. “Neither of us can persuade you to marry us. He at least got his bride to the altar.”
“And the wedding dress designed by the man she ran off with looked stunning, too,” Deonne added. “I won’t marry you because it’s a meaningless gesture and it makes people relax. Commitment takes work.” She leaned down to kiss Adán, then the top of Gema’s head, then moved around the table to slide her arm around Justin’s neck and press her lips firmly against his. Justin complied happily.
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“Eh! Eh!” Adán cried. “I got a peck and he gets the full treatment! I protest!”
“Justin isn’t holding a baby on his lap, one that is drooling so hard she’s wet your trousers,” Deonne said. “You’ll have to change before you jump.”
“Don’t be silly,” Adán told her, looking affronted.
“Besides, the full treatment requires that we both be naked,” Deonne said. “So he was short-changed, too. But I’ll catch up tonight.” She smiled at both of them, a glint in her eyes, as she stepped out of the apartment.
The happy moment passed through his mind as Justin took in the big man sitting at the table. What the media failed to capture was his size. He would be close to Brenden’s and Kieran’s height. He had a long frame with very little body-fat, that always looked good in suits and elegant clothes, which he wore well. He was leaning back in the chair, his legs crossed, looking directly at Justin.
Justin nodded and walked over to him and held out his hand. “Justin Kelly, Mr. Wolffe. I’m told you’re interested in one of our time travel tours?” He registered the heat of the man’s hand and his very human scent. Brenden and Kieran would have discreetly scanned him on his way from the front gate to the villa itself. He wouldn’t be sitting here if they’d spotted even a hint of psi DNA in him. Kieran’s mind-delving abilities made it impossible for even normal humans to enter the villa grounds with evil intent.
So Justin pulled out the chair just around the corner from Wolffe and sat down. “Is there a particular era you’re interested in?”
Wolffe sat up and straightened his casual and very expensive sweater. “The Prussian Kingdom in the nineteenth century.” He ruffled his blond hair, drawing attention to it. “My ancestors were related to Wilhelm, the King of Prussia. Of course, they were all in the Imperial Army.” He smiled at Justin. “Everyone was, in those days.”
Spartan Resistance Page 3
