Spartan Resistance

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  But barely had her lips touched his when his free arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her up against him, lifting her higher so that she could kiss him properly.

  Except that Brenden was kissing her.

  Her heart did another funny wobble as she realized he was bending over her, his mouth pressed hard against hers. His big hand was in her hair, cupping her head, holding it steady, as he kissed her with more passion that she had ever suspected was in him. His tongue thrust into her mouth, tasting her, stroking her lips and tongue.

  He’s kissing me. Brenden is kissing me…

  The thought was barely coherent, but her pleasure spiked in response and she sighed into his mouth and surrendered completely to the kiss, to whatever he wanted. He could take her right here and now. She wouldn’t stop him. She wouldn’t think about the consequences. Nothing was important compared to the joy of having Brenden kiss her, when he so clearly wanted to kiss her.

  Nothing would make sense after this. Nothing made sense now. Except for the kiss. It felt right. It felt more than right, it felt like this was what she was supposed to be doing.

  His lips were firm against hers and he tasted exactly the way she had always imagined he would.

  Then he tore his mouth from hers, as if he was pulling himself away with the greatest reluctance and looked down at her.

  Her feet were barely touching the ground. Brenden held her so tightly against him that she needed no other support. His fingers moved restless in her hair as he studied her, his gaze roaming over her face.

  Her heart was almost hurting, so hard was it beating. She wanted to hold her breath, in case simple breathing broke the spell. But she couldn’t stay silent. If she didn’t speak now, she would be as much of a hypocrite as she had accused Brenden of being.

  “Laszlo,” she said softly.

  Brenden’s eyes shut briefly. “Billy,” he said and sighed. He let her down, lowering her to the ground gently. “Gods!” he cursed roughly and pushed a hand through his hair. He couldn’t meet her eyes.

  “Go back to him,” Mariana told him.

  “And what about you?”

  “It was just a kiss,” she said, trying to sound as convincing as possible. “Go back and kiss Billy and that’s all this will be. Just me kissing you instead of hitting you as I should have.”

  His jaw tightened. His eyes were back to being unreadable. “And what are you going to do? Kiss Laszlo?”

  “I’m going to do whatever I think is the right thing to do.” She gave him a small smile. “Laszlo should be the first to know what that is, not you.”

  He cleared his throat. “You’re right,” he said, not looking at her.

  “Well, finally. A breakthrough,” she said crisply. “He acknowledges I’m right.”

  Brenden gave a flat, mirthless laugh and walked away. Mariana watched him duck under the edges of the tree and tried to calm her soaring heart and still the aching need in her. She fought the desire to go after him, to explain and spill her heart to him. She would only be doing it because she wanted to stay close to him. To see if she could earn another kiss, now that she knew he wasn’t opposed to kissing her.

  What a mess.

  She went back to her desk in the admin office. She had a call to make.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The Catacombs, Chronometric Conservation Agency Headquarters, Villa Fontani, Rome, 2265 A.D.

  There was an observation deck that had been built into the rock face, twenty meters above the cavern floor where Rhydder’s army trained. Gawaine made himself halt at the deck level, to gaze upon the groups of soldiers training, down below.

  This was a natural cave deep beneath the villa, reached by winding, uneven stairs that had been carved out of the rock in a time long forgotten by history. There were man-made, ancient catacombs punching into the walls everywhere along the edge of the cave itself and most of the army Rhydder had recruited lived in the tunnels, down among the Roman dead.

  The observation deck was the newest addition to the cavern and there was an office off one end of it with a glass wall for observation. That would be Rhydder’s office, Gawain assumed.

  He wasn’t here for Rhydder, though. The tall vampire was down among his men, involved in some sort of training that seemed to involve holding up giant rocks in one hand while fighting with a sword in the other. It didn’t make a lick of sense to Gawaine, but he’d never taken an interest in fighting or the military. Even the role-playing variety held no interest for him.

  But the man he was interested in was down there on the cavern floor, too. Gawaine could pick him out easily. He was the only one sitting down, his rear parked on one of the really big boulders to one side of the cavern. Llewellyn’s long legs were thrust out for balance, encased in the black fabric they always were, the long coat falling away from his hips and draping over the rock.

  He was watching the training with far more interest than Gawaine had, his dark eyes the only part of him moving, as he followed first one soldier, then another, as if he were tallying progress. He didn’t look like a bystander, even though he was actually sitting to one side. He was fully immersed in the training session, deeply interested.

  “You’re not thinking of joining up, are you?”

  Gawaine whirled to face the newcomer. It was the really big man called Kieran, who had something to do with security, but Gawaine was still working out precisely what he did. Most of the agency people whom he had been able to ask the question had been vague about what Kieran did.

  “Aren’t all the soldiers vampires?” Gawaine asked, glancing over his shoulder at the troops below.

  “They are.” Kieran crossed his arms. “There is a work-around for that if you want to sign up.”

  Gawaine grinned. “Do I look like the type that wants to join up?”

  Kieran gave him a small smile back. “What is so interesting about Llewellyn that you’d follow him down here?”

  Gawaine reconsidered the blond man. “You’re the mind-reader, aren’t you?”

  “There’s more than one person who can read minds in the Agency.”

  Gawaine shook his head. “You were a Universal Warden. I’ve never heard of the Wardens kicking anyone out before.”

  “I didn’t say I was kicked out.”

  “You’re not the type that leaves voluntarily,” Gawaine said flatly.

  Kieran almost smiled. “You’re a mind reader of another sort.”

  “That’s one of the nicer ways I’ve heard it described.” He looked back over his shoulder once more. Llewellyn hadn’t moved an inch. “If you’re a mind reader, then you probably have got him all figured out, right? Him and Rhydder.”

  Kieran dropped his folded arms. “I don’t read everyone I meet. It’s not polite. But you know that.”

  Gawaine nodded. “But why do you know that?”

  Kieran considered him. “Once, a long time ago, I was like you.”

  “Sexy and smart?” Gawaine asked, raising his brow.

  “I’m betting you didn’t get that split lip of yours from a bar fight.”

  Gawaine touched the healing wound with the tip of his tongue. “I got it from a girl.” And he wondered why he was telling this man such a revealing detail.

  Kieran smiled. “You were rude to a girl? That’s wasteful.”

  “She kissed me, later.”

  Kieran chuckled. “And more, I can tell.”

  “Thought you didn’t read minds because it was rude?”

  “Didn’t have to, in your case.” Kieran nodded toward the cavern floor. “Your curiosity bump is itching over those two, right?”

  Amazingly, he really did seem to understand. Gawaine relaxed a bit. “Yeah,” he admitted. “There’s lots of gossip around the agency, if you ask in just the right way…and don’t piss them off while you’re asking,” he added. “But I can’t seem to dig up much about either of them. They just appeared here about a year ago and started living down here and raising an army. Llewellyn is some sort of p
sychic and goes around scaring everyone with prophecies and that’s one thing. The other thing that is all wrong is Rhydder.”

  “What’s wrong about him?” Kieran asked, sounding interested.

  “They say he’s Dark Cast.”

  “They do.” Kieran’s tone was one of confirmation.

  “But the dark cast isn’t supposed to be able to learn psi talents…or anything much in the way of special skills.”

  “That’s the speculation, but no one is completely sure. Most of what the vampires know about the casts has been lost.”

  “But why?” Gawaine asked. “That doesn’t make sense, either. Brenden Christos is supposed to be so old he pre-dates Jesus. How come he doesn’t know everything about the casts?”

  “Perhaps they chose to forget, long ago,” Kieran said. “They deliberately chose not to pass the information on to the next generation of vampires, because it makes people like you think about vampires in ways that they don’t deserve.”

  “I’m not a bigot,” Gawaine said quickly. Defensively.

  “But even just suspecting that Rhydder is one of the dark cast is enough to make you think that he is somehow stunted, or that he should be.”

  Gawaine shook his head. “It’s not me doing that. It’s everyone else. Maybe nobody knows much about the casts, but they all instinctively know that the dark cast are the bad guys. It’s in their bones. No one talks about Rhydder. They don’t mention him in passing. It’s like he and his soldiers down here are the family skeleton. They’d rather pretend there isn’t an army of misfits down in the basement.”

  Kieran didn’t answer, but he didn’t deny it, either.

  “I’m trying to gather facts, so I can make connections, that’s all.” He nodded toward Rhydder. “So you tell me. Did he really spend years living five minutes into his past, so he could be human all the time?”

  “I don’t know how long he did it for,” Kieran admitted.

  “Then he did do it, at least for a while.”

  “That is something I can confirm. But why do you care?”

  “Because that’s time jumping. A psi talent. If Rhydder is one of the dark cast, who can’t learn anything, then how did he learn how to time jump?”

  Kieran looked at him—a sharp glance. Then he looked down at the cavern floor, at Rhydder, who stood out among the soldiers because he was taller and because he was unarmed.

  Gawaine turned and looked at him, too. “I figure that his friend Llewellyn taught him,” he said. “If he did, then that makes Llewellyn something special. But the only thing I can find out about Llewellyn is that he’s Welsh.” He rolled his eyes. “Like the name didn’t tell me that already.”

  Kieran smiled.

  “He’s really old,” Gawaine added. “I heard him mention Pergamum once. That’s probably where he learned his healing stuff, but Pergamum is nearly as old as Brenden. So who is Llewellyn? And if he’s really that old, how old is Rhydder? That’s what I’d like to know, because none of it makes sense.”

  The silence lasted for a long while. Then Kieran stirred. “If Rhydder is one of the dark cast, it might not be because of Llewellyn’s skills that he learned how to time jump.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because there was another who could.”

  “Another Malsinne? Who?”

  Kieran grimaced. “Salathiel.”

  Gawaine sighed. “Damn, I forgot all about him,” he said, vexed. It was something he really should have considered, too.

  Kieran rested his hands on the safety railing and squeezed. “Psi talent is wild talent,” he said softly. “There’s no knowing where it’s going to abruptly manifest itself, or why. There’s never any reason for it. Look at me.” He glanced at Gawain. “But they’re still good questions you’ve got. I can tell you now that you’re never going to get answers by tackling those two head-on. You’re going to have to be a bit sneakier than that.”

  Gawaine grinned. “How sneaky?”

  * * * * *

  Chronometric Conservation Agency Headquarters, Villa Fontani, Rome, 2265 A.D.

  Christian wasn’t happy with the temperature or the consistency of the mash in Jack’s bowl and patiently set to rewarming it. Jack was chattering, trying hard to talk, making explosive sounds with his little lips and banging on the table with the flat of his hand.

  “Tally, he wants his Teddy bear,” Christian said, not looking around.

  “How do you know that?” Tally asked.

  “That ‘pah!’ sound is him trying to say bear.”

  “How can you possibly know that?”

  Christian glanced at her over his shoulder. “Because when he makes that sound, I give him the bear and he stops making it.” He shrugged and went back to mashing.

  “Are you trying to make me feel guilty for not understanding my son as well as you?” she asked, but he could tell by the lightness of her voice that she was just teasing.

  “I could probably make Rob feel guilty doing that, except he seems to know what Jack is saying even better than I do,” Christian admitted.

  “Pah! Paaah!”

  Christian smiled and picked up the bowl and spoon. “What about food, instead of fuzzy bear?” he asked Jack.

  Jack was pouting, looking at the bear where it laid on the bed. Tally was reaching for the bear, but before she could pick it up, it disappeared. Christian had been looking right at it and saw it go, just like it might have disappeared in a time jump.

  Then Jack gave a happy gurgling sound and banged the teddy bear against the table in front of his chair.

  “Oh, god, Lee…!” Tally breathed. Her eyes were wide and her face very white.

  “Breathe,” Christian said, automatically diagnosing her state. “You’re stressing your symbiot.

  “But you saw it!” Her voice rose. “Jack made it…he…”

  “Teleported it,” Christian finished, as fear squeezed his gut.

  Jack cheerfully thumped the stuffed animal against his chair, happy once more.

  Breathe, Christian told himself.

  * * * * *

  Brenden pushed his chair out from the desk and got to his feet with a decisive straightening up movement. Then he paused at the corner of his desk.

  Swearing, he pulled the chair back under him and sat down.

  Thank the gods he’d polarized the window, or everyone out in the command center would have watched him get to his feet for the fourth time in the last ten minutes.

  He couldn’t seem to make a decision.

  He couldn’t think at all. All sorts of extraneous fragments and completely irrelevant ideas were intruding, like dust on a lens, distorting the primary image.

  Her soft lips.

  He had to do something. There was a goddamn emergency out there.

  His green eyes, watching him.

  But the emergency wasn’t one at all. Like the last disaster Gabriel had delivered, this one had not touched the agency or its members. Deonne had the hardest job out of all of them, figuring out what messages they should use to sooth down the human hackles.

  And Nayara would be busy for a week, taking meetings and talking down the politicians and the authority figures who would want to know what the hell the vampires were doing about this second disaster.

  She had kissed him. Did that mean she had always wanted to? Or had she really wanted to hit him instead?

  But there wasn’t anything that Brenden could personally take care of to deal with the latest Gabriel tragedy. He wished there was. Right about now, he would gladly cave in a few heads, pummel a few kidneys… he could cheerfully tear someone apart right now.

  You should be back in New Orleans. Why are you still sitting here?

  That was the voice that had got him to his feet four times in the last ten minutes. New Orleans was where he was supposed to be. Why was he still sitting here?

  Because he couldn’t face Billy. Not now.

  Nayara’s implant connected to his with the little click.

/>   I asked you to bring Billy here. I have time right now.

  Brenden straightened up from his lean against the desk. With all this going on? His heart sank, as he waited for her answer.

  There’s always something going on. And this is stressing Mariana. I want it sorted out now. Thanks, Brenden.

  The same little click disconnected them.

  Brenden hung his head. “Artemis, defend me,” he muttered.

  This time, when he got to his feet, it was because Nayara was waiting. It was the only reason he could walk through the door.

  * * * * *

  Mariana knew she was hiding, but nothing that she should be doing held enough attraction to propel her out of the room. Besides, anything she might decide to do would put her within easy reach of the command center and that thought kept her firmly anchored on the cushion.

  When her door alarm chimed, she stared at the door suspiciously. After sixty second of staring, the chime sounded again and this time, knocking came with it.

  “Who is it?” she called out.

  “Mariana, open the door. I want to talk to you.”

  It was Laszlo’s voice.

  Her stomach instantly developed butterflies and she pushed her hand against her chest. “This isn’t a good time,” she said weakly. She had sent him a message cancelling dinner, rather than calling him. It had been the weak way, the coward’s way, but she was fresh out of courage right now.o

  “Just open the door. Please. I only want to talk. I won’t go away until we do.”

  Mariana guessed that he would do exactly that. Tap and ring, until someone else along the corridor of bedroom suites stuck their head out the door and complained.

  She got to her feet, feeling stiff and achy. She had been sitting still for too long. Reluctantly, she opened the door.

  Laszlo was standing in her doorway, both hands on the doorframe, as if he had been leaning against it. He was wearing expensive and fashionable clothing that made the most of his lean length. Maybe it was even what he had been planning to wear to dinner with her. After all, she had cancelled almost at the last minute.

  Her heart gave a little beat as his green eyes met hers.