by Monica Burns
"Don't go, Emma. Per favore il mio amore, don't go."
He brushed her brown hair off her cheek, terrified by the wheezing sound she made with every breath. The Praetorian might have nicked a lung in addition to everything else the bastard had done by stabbing her. He closed his eyes and threw back his head to release a roar of anger. Somewhere in his dazed state, he heard the sound of running feet.
"Ares, are you all right? I would have been here sooner, but Bastien is dead and Thad--" He was dimly aware of Phae kneeling beside him and Emma. His sister drew in a sharp hiss of air. "Dulcis Mater Dei."
His hand snaked out to grab his sister's arm. "Can you save her?"
"I don't know. There were four Praetorians and in the . . . Thaddeus was bleeding heavily, and . . . I . . ." Phae shook her head and his heart sank. He knew she didn't want to tell him that her ability had already been taxed healing Thaddeus. More footsteps echoed outside the office and Phae glanced over her shoulder as Lysander entered the room.
"We need to go." Despite his calm manner, there was a stark note of urgency in his Primus Pilus's voice.
"Emma's hurt. How much time before the checkered hats get here?"
"Not much. Can you heal her in the car?" Lysander asked quietly.
"No. We need to do something now." Ares glared up at his Primus Pilus then looked back at his sister. Phae's eyes darkened with a look of understanding, but she shook her head.
"I think her spleen's been hit, Ares. This kind of healing will incapacitate me, which means you'll have two people down to worry about if I heal her here." His sister reached out and touched his hand in a gesture of compassion as he shook his head. "I can stem the bleeding for the moment, but we need to get back to the complex for me to ensure she survives. I'll be weak, but at least I'll be able to walk. Lysander can help Thad."
Phae looked up at Lysander, who hesitated before he simply nodded and left the room. Phae watched him go, an intense emotion darkening her features. The minute she turned her head away from the door, her gaze met Ares's. Immediately, her features went blank as she hid whatever it was she was thinking and feeling behind a stoic expression.
It was the first time he'd ever seen his sister close herself off to him. Beside his leg, Emma moaned softly. Deus, she was regaining consciousness. He brushed the hair off her forehead. The skin beneath his fingers was warm. In silence, he watched Phae bend over Emma to study the wound. Then with a deep breath, Phae took Emma's hands in hers and closed her eyes. He heard his sister draw in a sharp breath as her face became a mask of pain. Seconds later, she grunted an unintelligible word and jerked away from Emma. Her features almost as pale as Emma's, his sister raised a trembling hand to her headset.
"Lysander, we're ready to go."
Ares stood up and offered his hand to Phae. She looked exhausted, and she swayed slightly as she stood beside him. Concern slipped through him as he steadied her with his hand. He hadn't realized how weak she was, which meant Emma's injury had been worse than either of them realized.
"Let me call Lysander in here to help you."
"Do that and I'll make you regret it, il mio signore," she rasped. "You might be Legatus, but I decide when I need help, not you and certainly not him."
"Fine," he snapped. Sometimes Phae didn't know when to give up and ask for help. She thought it would make her look weak. "Get moving. I'll be right behind you with Emma."
Phae gave him an abrupt nod then shuffled to the door. It was clear her efforts to heal Emma had taken their toll. She had that drunken reel she always got after healing a serious wound. If he'd still had his mike, he would have overridden her wishes and called Lysander back into the house to get her.
As his sister staggered out of the office, he crouched beside Emma. She was still pale and unconscious, but her breathing wasn't labored as it had been. Aware he didn't have much time, he started to slide her gently into his arms when he saw the notebook lying near the window. It was still intact, the elastic band around it unbroken.
He stared at it for a long moment. The damn thing was responsible for him almost losing Emma and the death of one of his men. He wanted to shove it back in the hole it had come from and seal it up again. The memory of her holding the notebook with such loving care pulled a dark growl from him.
She'd come here for the damn thing, and if she didn't see it when she woke up, there'd be hell to pay. His breath was a sharp hiss as he grabbed the book and tucked it in the front of his shirt. He'd taken so much from her already he refused to take this from her as well. In the distance, he caught the faint wail of a siren. Carefully, he gathered Emma up into his arms. Moonlight fell across her still features, and his heart thundered in his ears as he considered what she'd have to say to him when she awoke. When she did, the notebook would be there beside her, and maybe, just maybe, she might forgive him all his transgressions.
Chapter 19
VOICES slowly penetrated the haze Emma struggled to break through. She shifted her body and cried out as a sharp twinge lanced its way through her side. God, was that harsh noise her voice? A strong, warm hand engulfed hers. Ares. She sighed with relief. He was all right.
"Hush, inamorato, you're safe now."
"Did . . ."
She blinked several times until Ares's rugged features filled her vision. Her mouth was dry, and she winced again from the bruised feeling at her waist. What was it she'd been going to ask? She couldn't seem to form her thoughts very well. Her brain was sluggish and she wasn't sure what were memories and what were nightmares.
It was like waking up after a heavy night of drinking and not being sure if she'd really danced naked under the moon or not. God she was thirsty. As if reading her mind, he put a straw to her lips. She drew in the cool water and swallowed. It tasted good, and she drank steadily for several seconds before he pulled the straw away.
"Easy. Not too quickly, inamorato."
"I'm so tired." There was that raspy whisper again.
"You will be for a few hours. Your injury was too severe for Phae to heal you completely. She did what she could, but your body has to do the rest. It's why you're going to feel out of sorts for a day or so."
"I don't . . . Phae?"
"She's fine, cara. You're both fine."
Puzzled, she winced again. Injury. Had she fallen? It would explain why her side hurt as if she'd taken a solid kick to her ribs. She closed her eyes, wanting nothing more than to go back to sleep. Instead, she saw flashes of images that grew in number and strength until they were like a tidal wave crashing into her.
The memories flooded through her, reviving those terrifying moments in her father's office. Mike and his head rolling off his shoulders. Ares's sword flashing in the dark as he fought for his life and hers. And then there was the stranger and the sword plunging into her side. The memory tugged a cry of fear from her, and she came upright in the bed. The movement pulled another cry from her, this one of pain. Strong hands grasped her arms as Ares gently tried to force her back down onto the mattress.
"It's all right, Emma. It's all over. You're safe, dolce mia."
She shoved him away and buried her face against her knees as she hugged her legs close to her chest. Hot tears wet her face as she prayed for the images to stop. They didn't and a hard sob shuddered through her as the memory of Mike's death lashed through her. She rocked back and forth as the barbaric act replayed itself in her head with horrifying intensity.
Even if he'd been involved in her parents' death, to die such a horrible death like that--it had been so unexpected the moment it happened, she'd been more shocked than horrified. But now, the scene played over and over again in her head like an endless nightmare. The terrible memory crashed into another image like a race-car skidding out of control.
Her mind tried to slam on the brakes, but her careening emotions drove her forward to the memory of Ares fighting both their attackers and his cry of pain when a sword had sliced into his arm. Her heart crashed in her chest as she remembered the way
his attacker had taunted him. The rest of it flowed hard and fast through her head until she felt the cold steel of the fighter's sword piercing her side.
She jerked her head up with a sharp gasp as the terrifying sensation scraped away at her senses. She knew there was more, but she couldn't go beyond that moment when the blade had ripped through her side. Wrenching the curtain aside to see beyond that wasn't something she wanted to do because she instinctively knew it would horrify her. Her mouth dry and her face wet, she looked at Ares.
"Could I have some more water, please?"
He immediately grabbed the glass from the bedside table and offered it to her. When she'd finished drinking, he set it aside then turned back to her. He captured her hand in his strong grip and gently squeezed her fingers.
"Talk to me, cara. Don't keep it inside. It'll eat away at you until there's nothing left."
"Phae . . . I . . . how bad was it?"
"We almost lost you. If it wasn't for the strength of Phae's ability, you wouldn't be here."
His grim expression only made the darkness inside her expand. The thought of the other woman taking on her pain and wounds filled her with a myriad of emotions--a mixture of gratitude, sorrow, and dismay.
"How is she?"
"Like I said, she's fine. A bit under the weather, but she's accustomed to it. It's a part of who she is."
She nodded her head as she recalled Atia explaining how Phae was a special kind of healer. Despite her cool exterior, Ares's sister had a generous heart. She shuddered as the memory of that steel blade flashing in the moonlight returned to haunt her. The moment the sword had bit into her, she remembered fighting to remain conscious.
The pain had not been what she expected. Instead of a sharp, stinging sensation, there had only been a deep, throbbing ache. But it was a debilitating pain that had left her feeling helpless. The image of the man's gleefully cruel face swept through her head. She sucked in a sharp breath of fear. No. She wasn't going past that moment.
Ares had saved her. She just needed to hear him say it. Everything would be all right then. She could deal with the horrifying memory of being stabbed, but the other . . . no, that wasn't possible. She tried to make her voice lighthearted.
"You can't stop playing the knight in shining armor, can you?" Her words tugged a grim smile to his lips.
"And you don't listen," he said with strained humor. "You should have gone out the window when I told you to."
"It doesn't matter . . ." She hesitated for a long moment, terrified that she might be in denial. "You killed him. You saved me."
"Christus, Emma." He bent his head and groaned softly. " Carissima , it wasn't me. Deus help me, I wish it had been me."
The agonized torture in his voice sent ice slogging through her veins. Rigid with cold, she shook her head. "But I saw it . . . the sword . . . I saw it . . ."
"Dulcis Mater Dei," Ares breathed softly.
His hand caught hers and pressed it tightly against his cheek. After a brief moment, he turned his head to kiss her palm in a tender gesture before looking back at her with a bleak expression. She shook her head. It wasn't possible.
"But you killed him. I saw the sword--you took it from him." Why didn't he say he was responsible for the man's death?
"No, inamorato, I didn't--"
"Then Phae. Lysander." Denial still held her in its grip. The chill sweeping over her was now bone deep as he shook his head. "Tell me it was one of them."
"Deus, Emma." There was a tortured note in his voice that set off a cacophony of alarms in her head as he shook his head. "I can't."
The anguished resignation in his words sent panic streaking through her as she tugged her hand free of his. Oh God, he was telling the truth. It hadn't been him. Maybe he was wrong about Phae and Lysander. She shuddered. No, he wasn't wrong. Slowly, an insidious knowing snaked its way through her, dragging with it the horrible images she'd tried to keep buried in the back of her head.
Terror swept through her once more as the cruel features of her assailant flashed in her head. She'd been so certain Ares would be able to reach her in time. It had been a fleeting thought as she faced what she truly thought would be her last breath.
The fear had swelled through her until all she could think of was how she could stay alive. What had been a sliver of a thought became a stark image in her mind, and panic had made the image grow sharper in her head. Her mouth was dry as she tried to swallow the knot closing her throat shut. It had been her. She'd been the one to wrench the sword out of her attacker's hands and plunge it into his chest.
"Oh God," she cried out as the weight of the truth crashed down on her.
"Emma, listen to me." Ares grabbed her by the shoulders to twist her toward him. "You did what you had to do to survive. It's going to--"
Horror sped through her like a lightning strike, and she shoved him away from her with a sharp cry. In that split second, she registered the fact that she hadn't even touched Ares, and yet he was flying across the room.
She screamed in terror at the same instant his body hit the wall. Her fingers digging into the bedspread she clawed her way to the edge of the bed. She'd killed him. Tears blurred her vision and she wiped them away with her sleeve. Please, God, don't let him be dead. Please. She ignored the pain in her side and swung her legs off the mattress.
Relief sagged through her as she saw Ares slowly sit up. He shook his head as if to shake off the impact of hitting the wall. If this was what it meant to be a Sicari, she didn't want to be one. She wanted to go back to being plain old Emma Zale. She didn't want super-hero powers. Her own ability had never been this painful. Never this dangerous. Trembling with emotion, she'd jumped when the bedroom door crashed open and Lysander strode into the room. He looked first at her and then at Ares, who was struggling to his feet.
"Deus damno id," Lysander growled as he strode over to Ares to help him stand. "I told you to let me handle this."
"Get out, Lysander," Ares said in a cold voice as he pushed his friend away and crossed the room toward her. "This is between Emma and me."
"Fotte. She just--"
"Get out." There was a menacing note in Ares's softly spoken words that made Lysander hold his hands up in the air in silent surrender and leave the room.
When they were alone, Ares's steady gaze locked with hers. "It's all right, carissima. We'll work this out together."
"There isn't anything to work out," she said in a tight voice.
"You need help adjusting to your ability, Emma."
"I don't want your help. Let Lysander help me." Her sharp words made his features grow hard with cold fury.
"You're my responsibility, not Lysander's."
"I don't want to be your responsibility," she said with a savage anger born of the knowledge that she meant little more than an obligation to him.
Her next breath was a gasp of horror as Ares's legs sailed out from underneath him and his body slid across the floor. He hit the wall for a second time, his erratic skid knocking over a small table with a lamp on it. A tremor raced through her. She was doing this to him, and she didn't know how to stop it. As he stood up, he caught his palm on one of the pieces of glass scattered around him.
The sharp hiss of air he sucked in made her freeze with shock as several drops of blood hit the floor. Oh God. She had to make him leave. She was in enough pain already, and seeing him suffer only deepened the terrible ache inside her. There had to be something she could do or say to get him to leave. If he stayed, she could hurt him much worse. The knowledge sickened her. She heard the sound of material ripping and her gaze jerked to where his brute strength had helped him rip his shirt at the shoulder seam. He tugged the sleeve off and made a makeshift bandage around his palm.
"Don't you get it? I don't want you here."
"You don't have much choice, cara." The harsh arrogance in his voice made her want to strike back, if only to get him out of the room.
"Any more than I had a choice whether or not I
wanted a Sicari ability?" Her voice was icy as she glared at him. His mouth thinned into a harsh line.
"You're right, you didn't have much of a choice. But I can't take it back, Emma."
No. He couldn't. There wasn't any going back, ever. She'd taken a life tonight. It didn't matter how evil that person might have been. She'd killed someone. That alone changed her. She wasn't Emma Zale anymore. The realization left her shaken and scared.
"I killed a man tonight," she whispered with repugnance.
"It was self-defense, inamorato," he said gently. "You did what anyone would do. You survived."
