“You’re not afraid?” He spoke normally again, but disguised their conversation by returning to Japanese.
“I’ve killed people too, probably more than you.” She looked down at the low cut top, the short skirt, her own eyes tracing down to the pointlessly high heels. “I wasn’t always this person.” Tara waited for him to react, but his forehead only creased slightly.
“Was Leonidas someone you killed?”
Her heart tripped over itself, her stomach wanted to return the tea, and she almost dropped the cup before she was able to get it back on the plate where it rattled for a second before it settled. “Why would you ask me that?”
“You were saying the name in your sleep.”
Damn the nightmares. Damn him for cuffing her. Damn Leonidas for being who he was.
“I don’t want to talk about him.” She tucked her shaking hands back into her lap. “Ask me anything else, anything, and I’ll answer you honestly.” Tara’s pulse was racing, but she tried to maintain a calm exterior even though inside there was an earthquake’s level of destruction on every barrier she’d built between her memories and her self.
“Alright. What were you to Gianni? The real answer.” Alaric was back to his serious self, and she was grateful he didn’t push further with Leonidas. For a moment Tara enjoyed that she was finally sitting with someone who didn’t know who she was, what she was. That fact settled the dust that Leonidas’ name had stirred up inside her.
She wanted to lie, to be something else. Someone else. Someone who was respectable, and brave, and noble.
But, she had promised honesty.
“A slave.” Tara said it in very quiet English so there was no chance of confusion for him. Nothing lost in translation. She didn’t want to have to repeat it. His hands tensed on the table for a moment before he relaxed them – he really hadn’t known.
“What?” Alaric had lapsed back into English as well, and his lack of eloquence told her more about his surprise than any emotional response.
Tara smiled over his shoulder as the waitress came back and they received omelets and toast and fresh fruit on plates. His smile came back like a mask, and he was once again all charm.
Apparently she wasn’t the only one at this table able to be someone else with a thought.
When the girl moved away neither of them reached for their food. He looked at her expectantly and she continued speaking quietly in English, “I told you there was another god that enslaved me, and all those like me, for eternity. Well, that wasn’t a joke.” Tara lined up her silverware to the right of her plate, tucking the napkin into her lap. “When someone lays a claim to me the curse makes it so it’s almost impossible for me to disobey. There are control bands, they cause extreme pain if I ignore a command. You can imagine, I’m sure, what most of my masters have wanted from me.”
She didn’t want to look at him again, she didn’t want to see that look cross his face when he realized what she was and what that meant. If he hadn’t wanted to touch her the night before when all he thought was that she was some weirdo sleeping in a cage babbling about humans and gods – now there was no chance for normalcy. He’d look at her with pity, or disgust. Maybe he’d stare at her like Gianni had, totally removed because she wasn’t real, or human… because she was nothing.
“I’m glad I killed him.” Alaric’s voice was so quiet she wouldn’t have heard it if she’d moved, and her eyes snapped up to his. Those brown and green eyes were furious, and his lips peeled back from his teeth as he spoke again, “I’ve only felt that way once before, and I’ve never said it out loud, but in this case? Bastard deserved it.”
“Do you –” She started to speak but he cut her off this time.
“I understand, trust me.” He put his own napkin in his lap and started to butter a slice of toast. “I assure you I will not hurt you. Not like that. Not at all.”
She couldn’t respond. Her hand picked up her fork unbidden and cut off a corner of the omelet in her shock. His eyes were still blazing, but it was because of Gianni, not her.
“Now… will you answer my question? What do you want to do today?” He bit into the toast and Tara forced herself to swallow the bite of the omelet.
“Anything?”
“Anything.” He locked his eyes on her again, his strong jaw was clenched and it made the line of it stand out.
“I want to be around music.”
Breakfast finished in English, and she discovered as they filled the morning with simple conversation that he learned several of the languages from a tutor he’d had when he was growing up. Alaric was twenty-two, so young to have such old, curious eyes, and he’d been working for his company since he was twelve. Tara didn’t know much about modern schools, but she knew that these days twelve was young. She hadn’t wanted to press her luck by asking more questions, because he’d held to his promise of honesty and she wasn’t going to abuse it.
Especially not after he brought her here.
Tara took a deep breath of the resin and wood and polishes. Her fingertips tracing a violin that had years of experience on it and a price tag to match. Alaric was speaking to the owner of the shop, a well-educated man who had clearly spent his life dedicated to all of these instruments that brought so much beauty to the world.
“Why don’t you pick it up?” Alaric’s voice was low as he stepped up behind her. “Or did you want to just stare at it?”
She could hear the challenge in his voice, the mocking nudge to grab the instrument, and her bare wrists were a bitter reminder that in a matter of days it could be years before she laid her hands on any musical instrument. There could be more cages instead of strings, whips instead of bows, blood instead of rosin.
It doesn’t matter.
Her fingers itched to touch it again, and as she was trying to make a decision the shop owner stepped up behind her with a bow and pressed it into her hand with a kind smile. “Please, signorina, do you play?”
Alaric leaned back against the edge of a display, so tall and clean cut in his pressed shirt, his tie, his slacks and shined shoes. His eyes were locked on her though. They followed her hands as she took the bow from the owner, before he carefully lifted the violin and handed it to her like one would lift a newborn.
Tara rested it on her shoulder and felt her breath catch. It had been six months since Gianni had smashed the violin he’d bought her, all because she’d smiled too much at one of his friends at a party. She had actually cried then, real tears, not a show. She had begged him not to, and he had destroyed it anyway. Then he had left her alone in the house for a week with nothing but the security team to make sure she didn’t leave the room.
The first movement of the bow across the strings mended something inside her that had broken with the violin Gianni bought her, the same thing that had been ground to a powder when he’d told her he had sold her. She chose something from Mendelssohn that she had memorized years before, and as the notes flowed out she could feel herself swaying in those treacherous heels. It didn’t matter though.
Nothing did when there was music.
When she finally stopped, dragging out the last note, she opened her eyes to see that the older man had his hands over his mouth and Alaric was staring at her intently. Tara swallowed and held out the violin for the shop owner. That small moment of music had done what Eltera’s power couldn’t – it had calmed the storm inside her that Gianni’s decision and the memories of Leonidas had stirred up.
The owner didn’t move to take the violin so Tara let her arm drop to hold it down at her side. “Thank you.”
“We’ll take it.” Alaric spoke clearly and the shop owner just nodded. The older man’s eyes were wet as he turned away.
Tara shook her head. “No. Don’t buy it.” She turned and set the violin back on the display, leaving her shaking hands with only the bow.
“That was –” His mouth stayed open a moment before his eyes met hers again. “– worth any amount of money. I mean, I’d seen the violin case in your roo
m, but I didn’t know you could play like that.”
She felt color come to her cheeks. “Thank you, however, I won’t have it for more than a few days. I’d rather never have it, than have it and lose it.” She sat the bow down as well, then turned and walked to the door of the shop before she caved and said yes. She waited at the door even though she wanted to walk out into the noise of the street, out of this silent shop with all of its immaculate instruments capable of so much beauty.
Alaric said goodbye to the shop owner and finally stepped up behind her, touching her elbow as he pushed the door open. When they walked outside he looked down at her to speak quietly, his voice stiff, “I would let you bring it with you.”
“And if your client isn’t a fan of music?” She met his eyes, and he turned and cursed under his breath. “Don’t let it bother you. It’s fine. I don’t need anything. I never have.”
Chapter Nine
Seattle, Washington
Neala was sitting upside down on the couch, her feet on the wall above it and her head hanging down as she read. She knew without looking that Kiernan was sitting at his desk, glaring at his laptop, and it made her smile. He hated when he had to catch up on his emails, or manage the money he had accrued over the centuries, or check on her sisters with no way to help them before he reported in to Eryn, and above all, he hated when he couldn’t be next to her on their couch reading with her.
A bright burst of light went off near the ceiling with a sound like a gunshot, which had her flipping over into a crouch as a piece of paper fluttered to the floor.
“Neala!” Kiernan shouted from the desk and was by her in an instant as they both waited for something else to happen.
Silence.
Neala looked up at him to find him holding a knife and still scanning the room. Her brave warrior, her well-armed love, but it seemed he’d do better with a letter opener in this situation.
“It’s alright, ma ghaol, let’s see what it is.” Taking a few steps into the center of their living room she lifted the paper up. It was old and thick, none of this newly processed and manufactured stuff.
“And?” His voice rumbled and made her smile as he stepped up behind her to wrap his arms around her.
She could feel him reading over her shoulder. In an elegant script it read:
The first is Tara.
She has one chance to be safe, and you must make sure it happens. I will send you all you need.
Burned into the paper below the thick ink was the ouroboros, a serpent eating its own tail. It matched the mark on Kiernan’s chest, the same snake that now circled Gormahn’s sword. Neala dropped her head back against his shoulder and he pressed a kiss against her temple.
“Is she one of yours?” Neala asked quietly. After the first viewing in the observation glass, when she’d seen Aleine, she’d never looked again. Looking with no way to help them was torture, and she saw how badly it hurt Kiernan every time he had to check on them.
“I don’t have a Tara.” Kiernan’s voice sounded dead and she wanted to turn and hug him, but knew it wouldn’t help. It would only help if they saved her. Fortunately, this was one Faeoihn that she remembered well.
“She’s blonde, strong. Dangerous with a pair of daggers, and impossibly brave.” Neala’s memories of battles long since passed surged and then ebbed, leaving her with a single impression. “Brave may be the wrong word, she was so steady when she fought, like it centered her. I mean, in battle…”
“Yes?” Kiernan turned her in his arms.
“She was perfect.”
Chapter Ten
Milan, Italy
She was sitting next to him in the car, her long legs crossed and her hands resting in her lap. Those hands that had made the violin sound so beautiful that she’d made that shop owner cry. He knew almost nothing about her, even after their breakfast confessional. Her ability to play music like that?
That had been more of a shock than the things she had admitted to earlier.
Slave.
The word was some archaic idea he remembered from school history books, something old and forgotten. Something over. Done.
Then he remembered the cell he’d found her in, the sedative, and the box of clothes that had arrived like a prescription: wear these and act accordingly.
After the music store they had grabbed lunch from a street vendor and eaten as they had walked around a public fountain. He had tried to get her to talk about the music, about the violin, and all she’d said was that music had always made everything better – ‘because it was beautiful no matter where you were, or what was happening’.
Then they had started driving and she seemed to love the car as much as he did, every time he accelerated she would lift her head to stare out the front windshield, and her left hand would tighten on the edge of the seat. He found himself doing it more and more often, gliding the sleek car through traffic just to catch the ghost of a smile that would move over her lips when he revved the engine.
A beep went off from his messenger bag, which was tucked down by her heels.
“Can you grab that for me?” Alaric maneuvered the car into a slow turn through traffic as she leaned forward and began to dig through the bag, finally pulling out his phone.
She held it out for him.
“I’m driving, what’s it say?” He didn’t take his eyes off the road as he weaved in and out of traffic, accelerating around the drivers who were less interested in driving and more interested in sight-seeing.
“It says you have a text message from Claude.”
“Unlock the phone and read it to me. 1-4-7-2.” Alaric saw her tilt the phone back towards her in his peripheral vision. He shook his head at himself. Here he was buying expensive locks to keep Luca and the other employees of Infinity Consulting out of his room while he slept and at the same time providing the unlock code to a girl he had known less than twenty-four hours.
Such a contradiction.
“It says to meet him at his club tonight, after 10:30pm, and to bring me.” He could hear the smile in her voice, “Unless bring the girl is referring to someone else?”
“There’s no other girl.” He looked over at her and gave her the smile Luca always shook his head at. She just smirked at him.
Hard to impress.
“Are we going dancing?” She leaned back against the door, letting his phone dim and then relock in her hands.
“We can if you’d like, but we’re going there to get you papers.” He looked back at the road to maneuver them towards the hotel.
“Papers?”
“ID, a passport, the things we’ll need if we have to leave the country.” Alaric spoke and then looked over at her. The light had gone out in her eyes again as she withdrew into herself.
“For when you deliver me.”
“Yes.” He gritted his teeth when he responded. This was what he’d signed up for. Losing his nerve now wasn’t going to help. “In that box of clothes was there anything that would fit in at a nightclub?”
“I wouldn’t say it fits, it’s rather tight, but there’s plenty I can wear to a nightclub.” She was looking out the passenger window now, the phone asleep in her hand. She hadn’t even attempted to look at anything else on it.
He smiled at her commentary on the box of clothes, but she wasn’t looking at him now. “So, about the violin again, you don’t have to tell me everything, but could you tell me how you learned it?”
“I had a master in the late 19th century who liked to throw parties in his parlor in England. It was a fad of the time to have live music played by someone, and so he had a tutor teach me the violin.” She said it all matter-of-factly, but his head hurt with the mention of the century.
“You were alive in the late 19th century?” Alaric remembered her saying she was immortal, but the meaning of that was hard to absorb. Especially when she looked so young.
“Yes.”
“How old -” He started but she looked over at him and answered his unfinished quest
ion.
“I’m over two thousand years old, so learning the violin is relatively new.”
“Two thousand?” His head pounded, it seemed impossible to process. Impossible to be true. “Wow, well, it was amazing.” This time when he glanced at her she locked eyes with him.
“Thank you.” She leaned forward to tuck the cell phone back in the bag, but he spoke up to stop her.
“Can you message Claude back? Just tell him we will be there tonight and I’ll call him.” He glanced at her again as she unlocked it without being told the code again and rapidly texted him back.
“Why didn’t they tell you about me?” Tara leaned against the door and stared at him. Alaric hadn’t expected the question and it threw him for a loop as he started down the street that would take them to the hotel.
“My boss knows I don’t like to have unnecessary details, because it makes it harder to pull the trigger.” He gripped the wheel harder and for once he wished he were just a normal guy, with a normal job. Normal guys never had conversations like this.
They also never meet girls like this.
As usual, his head argued with him.
“I feel like knowing what I am is a very necessary detail, but maybe that’s pride talking.” She tilted her head back against the window, turning his phone over and over in her hands.
“Luca didn’t tell me about you because I have a strict no women, no kids policy in what I do. I almost didn’t take the job except -” He cut himself off.
“Except?”
“The others in the organization wouldn’t have fit with the parameters of the contract.”
“They would have touched me.” She didn’t even flinch, talking about herself like it didn’t matter what happened to her.
“Probably.” He pulled into the car park and when he stopped he didn’t want to turn and look at her.
“You’re very unusual.” She pushed a hand through those heavy waves, the golden strands catching the sunlight coming through the window, and he couldn’t resist the urge to look.
Tara Page 8
