“Constantinople?” she said finally.
Seth nodded.
“An empress,” he said. “Theodora, wife of Theophilos. Not a perfect woman, but she loved the icons. They made her a saint for restoring the images of Christ to the palaces and churches of the Byzantine Empire.”
Theo swallowed, her mouth dry. “You met her?”
“I did. I was with the Roman Empire for a long, long time.” He held out the scroll, and Theo touched it as carefully as she dared. “She believed that her deity was in the images. A good name for her, to be called a gift from her god.”
“It’s just a name.”
“Names have power.” When she didn’t take the scroll, he set it down on the table instead. “I was—am—called the son of the war god, and look how I turned out.”
“I don’t think soldiers are supposed to live forever,” she pointed out wryly, and Seth smiled. Or run from a problem, she added mentally, though she couldn’t exactly blame him for that. Soldiers didn’t usually have to deal with angry gods or eternal life, either.
There was something enigmatic in his expression. His features were set, glacial as they had been that night at the museum, but his eyes were fixed on hers and seemed to be asking for something. His hand still rested on the scroll, toying with the end of the scrap of silk. As she watched, he wound it around one coppery-blue finger, silk folds lying taut over the smooth flesh. She swallowed hard.
“Anyway,” she said loudly, forcing her thoughts back to the present, “I’m not ditching you, not now. We need a plan. This person hurt you from miles away. He has the mummy. What’re we going to do?”
“Find him. Stop him.” Seth shook his head. “Retrieve the mummy intact, if at all possible. I know this may be shocking to you, but I’d prefer not to die again.”
“Damn right,” she said softly. Her lips twisted a little in sad, bitter humor. “If you die, I’ll paint you another portrait. A Cubist portrait.”
The silk slipped from his fingers. He stretched one arm out, mutely offering something neither of them could put into words, and she went to him and curled into his embrace. His breath ruffled her hair as she rested her head against his shoulder. For a moment she let herself relax, wrapped in his arms, enjoying the closeness.
“Noted,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. His hand stroked softly over the curve of her hip, toying with the hem of her remaining shirt.
“Seth…” She pressed a kiss to the hollow of his throat, caressing the pulse point there. She could feel his heart thundering under her cheek. When she said his name, though, his muscles tensed a little and his hands dropped away.
“I should finish the papers,” he said and stepped back. Theo watched him, chilled by the sudden distance, as he sat down at the table again and picked up the craft knife. His hand was shaking, and he could barely keep a hold on it.
The craft knife slid from his grip. He grabbed it again, white-knuckled.
Seth Adler was afraid. His world was crashing down around him, and mortality was staring him in the face for what had to be the first time in thousands of years. Theo knew the way the story went: the mummy was preserved in order to provide a home and anchor for a part of the soul, and without it, the soul could be lost forever. His weakness was in someone else’s hands, and Anhurmose son of Merenptah was scared. He was going to die, and maybe Theo was going to die with him.
But she was mortal. Completely, utterly normal and mortal. She didn’t want to die, but it had always been part of the plan—the last act, the final hurrah, the ultimate brushstroke on the canvas of her life. The immortal man feared death because he could avoid it, but the mortal woman knew something he didn’t.
She knew that they weren’t dead yet.
“I want to try something,” she said softly.
Seth didn’t look up from his work. “You have an idea?”
“Sort of.” The words felt awkward, but they were just words. She leaned over and, as gently as if she had his life in her hands, brushed the fine, dark hair off the nape of his neck. He tensed under her hands, but she pressed a kiss against the skin and the merest tremor ran through the muscles there.
“Theo,” he said hoarsely. Raggedly. “I’m trying very, very hard not to take things out of context right now… Ah!”
She wondered if he knew how much that little noise, deep in his throat as she nipped at the jut of his collarbone, meant to her. It sent a deep thrill through her, whispering of control and safety and “don’t think, just do”, and it was a feeling she liked.
“Mr. Robinson,” she said quietly, her lips brushing against the taut skin, “am I trying to seduce you?”
A laugh broke from him, but it trailed off into a moan as she ran her nails ever so lightly over the softest skin at the base of his ribs. “I think you are,” he managed. “But do you know what you’re…ah…do you know what you’re doing, Theo?”
“Always have.”
His breath was coming faster and his dark eyes burned as he half turned in his chair, trying to face her. One hand wrapped around her wrist, keeping her fingers from probing any farther down his side—for her safety, maybe, but perhaps also for his. There was a glint in the fine, dark hair of his temples where sweat was beginning to gather.
“Theo.” Her name was a hoarse whisper on his lips. “Theo, listen. I… Look. It’s a matter of…”
“If you say ‘life and death’, Seth Adler,” she said, her own voice rough, “you won’t like what I do.”
The challenging words broke something in him. Surging up from his chair, he kissed her hungrily, biting on her lower lip and drawing a gasp from her. His arms went around her, hard and strong and demanding, but not tight enough; he was still restraining himself. Words were still left unsaid. And Theo didn’t like not having things explained. She shivered a little as the stubble rasped against her lips, but she only pulled him closer.
The words finally came out in low whispers between kisses. “Theo. It’s not responsible. We’re on the run. I don’t have anything. And the magic—the gods—”
“The gods won’t care,” she said softly against his lips. “Didn’t Isis and Osiris get one night together?”
“But Isis conceived—”
“Seth.” She laid her hands on the hard planes of his chest, feeling the pounding of his heart through the thin fabric. “I’m clean, you’re freshly regenerated, and I’ve had the implant for months now.” She smiled a little. “It’s one less thing I have to worry about in the morning.”
“And you say you’re not practical,” he murmured. Some of the tension went out of his muscles, and he drew Theo into him, letting her cradle her head above his collarbone. She pressed another kiss there, and he arched a little, the hard lines of his throat standing out under the skin. He was so close to losing his control, and that was what needed to happen.
“Are you sure?” he whispered. “I’m stronger than you. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.” She nipped at the skin over the pulse point, drawing a moan from him. “I know where we are now, Anhurmose…”
His name falling from her lips in a hoarse murmur made him shudder as he held her. She wondered how long it had been since someone called him by his real name, his birth name—especially a woman in his arms. In that moment he looked stark, lost, and his pain and need were written in raw lines on his face.
“Anhurmose,” she whispered again. Freeing one hand, she ran it over his broad jaw, feeling the tension of the muscles there. “Everyone’s afraid. Everyone dies. But I don’t want to think about that, or magic, or thieves.” She swallowed. “I just want…I want you.”
“It’s a curse,” he muttered into her hair. “This can’t last. Something is going to happen, something insane, because the gods like to laugh at that sort of thing and it’ll all go wrong. And you’ll die, and I’ll be dragged into the west. I
t’s going to happen.”
She soothed him, lips and breath against the column of his throat, and his hands slipped over her hips, gripping her. “Do you trust me?” she whispered.
“Neith help me,” he said. “I do.”
Something seemed to break in him, and the fearful tension relaxed under her fingertips. He let himself half sit, half fall, barely catching himself on the edge of the couch. She bent down and kissed him, the warmth surging through her, and his lips opened hard and hot under hers. As a fine sheen of sweat beaded on the coppery skin, she flicked her tongue against the corner of his mouth, tasting it. Salt and brass and a tang she couldn’t identify. Whatever it was, she wanted more.
His groan tugged at her, drawing her closer. He tried to bring her face back to his, silently demanding more, but she twisted out of his grip and soothed him with soft kisses against his palms and wrists. “Trust me,” she repeated.
A quivering heat was building in her, pooling in her belly. There were no more monsters, clay statues or terrors from the gods—just Seth and Theo, Seth beneath her as he let go of his control.
Sinking down, she straddled him. He was hard beneath her, and he shuddered as she ground a little, enjoying the sound and the rasp of the fabric and the feel of that heat and strength beneath her. Seth’s hands settled on her waist, curling under the waistband of her jeans, and she shivered a little in return as the roughened skin moved against hers. Oh God, yes.
She raked her fingers up his chest, feeling the heavy warmth of the muscles as they shifted and strained under his coffee-blue skin. As his hands continued their exploration, stroking the soft curve of her behind and kneading the flesh almost hard enough to leave bruises, she slid forward.
Seth made a rough, desperate noise in his throat as Theo leaned over him, her breasts brushing lightly over his broad chest. She squeezed her thighs together, just a little, as the heat of him rolled through her. Their breathing was harsh and mingled in the small space.
Theo rolled off him, landing on the floor next to the couch. She undid her jeans and carefully slid out of them. Seth’s eyes followed her, dark and hungry, as she stepped out of the pooled fabric in just her plain-white bra and panties.
Maybe it was fear and uncertainty pushing her to do this. She doubted it. She had been apart from things her whole life, dipping in and out of relationships, but always returning to her own mental worlds whenever things got too rough. Now she stood there, one hand on her hip, in the view of the gods he’d worshiped and the man who’d lived forever, letting his gaze drink her in. When she flexed her shoulders, making her breasts rise in the slightly skewed cups, Seth’s fingers curled into the couch in a hard grip.
“That’s better,” she said. She slid back onto the couch, and Seth reached for the clasp of her bra. She pushed his hand away. “Not yet,” she continued, and slid her leg over his as she unbuckled his pants.
She wrapped her hand around his cock and his pupils dilated. She stroked the stiff length, her gaze fixed on his face. His head fell back, arms trembling where they still kept him braced upwards, lips parting.
When there were no more clothes between them, Theo settled herself over him again. One of his hands gripped her forearm, his eyes burning as he watched her.
She moved. Flattening her hands against his chest, shivery heat and anticipation coiling in her stomach, she sheathed him inside her.
Wet though she was, it had been a long time for her, and she flexed and stretched to accommodate the intrusion. Seth rose up, bracing his back against the wall, and he moved inside her and sent a rush of welcome energy blazing through her. She slowly sank down into his lap, resting her weight on her knees and his thighs, and he caught her by the shoulders and kissed her again.
It was not a passive kiss. He thrust forward with his whole body, driving into her even as he nipped at her lips, and she shuddered and tried to brace herself better as the battling sensations moved through her.
Emotions and sensations rode too high, flowing too fast. She set a hard pace, swift and punishing, and Seth matched her and pushed back for more. His arms wrapped around her and his fingers left bruises on her skin, the rhythm and the friction turning into something wild and uncivilized. Neither of them would last long.
He struck upwards and hit that perfect spot, and Theo’s head fell back as she gasped. Her eyes closed, and she clutched his arms and braced herself, riding harder and harder.
She was so close. So close, so close, so close… His lips moved, and his voice and hot breath touched her.
“Meri tje,” he whispered.
She fell over the edge, and he fell with her.
Her back arched, twisting and writhing, as sensations crested and poured over her. Too much, too much, too much too fast. Her mouth flooded with the taste of metal, as if crossed wires were sending false signals as her world was overwhelmed. Dimly she felt Seth arch, and warmth as he released himself into her, and the words—half word half gasp—words that were older than her world. The lines drawn between them by life and age had blurred.
Slowly, the sensations began to fade. Her muscles began to relax, and Seth’s shoulders slumped as he leaned back against the wall. Their bodies were slick with sweat.
With care, she separated herself from him. It was suddenly awkward—being watched as she wiped herself off and shrugged into her clothes.
“I’ll be back in a couple minutes,” she said and walked on unsteady legs to the door. She’d seen a bathroom a few doors down the hall.
Once Theo reached it, she locked the door behind her and gratefully stripped again. Wetting paper towels in the sink, she washed herself down and braided her limp hair back into some semblance of order. Looking at herself in the mirror, though, it was obvious what had just happened. There were rapidly pinking bruises on her neck and chest, her lips were swollen, her eyes wild.
Had she gone too far? Maybe. But when she wrapped herself around him and let him submit to her, even for that brief time, she’d felt something she wanted to hold on to. Motion, yes—motion more than ever, now that her life was suddenly full of things that scared her and pushed her to her limits. But there was an essence of something here she couldn’t quite understand yet, and she was determined to find out what it was.
He had been the cause of so much pain and fear in just a few weeks. So much confusion, so many things that twisted her world all around and put everything in the wrong direction. He carried knowledge in his head that had the potential to reshape the past as he had the present. He was magnificent, and now he was all hers. She could unmake him, and he would let her. She had that power over him. Perhaps she had since the day she first spoke to the shabtis.
That was a thought that frightened her more than anything else. If she tried, she could hold his soul and spirit in the palm of her hand. He’d trusted her with secrets that could annihilate him. Now, if she liked, she could do it. It was a heady feeling of power, and the rush of it had a fearsome attraction. Could she actually enjoy doing something like that? Was that what power was?
Magic and history and power—those were things they could consider later. For now, she had him, and she would be merciful with him.
He wet a spare cloth with bottled water and splashed his face and neck, trying to shake himself out of his daze. It was a matter of moments to clean up and slide back into his borrowed jeans, but his hands trembled as he worked.
It had been a long time. Too long. With striking ease Theo, the woman behind the glass, had crossed the final barrier between them. She said his name, his real name, and in that moment she’d meant something by it. Half of him was still afraid that something was about to go wrong, but the other half felt like throwing a bottle of champagne through a plateglass window and shouting to the world what just happened.
For a moment his English failed him, and he tilted his head back and poured half the water over his head.
&
nbsp; He was sitting cross-legged on the couch, mopping his face, when the door slid open and Theo came light-footed into the room. She smiled awkwardly at him, almost shy. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright and lively. She was a creature of color and vitality, all human, with no immortal clay in her. How had it happened that she could affect him so much?
Seeing her, Seth rose, schooling his expression into neutrality, and offered her the couch. Theo shook her head and gently but firmly pushed him back down. Then she settled in next to him, a fresh bottle of water in hand, legs curled loosely under her as she made herself comfortable.
“All right, we both know how this is going to go,” she said softly. “You haven’t survived for so long by being careless. Now you’re wondering what kind of a liability I’ll be. No, that’s not right, is it? You’re wondering what’s going to go wrong. How I’m going to throw you over, make you realize what a bad idea it was to fuck me.” A wry smile twisted the corner of her mouth as he blinked in surprise.
So that was how it happened. She called to his shabtis like an artist could, but she was blunter than a bow stave when needed. There would be no more compromising or lying to this one. Gods, what a relief.
Seth leaned forward and slid his fingers into her waistband, gently pulling the material down to expose the bruise he had left on her hip. Theo let out a soft breath as he pressed a kiss to the spot, shivering a little at the touch of his lips.
“I have lived a long time,” he murmured, his mouth still a bare inch from her skin. “But I still know how to hold on to a good thing when I find it.”
“Bastard,” she said fondly. She glanced up at the shelf of gods. “I wonder if we’ve scandalized them.”
He laughed a little. “Considering how some of them were worshiped, we may have just earned a favor or two.”
“It’ll make up for all the curses the rest of them will be throwing our way.” She scooted down on the couch, making herself comfortable against him and taking a sip of water. “They don’t look much like the shabtis.”
The God Collector Page 22
