by Monica Burns
“No.” She gently pushed herself out of his arms in a way that said she wanted to spare his feelings. “We’ve fought before, but this was different. I don’t think she’ll forgive me for not telling her about Marcus.”
Ignacio bit down on the inside of his cheek at the way Atia’s voice softened when she said the Sicari Lord’s name. Did she even realize she’d revealed so much in that one word? He cleared his dry throat.
“We both know Cleo is stubborn, but she’ll come around,” he said as he grasped her hand. “She always does. I’ll talk to her.”
“No. She’ll think I sent you.”
“I think I know our . . .” He’d almost slipped and used the word daughter. “Cleo will be more reasonable in a couple of hours. She just needs time to cool off.”
“You didn’t see her, Ignacio.” Atia shook her head.
The sorrow in her gaze made his heart ache for her. Without thinking, his hands cupped her face and he kissed her. It was a light kiss, but she immediately stiffened beneath the touch. Ignacio pulled away from her instantly. Fuck. Her reaction was like she’d just kissed a Praetorian. He winced.
“Forgive me,” he murmured.
Flustered, and her cheeks bright with pink color, Atia stepped back from him with a wave of her hand. “I . . . you know I care for you, Ignacio. You’re . . . I don’t know what I would have done without you over the years. I value your friendship so much, and I don’t want to lose you as a friend.”
Atia’s words cut deeper than any wound he’d ever suffered. Bitterness with the sharpness of an asp’s sting hardened his heart. Friendship. He wanted more than that from her.
“You won’t lose me. I’ve been here for you since the beginning.” He’d learned to lie so well he wasn’t sure what the truth was anymore.
“I know, and that’s one of the reasons you’re so dear to me. Without you, life would have been so much more difficult.”
Was that her way of telling him that he didn’t stand a chance with her? He didn’t want to know. It might make him act too hastily. He lifted her hand and pressed his mouth against her skin. So soft. So sweet smelling. Deus, how he loved her. But it had been a mistake to become so involved with her. He needed to leave now or he’d tell her everything.
“I’ll speak with Cleo,” he rasped before he turned away from the sorrowful look in her gaze and stalked from the room.
Chapter 2
CLEO grunted as she took a hit to the back of her calf. It was like someone giving her an instant charley horse. She went down on one knee and waited for the pain to subside. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d allowed herself to take such a beating. That wasn’t true. Just a few days after a Praetorian blade ended her pregnancy and the doctors had told her that she could never have children, she’d gone looking for trouble. She’d found three different Sicari warriors at the White Cloud estate and deliberately insulted them.
It had been her attempt at cathartic exercise. It hadn’t worked then, and she doubted it was going to work now. Mario would have been just as happy listening to her rant as he was to spar with her. But she needed to do something, and she wasn’t ready to talk just yet. From the confusion on his face, though, she was certain he was wishing he’d offered her a bottle of beer instead. She grimaced.
Despite the short time they’d known each other, Mario knew her pretty well. Maybe not as well as Lysander and others she’d grown up with. But she and Mario had shared almost as many secrets between them as they had shared glasses of wine. She’d met the martial arts instructor several years ago when she’d visited Rome on assignment. They’d become fast friends and drinking buddies.
She should have realized he wouldn’t beat her into the hazy oblivion she was seeking. Christus, if she’d given it any thought, she should have gone out looking to spill Praetorian blood. She needed something to help her forget that her mother had been lying to her for years about her father. She was the daughter of a Sicari Lord. A fucking Sicari Lord.
How in Jupiter’s name was that possible? She didn’t have the tiniest bit of Sicari abilities. No healing powers like Phae. No sensitive abilities like other Sicari women. Okay, maybe a molecule of precognition, but that was so fleeting and unreliable, it didn’t count. Hell, she didn’t have a drop of telekinetic ability her mother possessed.
“Come on, Cleo. I think you’ve had enough.”
“No,” she exclaimed in a hoarse voice. “I decide when I’ve had enough, not you.”
“Damnit, Cleo. I don’t want to hurt you,” Mario snapped with frustration.
“Fuck you.”
She wanted to numb the pain in her heart. A workout to the point of physical exhaustion might help her accomplish that now. She forced herself to block out the physical pain and got to her feet. Limping her way back across the training mat, she met Mario’s exasperated gaze. With a jerk of her head, she invited him to attack her again. This time she wasn’t going to let him past her defenses. The martial arts instructor shook his head in disgust as he reluctantly stepped forward.
With several quick hand strikes, she forced Mario into a defensive position. Deliberately ignoring the pain signals shooting up her injured leg, she kicked her good leg upward and landed a hard blow to the trainer’s solar plexus. He staggered back, and Cleo leaped forward to throw two more hard punches to first his chest, then his side.
Mario landed flat on the hard rubber of the training floor with a thud. It should have made her feel good to drop him to the ground. It didn’t. Instead, her desire to kick someone’s ass was still pounding its way through her veins. Deus, where was a Praetorian when you needed one? An image of her dead brother flitted through her mind, as did the sound of her mother’s cry of pain. Her throat closed up at the memory. Swallowing hard, Cleo limped across the mat to stand over Mario.
“Again,” she said viciously. “And don’t hold back this time.”
“Christus, what the hell is the matter with you, Cleo?” her friend exclaimed fiercely. “If I really let loose on you, you’re gonna get hurt.”
“Again, you son of a bitch. Just because I don’t have any special abilities doesn’t mean I can’t beat you.”
The trainer arched his back then pushed himself to his feet in one fluid motion. “This is my training room, and I say you’re finished for the day.”
Something exploded inside her. Splinters of anguish, fear, and anger bombarded her heart, making her chest feel like it was on fire. She wasn’t ready to quit. The physical pain wasn’t bad enough to mask the hurt inside. She launched herself toward the trainer, her movements hard and fast as she tried to land one blow after another on Mario.
With a loud cry, she blocked his hand, and with a twist of her body, she tried to pull his arm behind him. He blocked her attempt with a blow to her midsection, which sent her flying backward until she crashed on the mat. Stunned, she slowly rolled over and came up on all fours. Her chest was still on fire, and she struggled to quiet her ragged breathing.
“That’s enough.” Ignacio’s deep voice made Cleo turn her head.
Her mentor stood at the edge of the training mat, a dark scowl on his face. He pointed his finger in her direction before he ordered her off the hard rubber mat with a jerk of his thumb.
“Hit the showers, Cleo.” His scowl grew darker when she started to protest. “Now.”
Something in Ignacio’s voice penetrated the turmoil she’d been engulfed in since early this morning when her mother had introduced her to a father Cleo had always believed was dead. She didn’t know what hurt worse, the fact that she’d lost out having a father while she was growing up or the fact that her mother had lied to her about it. Lied to her for almost thirty-three years.
That fact alone cut deep. With a nod of her head, she acknowledged Ignacio’s orders and limped her way toward the edge of the mat. When she reached Mario, the worry in his expression made her feel ashamed of the way she’d been using him as a human punching bag.
“I’m an ass. I’m sorry,” she s
aid huskily.
“You don’t need to apologize to me, carissima. Whatever’s wrong, I know you’re hurting,” he muttered, his gruff voice muffled by her hair as he pulled her into a tight bear hug. “You don’t fight like this unless you’re trying to beat off some demon inside you. If it helps you let off a little steam, fine. But locking everything up inside you isn’t good, bambina. It’ll make you sloppy when you can least afford it.”
“How do you always manage to make me feel like I belong when I feel like I’m on the outside looking in?” She swallowed hard and managed to fight back her tears at the affection in her friend’s voice as she hugged him back.
“Outside looking in? Jupiter’s Stone, bella. Is that what all of this is about? You not having special abilities?” Mario exclaimed softly. “Christus, don’t you know how powerful you are? You’re the most beautiful woman in Rome. Men see you coming and their jaws drop. They can’t think straight when they see you. That’s one hell of a powerful ability, if you ask me.”
“It’s not the same thing,” she murmured.
Although she’d never hesitated to use her looks to her advantage, her face was a poor substitute for a Sicari ability. Her lack of powers wasn’t a secret among the Sicari. With a mother who was such a prominent figure in the Order, it was natural that people talked. And now that she was barren, she had nothing to offer a Sicari warrior looking to ensure his family lineage continued, not to mention keeping the Sicari gene pool strong.
Michael had been her last chance at happiness, and even he’d deserted her at a time when she’d needed him the most. He’d left her to deal with the pain of her loss all alone. She swallowed the knot lodged in her throat as Mario frowned at her. It wasn’t something she could make her friend understand. She doubted there were any Sicari who could understand how she felt.
“Damnit, Cleo.” Mario gave her a slight shake. “You’ve got incredible fighting skills, you’re intelligent, and you’re drop-dead gorgeous. If you had anything else, you’d be a goddamn Sicari Lord.”
The words made her grow cold. Her expression must have revealed her pain, because Mario eyed her with puzzled concern. Not about to explain, she forced a smile to her lips.
“I’m too sweaty to be drop-dead gorgeous,” she said. From the look on Mario’s face, her effort to sound cheerful fell short, and she turned away. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“How about I take you to dinner at that little place we went to last month? The one with the ziti you liked.” At his offer, she glanced over her shoulder at him. The boyish grin on his face suddenly made her want to cry.
“You’re just not going to let me have a self-pity party, are you?” she asked with a watery smile.
“Nope.” Mario chuckled as he jerked his head toward the locker room. “Hit the showers like Ignacio said, then meet me in the salon this evening at six.”
His gaze held hers for a moment before she nodded and made her way to the showers.
The ladies’ locker room was empty, and Cleo winced as she tugged off her sweatpants. Every one of her muscles ached from the brutal workout she’d put herself through since early this morning. She glanced at the clock over the entryway. Seven hours.
It had been little more than seven hours since her mother had revealed the truth about who her father was. As if it wasn’t bad enough to discover she had a brother. Correction. She had had a brother. What would things have been like if the Praetorians hadn’t taken Gabriel? Would she have been as close to him as she was to Lysander?
She felt funny not mourning Gabriel like her mother was grieving. It was hard to be sorry he was dead when he’d been a Praetorian. Maybe not by birth, but in everything he’d done, Gabriel had been one of the enemy. For her mother it was clearly different. The Prima Consul mask was on, but Cleo had seen her mother’s sorrow underneath. And despite the way her mother had lied to her, Cleo didn’t like seeing her in pain. Then there was Marcus Vorenus. He’d been grieving, too, but his grief was buried even deeper than her mother’s sorrow.
The image of the man fluttered through her head as she tugged off her shirt and stuffed it viciously into her gym bag. Here she was, saddled with a father she’d thought was dead, and a dead brother she never knew. It was like she was living some twisted Shakespearean tragedy.
She grabbed soap and shampoo from her locker and limped her way into the shower. The hot spray went a long way toward easing some of the tightness in her body, but the heat only alleviated the physical pain. It did nothing to ease the ache in her heart.
Her mother had lied to her. No, she’d simply not bothered to correct Cleo’s assumption that her father was dead. It was a lie of omission and a betrayal of trust. Her mother had promised to always tell her the truth, no matter how much it might hurt.
Cleo had extracted that bargain from her mother as a child. She didn’t doubt it had been a childish promise to demand, but even then her mother had known her father was alive. How was she supposed to forgive something like this, let alone believe anything her mother ever said again? And what about Marcus? A Sicari Lord. Deus, the irony of it was almost hysterically funny. She was the daughter of a man who had the strongest abilities of any Sicari, yet she had none. Zilch. Niente.
It only emphasized her feelings that she was an outsider among her own people. Not even Mario’s comment about her not needing special powers could ease the sensation that she didn’t fit in and never would. That feeling was something Michael had helped cement when he’d walked away from her three years ago. It wasn’t just their child that had been lost to a Praetorian sword. Her ability to have children was lost, too, and Michael hadn’t wanted to adopt. He’d wanted a child to carry on his lineage. She closed her eyes and willed the heartache to ease out of her. It didn’t work, so she buried it and focused her thoughts on her shower.
A little more than twenty minutes later, she walked into the changing room to see Violetta sitting on the bench centered between two sets of lockers. The first time they’d met had been when they’d both been assigned to the team searching for the Tyet of Isis. She liked Violetta, but she wasn’t someone Cleo felt close enough to confide in. She ignored the woman and went to her locker to dress. As Cleo pulled on a clean shirt, she heard Violetta clear her throat.
“Why don’t you let me take a look at that leg of yours?”
“I’m fine.”
She didn’t look at Violetta as she pulled on a pair of jeans. Reaching for a comb, she viciously dragged it through her hair. When she’d finished, she gathered her long hair up in one hand and secured it in a ponytail with a scrunchie.
“Mario’s worried you might have some nerve damage after the blow he gave your leg.”
“I don’t need the Curavi for sore muscles.”
She knew healers sometimes saw things during the healing process. And even though healers swore to hold in confidence whatever they experienced in a healing session, she didn’t want to risk Violetta discovering something Cleo wasn’t willing to share just yet. Some small nugget of information like her long-lost father showing up, and that he just happened to be a Sicari Lord.
“Then you’d better tell that to Mario. He’s convinced your leg is going to be permanently damaged if I don’t heal you.” There was a prickly tone to the woman’s voice, and Cleo realized she’d been too sharp with the healer.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have bitten your head off like that,” Cleo said with regret. She turned her head to look at the healer. “Mario’s a worrywart. I don’t deny that my leg still hurts, but I’ll be fine.”
“Most people are irritable when they’re in pain. No apology needed.” Violetta offered her a smile. “But I’ll be honest. The way you walked in here a little while ago, you sure looked like someone who could benefit from a healer’s touch.”
“I’ll be fine, but if the pain worsens, I promise I’ll come see you.”
“All right, but just so you know, Mario isn’t the only one worried about you,” Violetta said as she stood
up. “Ignacio is waiting for you outside.”
“Fuck.” Cleo’s response made the healer laugh.
“I think that was his response when Mario explained how you got hurt. So be prepared to have him read you the riot act. And you know where to find me if you change your mind about that leg.”
Still laughing, Violetta turned and left, leaving Cleo to stew about Ignacio waiting for her outside the locker room. Damn, she didn’t want to deal with Ignacio’s fatherly concern at the moment. She frowned. How was he going to feel when he learned Marcus Vorenus was her real father?
He would probably be just as blown away as she was. With a sharp movement, Cleo tossed her gear into her gym bag and slammed her locker shut. As she emerged from the locker room, she saw Ignacio leaning against the wall just outside the door.
“You should have put ice on that leg right away.”
“It’s sore muscles, not a sprain.” Her response made him mutter something under his breath.
“Come with me.”
It wasn’t a request, it was an order, and he didn’t bother to hide his angry frustration. With a sharp movement, he pushed himself away from the wood paneling outside the locker room and headed out of the gym. She followed him in silence, certain he was going to grill her as to why she’d spent seven hours working out to the point of exhaustion. And pain.
She probably should have let Violetta heal her. No, she wasn’t ready to deal with all the questions and curiosity. Keeping up with Ignacio’s long stride wasn’t easy, but she just clamped her jaw tight and limped after him. She wasn’t going to protest. Complaining would have been pointless as far as Ignacio was concerned.
Her mentor wouldn’t feel sorry for her one bit. Not that she wanted his pity. They reached the library, and Ignacio gestured toward one of the room’s big, comfortable chairs.
“Sit down.”
It was an order she was happy to obey, because her leg hurt like hell. She eyed her mentor carefully as he sank down into the chair opposite her. From the look on Ignacio’s face, she could tell she was in for a grilling or a lecture, one or the other, and she didn’t want either one. She tried to put off the inevitable.
