by JoAnna Grace
“My position is secured,” Dante said.
Ashton nodded, his lips curving upwards. “That’s a shame. I would’ve liked having you in my ranks.”
“I’m honored, prince. But my place is here, as an Elite.”
Ashton stood in front of him, looked him dead in the eyes, his grin fading. “There’s going to be a day when the Elites will no longer be as,” he searched the air for the right word, “legendary as they are now. If you’re only staying here because you want to be a part of that legend, then you need to understand something.” He stepped closer to Dante and whispered, “Thracians in Europe hate them, Dante. I’m only telling you this because I believe you have a greater future ahead. But the soldiers in my country, they loathe the Elites and the way they have no regard for rank or regulations. It would pain me to see you fall into that category. I would hate to see your career as a Thracian compromised because of your affiliation with them.
“If you want to come home, Dante, to see Ariebella as often as you like, you can have a place with my guard. It’s not too late to secure a respectable position in my court.”
“I cannot work with my father, prince.”
Not a full rejection of the idea. Hmm. Was he considering it? Had Ashton finally hit a nerve with the promise of reuniting with his family?
“Then don’t.” Ashton shrugged and chuckled. “I’m going to be the Deity of my region one day, Dante. I can place you in any position you wish. All I ask in return is your loyalty.” He slapped the Thracian on the shoulder and smiled warmly. “Think about it, lad. Surely you want to see your family more than once a decade. I know young Ariebella would like that, as would your mother.”
Dante’s eyes flickered up to his and Ashton saw the wheels turning. Dante missed his family. Ashton could use this as bribery. It was almost too easy.
“I’ll consider your proposal, Prince Ashton. Thank you. I must attend to my duties now.”
“We can chat later.” Ashton bid him farewell and watched him go back into the palace. “Come out,” he called over his shoulder. Maxus, one of his Thracians loyal to his cause, came to his side. “Put a tail on his sister, Ariebella. I want to be able to grab her at any moment if he decides to rebel. She might come in handy.”
“I can keep her close to me—”
“No,” Ashton said, knowing Maxus’ propensity to hurting women. “That’s still Xavier’s daughter. We only use her if necessary.”
Dante hoisted twenty-five hundred pounds of weights over his chest and back down again nearly fifty times before he began to sweat. Brenden spotted him; his eyes were ringed in red and dark circles hung underneath. Both men decided they needed to work off some physical frustration. The ladies asked for privacy while they cleaned Avery and worked with her limbs so she didn’t have any side effects from lying in one position for so long. It was unnerving to see the way Dynasty lifted her with magic and made her sit upright or stand up, much like a puppeteer.
The guys ran and lifted weights in the Thracian Training Center gym until the early hours of the morning. A few other students mingled across the gym, but left Bren and Dante alone for the most part, which was great until Yankee joined them and spread his usual vile cheer.
He flopped down on the bench beside Dante, pressing over four thousand pounds without a spotter and barely using his full effort. Dante could almost feel his testosterone levels dropping. As annoying as it was to be shown up by the smaller man, strength and speed were Yankee’s god-given powers. He might look smaller than typical Thracians and walk with a lazy gait, but only a fool would believe their eyes. Yankee worked hard to look as casual and non-impressive as possible.
“Your eyes are popping out of your head,” Brenden whispered as he aided Dante with the bar. “Let’s call this one, ‘kay?”
“Yep.” Dante strained to speak and breathe until the bar was firmly in place on the rack. He sat up, appreciating the ache in his muscles.
“What’s got you ladies all hormonal? Run out of tampons?” Yankee racked the weights with one hand. He nodded with his chin at the gawking Thracian students as if to say, yeah, you saw that right.
Arrogant prick.
“Fuck off, man.” Brenden rolled his eyes and sighed. “I’ve had just about all of you I can stand.”
“You know, if you need to talk about your feelings and shit, I hear you can bribe Lysa with flowers.”
“I’m leaving.” Brenden grabbed a towel and headed to the showers. Dante was right behind him.
“I saw you today, or yesterday.” Yankee glanced at his watch. “I saw you talking to Ashton. What did he want?”
“None of your business.” Dante scrubbed a towel over his sweat-drenched forehead and gulped water.
“I thought we went over this; it’s all of our business.”
“Let me rephrase so you will comprehend.” Dante glared at him. “If Philippe or Cutter has a concern about my interactions with the prince, they can feel free to discuss it with me. It’s none of your business.”
Yankee threw back his head, bellowing laughter. “Wow. Look who got a pair of steel balls all of a sudden. You get one little show of brotherhood over your old man and suddenly, you’re fucking Superman. I think I’m going to have to change your nickname.”
“I’m tired of your crap, Yankee.”
“What the hell did I do?” He threw his hands up in the air.
“That shit with Lysa has to stop: the cherries, the comments, all of it. Leave her alone.”
“You know your problem, Superman? She’s your Kryptonite. You want her so bad, you can barely breathe.”
“I respect her vows to the gods and wouldn’t do anything to cause her to stumble. How many times must I say this?”
“Until your actions mirror your words.” Yankee got to his feet and stretched his arm over his head, pulling on his opposite elbow. “You’re not fooling anyone, Superman. Do yourself a favor and go get laid. I promise, you go down to the village and find some Elite-chasing broad, work out some of your sexual frustrations on her, and you won’t be so damn hung up on the priestess who’s sworn off dick.”
The thought of sex for sex’s sake was not his idea of fun. Dante would never admit the truth of his affections for Lysa. It was a dead end road and he had to deal with it. She’d done nothing to lead him on purposefully and took her vows seriously.
“I don’t have to work off anything. There’s no…sexual frustration there.”
“We’ll see about that.” Yankee grabbed a towel off the rack and wrapped it around his neck, even though he hadn’t broken a sweat. “Get your head out of your ass, man. You’re a sinking ship.”
Dante watched Yankee walk through the gym and wished like hell the guy wasn’t as observant as he was.
Dante had to put some space between him and Lysandra. He had to cover his tracks better. Ashton had caught him picking a flower this morning and, while he might have a lie on reserve, it was a close call. His affection for Lysa was causing him to slip. None of them could afford to have people asking questions or poking around in Dynasty’s wing of the palace.
Once again, he warred with his duty and his deep obsession with Lysa. He had to keep his mind in the game. Avery depended on it.
***
LYSA STARED OUT the window and watched the raindrops splatter on the etched glass. Blurred by the texture of the panes, she longed to see out into the gardens below. What she would give to shed her robes and feel the brisk drops on her skin. Or watch them drip down Dante’s chiseled chest. The constant flush he caused in her body was unwanted. Would the rain be able to cool the warmth that flooded her senses when he was near?
She sighed heavily, wishing she could test the theory.
“You’re like a caged dog,” Yankee said from behind her. “What’s the matter, girl? Need to go run and play outside?” He patted his leg and his voice sounded uncharacteristically high.
“I do not appreciate your mocking, Elite.” She rose from the window seat and s
tuck her chin up high. Yankee rubbed her the wrong way and if her visions were any indication, he was not a man she wanted to befriend.
“I think you do, Eight-ball.” He winked at her, playing with the glass bottle in his hand. He had a liking for sodas and often used straws to chew on instead of to drink from.
“And I don’t like this cognomen that you address me by. I have a given name and a proper title.” Lysandra clasped her hands in front of her and stood strong while he listened to her speak. “I know much about your history. We are far beyond pointless interactions.”
His eerie black eyes narrowed. They held no spark of life or laughter, only emptiness. “Not even close.”
“I know you give people nicknames for the same reason the gods tell Oracles not to use given names. You create distance between yourself and others. You know if you call me by my name, it opens the door for us to eventually become friends.”
“You want my friendship, Eight-ball?” He licked his lips and her eyes tracked the movement. Raw sensuality shone on his face. She must keep control of the conversation and not let him know he made her uncomfortable.
“You were once a famed fighter in the human realm. Will you tell me about it?”
“Aww,” he taunted with mock affection. “Trying to get to know me better, Eight-ball?”
Lysandra leveled her gaze at him, knowing his intimidations would come. “My curiosity of the human world gets the best of me. Will you tell me about your experience in their realm?”
Yankee stood, set his bottle on the coffee table. “I could show you some things the human world taught me.” He pushed up the sleeves of his shirt, baring his forearms and tattoos.
Lysandra pressed further. “I saw your family. Your parents were especially evil, but your sibling—”
“You’ve been a naughty little spy,” he sneered and took an invading step. “I don’t like that.” His tone changed, deepened with each stalking step.
Their dance backed her up against the wall. She was out of room to retreat. She was now the mouse to a fiercely angry cat.
“Tell me, Lysa, are you tired of being a virgin?” His lips curled up into a cruel sneer. One hand slid up and wrapped around her neck.
“You don’t frighten me.” A bold lie told by trembling lips. He was close, too close, too wild and unpredictable. There was a streak of cruelty in him; she’d seen it in her visions. Yankee walked a fine line between insanity and loyalty. One had to break through the insanity to earn the loyalty. Lysandra was determined to do just that. But how far was she willing to go? “I don’t believe you to be a predator of women.”
“Then why are you panting, little rabbit?” Yankee nuzzled her neck and inhaled deep, making her shiver and flinch. “Dante was right; you smell damn nice. Since he’s determined to be a monk all his life, maybe I should teach you the pleasures of this world?”
She swallowed hard, sure she’d made a grave error in prodding him. A cold shiver went down her spine. Pushing against his chest was fruitless. He was immovable. “I am priestess of the temple. You should respect my—”
“Virginity?” He pinched her chin between his fingers and gave a humorless chuckle. “I’m going to show you something, all right.” He leaned in as if to kiss her, but his head twitched to the side, his ear to the door. “Three…two…one—”
Before he would have planted his lips on hers, his body flew backwards and crashed into the coffee table. Wood splintered and cracked, but her view was blocked by a wall of male muscle and barely harnessed rage.
“Are you out of your goddamned mind?” Yankee complained as he rose from the floor.
Dante’s anger pulsated in his aura like a flashing red light. His words came out more of a growl than any human sound. “I should ask you the same thing. How dare you put your hands on her!”
“What’s the matter, Superman? Don’t like to share?” Yankee laughed—right up until Dante punched him with the force of a wrecking ball to his jaw. His frame, thinner than the warrior protecting her, flew backwards again. It took Yankee a moment to recover and get to his feet. He wiped blood from his lips, studied it on his hands, and glared at her savior. “How did you do that? No one but Ryse can draw blood from me.”
“Ryse isn’t the only one who can counteract your power. Keep that in mind next time you try to manhandle a woman.”
“You’ll pay for that,” Yankee promised, his eyes narrowed into thin slits and his nostrils flared. “You know damn well I wouldn’t actually hurt her.”
“Do I?” Dante growled.
“I’m only trying to prove a point, asshole.” Yankee swiped at his bleeding lip and shook his head. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” With a bow to Lysandra, he exited the room.
For long, quiet minutes, she stood still until she saw the tension slowly ease from Dante’s shoulders. Dearest gods of Olympia. This was a side of her bashful beast she’d never seen before. Truly, he was a ferocious warrior. The power with which he hit Yankee would have killed a human. He’d come to her rescue, even against one of his brothers.
Oh no. This was her fault. Dante went up against another Elite in her defense. What was she thinking? Rhea would be so disappointed to know Lysa was causing dissent among the warriors.
When she knew her heart wasn’t going to explode from her chest, she slid away from the wall and around the furniture to face him. His eyes were fastened on the broken table and his jaw looked tight enough to break.
“Did he hurt you?” he said low and tight.
“I am unharmed. Shaken, but unharmed.” She bent to pick up the pieces of wood that littered the carpet. “I do not think he would have hurt me, but for a moment, I did fear.” Emotion was thick on her tongue and her voice wavered. She mustn’t cry; it would only make things worse.
“Don’t. I’ll clean up.” His great body propelled into motion, gathering up the shards.
He did not speak to her, much less look at her.
“I’m so very sorry. This is all my fault. I antagonized him. Please accept my apology. Do not be angry with me.” She swallowed the sob trying to escape.
He went motionless as the dead. “You think I’m angry with you?” he whispered, his voice sounding like his throat was full of rocks. The unfamiliar rumble and coldness caused her to step backwards.
“You appear to be. You cannot even look at me. I’ve angered you and I would do anything to make amends. I know this is my fault.”
When he did look, when he raised his eyes and caught her with his stare, she wished she’d kept her mouth closed. A great emotion, something deep and smoldering, lit his eyes and turned them into swirling globes of sand. His pupils were gone; the entire eye was one color. She must have done a most horrible thing to cause this reaction from him.
Lysandra cast her eyes down and bowed her head; tears gathered but did not fall. “I’m sorry, Dante,” she whispered, his name spilling out with no thought.
Dante crossed the distance between them and stepped so close to her she was overwhelmed with his body heat and his fresh, clean, masculine scent. Her breath hitched when a soft finger caressed her cheek and tilted her chin upwards.
“You said my name again. I like how it sounds on your lips.” One corner of his lips pulled back, but his eyes were still smoldering. Their heat seeped into her bones, melting her from the inside out.
Lysandra gasped and her pulse drummed in her ears. “You do?”
His thumb traced a line across her bottom lip and his eyes tracked the movement. The expression on his face made her blood simmer. Dante appeared…hungry. Desire, so unfamiliar and exhilarating, blossomed in her lower stomach. This was what it felt like to be consumed with the need of another person.
“I’m quite fond of your lips. The very thought of someone else tasting them enrages me.” His face was so close that his breath tickled her cheek. One hand curved around until his fingers burrowed into the hair at the base of her neck.
“It does?” She could barely breathe. Every rise
and fall of her breasts rubbed against him, creating a tantalizing friction she’d never felt before. It was as if he’d electrified her body. She didn’t move, didn’t raise her hands to touch him. Every nerve was attuned to his movements, his aroma, and his heat. He stared at her lips as his head inched closer. He’s going to kiss me. Lysa closed her eyes and lifted her lips, awaiting his kiss.
It never came.
“I can’t.” Dante bolted out of the room, tripping on the table remnants and nearly falling out the door. He couldn’t get away from her fast enough.
What happened? He’d been so close, so warm against her. Knowledge of the opposite sex might be in short supply, but she could have sworn he was about to kiss her. What did she do wrong?
His absence left her colder than the arctic winds. She wrapped her arms around her waist and slumped down in a chair. Tears sprang to her eyes and she failed to control them. They dripped down her cheeks and onto her lap. A huge hole opened in her chest and sucked away her air supply. She rubbed at her sternum, expecting to feel the gap.
What a fool she must have looked like. Standing there with her eyes closed and head tilted upward, expectant. He was probably laughing at her even now. Foolish girl. As if she deserved the affections of a mighty warrior, much less his kiss.
If this was heartbreak, she didn’t want any part of it. Rhea could take her back to Delphi now. There was something to be said for a world free of emotion and attachment. At least as a priestess, she would never feel the sting of rejection from someone she lov—
“Oh no,” she whispered, new tears forming in her eyes. This couldn’t be happening. She’d been sent to Earth to take care of a Deity…
Not to fall in love.
Dante muttered every foul curse word he could think of as he stomped down the hall, hell bent on giving Yankee the beating of his damned life. Blinded by rage and jealousy, he’d almost done the unforgivable. Kissing Lysa would have broken rules set forth by the gods. The Oracle was to remain pure and untouched so that she could serve in the temple. He’d nearly ruined everything for her. Guilt wound around his chest, strangling his heart until he thought he would pass out. Sure, she wasn’t exactly backing away, but after it was all said and done, she would have hated him. Gods, she deserved so much better than him.
