Ivan (Gideon's Riders Book 3)

by Kit Rocha

  She wouldn’t grit her teeth. She would not. “Then why don’t you take the night off and go have some so I can, too?”

  That wiped away his confused expression, and her stern bodyguard was back. “Maricela...”

  The note was still crumpled up in her pocket. She smoothed it out on the table, and Colin Visscher’s bold scrawl stared up at her.

  My place, ten o’clock tonight.

  I’ll use my tongue.

  Ivan craned his neck, and she slid it across the table toward him. “Let’s forget about your needs for a minute,” she mumbled. “Maybe you don’t have any. Maybe you take care of them yourself. Who knows? All I know is I’m tired of taking care of mine by myself.”

  His face might have been carved from the stone they’d built the temple from. His eyes were chips of ice. He put a finger on the very corner of the note, as if he didn’t want to touch it at all, and slid it back to her. “If you want to see Colin Visscher,” he said in a bland voice, “you can invite him here.”

  Because that went so well last time. “Even if you’re in the next room, Ivan, you’re there. Listening.” She shrugged helplessly. “I can’t do this with you listening.”

  “You didn’t have a problem with that last time.”

  “That was different.” That was back before her tiny little crush on Ivan had had a chance to explode. But the past few weeks had turned that vague interest into a fierce, almost brutal craving for his touch--and she had to head it off now.

  The best way to do that was surely to distract herself, right? Colin was convenient, appealing, and the only thing he wanted from her was exactly what she wanted from him.

  What she wanted to want from him.

  “I’m sorry, Maricela. I can’t let you go out alone.” The muscles in his cheek worked, as if he was having to force his next words out. “If having me in the next room is that upsetting, I can ask Ana to come and take my place for a few hours.”

  It would help, but he looked so hurt that she couldn’t tell him so. She opened her mouth to deny it, but the chime on her door cut her off.

  “Dinner,” she said instead, trying to sound cheerful. “Could you, Ivan?”

  Looking as if he’d been granted a stay of execution, Ivan all but leapt from his chair and crossed the room. With his hand hovering close to his gun, he opened the door a few inches, angling his body to block the hallway. Only then did he pull it wide and allow two familiar servers from the kitchen to enter, both laden down with massive trays.

  She hated to put them through the hassle of serving meals in her private quarters. In the absence of a family dinner, she’d always eaten in the kitchens. It caused the least amount of trouble for the staff, and it was a welcome chance to get away from the sometimes-unavoidable formality of her life.

  She couldn’t do it anymore. Not since Donny, one of the kitchen staff, a man she’d laughed and joked with, traded family stories with, had tried to murder her brother.

  It wasn’t fear that kept her out of the kitchens, not exactly, but they sure as hell didn’t feel like a safe haven anymore. Not with the memory of that day fresh in her mind...and Donny’s blood still on her hands.

  “Maricela?”

  When she blinked and looked up, Ivan was seated across the table from her again. The door was safely closed, the kitchen workers gone. Dinner was spread out between them, the silver lids already removed and set aside.

  And Ivan was watching her with concerned eyes.

  Having him look at her like that, with something dangerously close to pity, was unbearable. So she smiled and picked up a serving spoon. “Chicken pot pie, that’s your favorite. Looks like you have some admirers in the household.”

  He let the change of subject go, and even unbent enough to hold out his plate so she could give him a healthy serving. “The cook knows all the Riders’ favorites. She makes a point of learning.”

  Of course she did. The Riders were heroes, beloved by everyone. They carried out Gideon’s orders, acted as the living embodiment of his will. Their word was law, their deeds unquestionable.

  Maricela usually accepted that without question. But this time, she had to try. “My curfew doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I’m not the one who gave the order,” he replied as he added steamed green beans to his plate and snagged a couple of dinner rolls.

  “But Gideon would listen to you if you argued against it.”

  “I don’t argue with my leader.” But as he broke a roll in half and spread butter on it, he finally lifted his gaze to hers. “Why don’t you think it makes sense?”

  “Everyone knows, right? That I’m confined to quarters after dark.”

  “You’re not confined to quarters,” he protested. “You can go anywhere you want in the palace, and even over to the temple if you want.”

  With him as her ever-present shadow. “I’m confined, Ivan,” she told him flatly. “So anyone who wants to hurt me already knows that it probably has to happen during the daytime, when I’m out.” She paused, gripping her fork. “I suppose.”

  “You suppose?”

  “Yes. Well, I mean...” She met his gaze. “We’re operating on the assumption that I’m safer at home. But the last two assassination attempts on a Rios have happened here, within these walls. So maybe our assumption is faulty.”

  His eyes softened. Not with pity, but something else--a protective warmth she’d only seen one other time. The first night he’d stayed with her. The night he’d talked her to sleep.

  “No one is making assumptions,” he said gently. “New precautions have been put in place. Ashwin has interviewed all the guards and done extensive risk assessments on everyone who works on the estate. And Kora has helped with her intuition. Nothing is going to happen to you inside this house. Even if someone tried, I’m here, Maricela.”

  For a single, ridiculous moment, she considered telling him the truth, that his proximity was doing unbearable things to her libido--and, worse, that the more she talked to him, the more she liked him. But he’d already let her down easy once, and she couldn’t go through that again.

  She could go straight to Gideon and ask him to assign another one of the Riders as her guard. Ana, perhaps, or Lucio. But no matter her reason for asking, Ivan would consider it a slight, a condemnation of her faith in his ability to protect her, and nothing could be further from the truth. She trusted him more than anyone else.

  That was part of the problem.

  “Never mind,” she whispered. “It’s fine. Everything is fine.”

  He watched her for a few moments before nodding and turning his attention to his plate. He devoured a serving of pot pie and two more rolls before casually saying, “My mother. That’s who I visit when Ana comes to stay with you. I visit my mother.”

  “Your mother? I didn’t know--” What, that he still had one? That he had one at all? She bit her lip.

  Oddly, the words made the corner of his mouth tilt up. “Most people don’t. My mother values her privacy. She hasn’t had the easiest time.”

  Aside from his sainted father, Ivan’s family carried mostly shame. His uncles had been instrumental in the Rios family kidnapping that had instigated a bloody civil war. Maricela’s aunt Adriana and cousin Mad had been held for days, and only Mad had walked away from his captivity alive. He’d lost his mother and father that day, and he still carried the scars.

  Maricela tended to think of it that way, in terms of its impact on her family. She rarely spared a thought for the people on the other side of the conflict. “Your uncles were her brothers.”

  “Her older brothers,” he confirmed, staring at his plate as he chased a green bean across it with his fork. “When my father died, my mother moved back in with them. She needed help. I was still so young.”

  “What happened to the two of you after your uncles were--” She couldn’t bring herself to say the word executed. “Once they were gone?”

  Ivan picked up his glass of ice water and drained half of it in t
wo huge gulps. “Things were rough for a while. People didn’t trust my mother. Most people didn’t want to give her work, and sometimes when she got it, they wouldn’t pay her.”

  Without thinking, Maricela reached for him. She slid her hand over his, squeezing when he finally looked at her. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine.” He cleared his throat but didn’t pull his hand away. “Gideon found out what was happening and came for us. He got us a place to live until I was old enough to help support her. And when I became a Rider, he found my mother a quiet job in the north temple. She goes by her middle name, and most people probably don’t even know who she is. Who she was.”

  Mortification swept through Maricela. She’d been complaining about her situation, never once stopping to consider how much worse it could be. Yes, everyone from her brother to the palace cook was smothering her a bit, but it was out of concern for her safety, not malice.

  And Ivan? All he wanted to do was protect her, and she was making things harder than they needed to be, all because she couldn’t control her stupid urges where he was concerned.

  No more. “Thank you for telling me.” She squeezed his hand again. “It means a lot.”

  He returned the squeeze for a few seconds, his fingers strong and warm around hers. Then he eased his hand away. “Gideon and Kora are the only ones who know. It’s not as bad as it used to be, but some people can still be unkind.”

  She didn’t know what to do with her hands anymore, so she folded them in her lap. “I understand. I won’t say anything.”

  “Thank you.” He refilled both their water glasses, then nodded to her plate. “You should eat more. You and Nita had a light lunch.”

  Out of duty more than hunger, she picked at her dinner. Her mind was still reeling over Ivan’s revelations, all the intimate details of his life that he’d shared with her. Naturally, it could have been nothing more than her status that prompted the admission. Her being part of the royal family--and the younger sister of their religious leader--sometimes made people feel like telling her things was tantamount to confession. A way for them to absolve themselves of their sins.

  But with Ivan, it had felt like a revelation.

  She shook the thought out of her head and focused on finishing her dinner. It was easy to see the things you wanted to see, whether they were grounded in reality or not. And she had--had, had--to remember that.

  Chapter Three

  Of all the places Maricela’s duties took her, Ivan found the temples the most stressful.

  They shouldn’t have been. Each temple had its own trained guard, devoted men and a growing number of women, all superbly trained. Even more so now that the most promising members of each squad were attending weekly lessons with Ashwin, where the Makhai soldier pressed them to their limits and taught them to be flexible and creative with their thinking.

  But in the end, training was just that. Practice. An exercise. Even when you were staring down Ashwin’s most intimidating glare across the practice ring, it wasn’t the same as a fight with real blood and real killing.

  A temple guardsman could go days or weeks without being forced to use their skills in earnest. Some went months. Even then, the kind of trouble they saw was rarely lethal, usually petty thefts or fights breaking out between angry or grieving penitents.

  Some guardsmen never had to take a life.

  Ivan had stopped counting the ravens on his arm that marked the blood he’d spilled. As long as Del etched his sins onto his skin for a thorough accounting, Ivan didn’t want to think about it. He’d accepted his damnation a long time ago.

  His only concern was staying alert to the potential dangers surrounding them, and that meant not letting the familiar scents of wax and spice and incense lull him into complacency. It meant not trusting the temple guardsmen to protect his charge.

  “Don’t you think so, Ivan?”

  And it meant not letting Maricela drag him into her conversation when he should be focused on the three doors that led into the vestibule, or the knot of acolytes that had gathered in front of the wall of candles to ruin his line of sight. “Uh-huh.”

  She sighed. “He’s not listening, but it’s true. It’s a surprise to see you here, but such a good one.”

  One of the acolytes shifted enough to give Ivan a clear look at the door. After ascertaining no one had snuck in behind them, he glanced back to the women in time to see Avery Parrino smile.

  Ivan wasn’t surprised to see her. The Riders made a point of knowing Avery’s typical schedule. Gideon hadn’t insisted that she remain within the safe boundaries of the estate once the war ended, but Ivan suspected that he’d wanted to. Though Gideon would shroud it in political practicality all day long, the truth was that he worried about her.

  And the Riders protected Gideon. Even when he hadn’t asked them to.

  “It’s good to see you, too,” Avery murmured. “This isn’t your usual temple visitation time, is it?”

  “No, it’s not, but Reyes told me I had to shake up my routine a little.”

  Ivan caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his head enough to watch a priestess step out of the back room, a basket full of offering cards swinging from her arm. The potential threat dismissed, he caught himself frowning.

  Reyes hadn’t said anything to him.

  Avery made a soft noise of amusement. “Reyes? Really?”

  “Oh yes. He gave me this big lecture about how I couldn’t rely on others to protect me completely, not even the Riders. So I had to take some responsibility for my own safety.”

  “How wise,” Avery observed. “Uncharacteristically so, some might say.”

  Maricela snorted. “Some who aren’t paying attention. If Reyes is crazy, he’s crazy like a fox.”

  Ivan resisted the urge to snort. That, at least, was true. But Reyes shouldn’t have been heaping more responsibility on Maricela’s delicate shoulders. Ivan hadn’t realized how much was already there until he started following her around.

  Fighting rogue mercenaries again might seem like a vacation.

  “How are things at the Houses?” Maricela asked, then immediately continued talking. “I have an ulterior motive for asking, bear that in mind. But I’m also honestly curious.”

  Avery arched one eyebrow. “They’re fine. Good, actually. Many of the girls from Two don’t feel like refugees anymore. They’ve been pitching in to help out some of the newer arrivals from Eden and the other sectors.”

  “Excellent.” Maricela smiled. “Think they could spare you for a few weeks? As long as we’re increasing security for the family, I think we should include you.”

  The woman who had arrived in Sector One battered and broken would never have contradicted a Rios. But the months had begun to heal Avery, so that’s exactly what she did. “As far as I’m concerned, it’s unnecessary. I’m no one.”

  “You lived with us,” Maricela argued. “You were practically part of the family.”

  “I’m telling you, it’s not an issue.”

  “And I’m telling you, maybe it is.”

  Both women looked at Ivan for support. He cleared his throat. “I think the only reason Gideon hasn’t already requested that you come back is that he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I know I’d feel better if you were staying somewhere secure.”

  Avery hesitated. “No one would target me. I have no value as leverage against Gideon.”

  Ivan might argue that point, but he didn’t have to. He’d been there at the City Center during the final battle in the war, when Lex Parrino had threatened to shoot an innocent person in the face if that was what it took to protect her lover.

  No one wanted to find out what Lex might do to protect her sister.

  “Your sister leads Sector Four with Dallas O’Kane,” he told her gently. “If someone wanted to convince them to hurt Gideon or the Riders, you would be extremely valuable leverage. Even failing to protect you could cause friction between the Riders and the O’Kanes.”<
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  “That’s true.” Avery rubbed her collarbone absently, then shrugged. “All right, I’ll come back for a while.”

  “Thank you.” She was speaking to Avery, but Maricela shot him a grateful look as some of the tension melted out of her shoulders. “It’ll be fun. We’ll--”

  A scream ripped through the temple.

  Ivan moved.

  In seconds, he’d shoved Avery at the nearest startled guardsman and locked one arm around Maricela’s waist. The alcove he’d mapped out in his earlier assessment was four feet behind them and two to the left, and her feet didn’t touch the ground the whole way.

  Her gasp of shock was still ringing in his ears when he spun them into the alcove and pressed her into the most protected corner, plastering his body in front of hers so any projectiles would hit him instead.

  Her fingers closed on his arms with enough force to bruise. She opened her mouth to speak, but all that emerged were those gasping, shocked breaths. He needed to turn around so he’d be facing any potential threat. But she was clutching him so tight, her entire body trembling against his, so he leaned into her just to keep her from shaking apart.

  Mistake. Her halting gasps caught on a whimper of gratitude, her lips so close to his throat that her breath skated warm over his skin with every exhalation. She was soft, so soft. Even after he pushed away he knew he’d still feel her, the sensation burned into his skin--her breasts crushed to his chest, her hips against his, her long legs surprisingly strong.

  A bodyguard shouldn’t know how it felt to press his charge against a hard surface and have her welcome him.

  Her heart was racing, and when she nervously licked her lips, her tongue grazed his skin.

  Fuck.

  Shuddering, Ivan tried to push back from the wall. Her fingers only tightened more, her nails pricking his skin.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered, tilting her head up with one hand so that her wide eyes met his. “I’ve got you.”

  Her gaze locked on his mouth. “I know.”

  “Open your hands, Maricela. I need to check what’s going on.”