Ivan (Gideon's Riders Book 3)

by Kit Rocha

  “Of course.” Estela smiled as she straightened the heavy necklace Nita wore. “You are a vision, darling. Just perfect.”

  Nita endured the kiss on the cheek, returned it, and used every scrap of training to keep her expression serene as she drifted--drifted, not fled--through the crowd and out the back door.

  The revelry had spilled down the steps and into the garden. On a normal night, the maze might have been her refuge, but no doubt its various secluded corners were already full of lovers stealing moments together.

  She turned sharply to the left instead, following the path around the side of the main wing. The music grew softer as she lifted her ruffled skirts and hurried deeper into the shadows. The path skated the edge of the kitchen garden, and Nita cut through it to her destination--an arch that led to a tiny courtyard that was nothing more than two stone benches and a tumbled-rock fountain that burbled cheerfully in the darkness.

  Alone, finally, she collapsed on the bench, bent over, and struggled against the tight lacing on her bodice to take a full, cleansing breath.

  Soft footsteps echoed on the stone behind her. “Are you all right?”

  Any air she’d managed to suck in whooshed out again.

  Of course it was him. Why wouldn’t her humiliation be absolute?

  Nita straightened and smoothed her skirt over her legs, glad that the fabric was voluminous enough to hide her trembling hands. “I’m okay.”

  Hunter rounded the bench, a skeptical frown creasing his brow. “Did something happen?”

  She met his gaze, and Nita’s heart flipped in her chest. The golden light spilling through the windows around the courtyard gilded Hunter’s dark brown skin, and the shadows sharpened his chiseled features. He was huge, not just tall but muscular, and his tuxedo was so lovingly tailored to him that he wore it effortlessly. He made powerful elegance look natural.

  He made it hard to breathe.

  Ten years ago, tonight.

  It had been the first summer festival after her fifteenth birthday. Her debut into grown-up society--and the marriage market. She’d spent hours preparing for that first descent down the staircase, for the moment when her adult life was supposed to start. She’d had the perfect gown, like a midnight sky fading to dawn with glittering bits of glass spilling down like a thousand stars. Her hair had been flawless, her jewels breathtaking.

  And, two steps from the bottom, lightheaded from the nerves and the tight bodice and the fact that she hadn’t eaten all day, she’d caught her heel in her dress and gone sprawling across the polished marble floor to a symphony of hastily muffled laughter.

  Her mother had been horrified. Her brother had rushed to help her to her feet, his glare fierce enough to silence the few remaining snickers. No one had dared to enrage the Reyes heir, of course.

  But the heir had duties beyond protecting his baby sister all night. So Nita had retreated to a protected alcove, her cheeks still flushed with humiliation, her gut churning with the certainty that she could never, ever face any of them again.

  Hunter had followed her that night, too. He’d drifted into her corner with his big, gentle smile and easygoing nature, and she’d been certain someone had sent him to coax her back out to dance, because that was what her mother would want. To force her back onto the horse that had thrown her.

  Instead, he just...talked to her. About his family’s newest trade contracts, how they’d found an exclusive source of real coffee, and how much better it tasted than the stuff they made in Sector Eight or the commune’s attempts to grow it in their greenhouses. Easy topics. Low pressure. And when her stomach had growled audibly, he’d left her for a few minutes, only to return with two glasses of champagne and a pilfered tray of stolen snacks.

  She’d eaten for the first time that day, hidden in the shadows with him as the champagne bubbled to her head and their conversation drifted. She’d told him about her pottery, and the minerals and clay she harvested to make her own glazes. They’d talked about books and music and the adorable baby foals sired by her brother’s favorite horse.

  She’d told herself over and over that he was just being nice to his friend’s baby sister, but he’d been so earnest, so kind, so handsome that she’d ended the night dizzy in love and determined to talk her mother into opening negotiations. She was fifteen years old, naive, and convinced her happy ending was within her grasp.

  By her sixteenth birthday, Hunter had joined the Riders, and Nita gave up on happy endings.

  Knowing it could never happen should have killed this longing. Instead, somehow, it only seemed to grow deeper every year. Probably because Hunter still did things like follow her out into the night to gaze at her with earnest concern and ask if anything was wrong.

  Everything was wrong. But that wasn’t an answer she could give him. “You know how it is. My mother’s anxious to find me a suitable spouse.”

  “You mean Gideon.” At her look, he shrugged one shoulder. “Estela Reyes doesn’t think small.”

  “No, she doesn’t.” Nita stared back down at her hands, tangled in the deep purple ruffles of her dress. “She would have settled for Maricela, but she’s going to see me married to a Rios or... Well, I don’t think there’s an or for her.”

  Hunter remained silent as he sat down beside her, careful not to rumple her skirt. “She’s determined, I’ll give her that.” He paused. “But why is it so important to her?”

  His tuxedo sleeve grazed her bare arm, and she fought a shiver. “We’re the only ones not tied to the Rios family by marriage.”

  “Yes, but what would it accomplish? It can’t elevate the Reyes family. You’re already the second most powerful in this sector.”

  No, if it had just been about that, Nita suspected she would have found herself married off to Isabela years ago. Estela’s dreams were much grander. If she could slip Nita into Gideon’s bed--and into the coveted spot of first wife--the Reyes family wouldn’t be second anything.

  They’d be well on their way to tied for first.

  “I don’t know how long I can do this,” she admitted in a whisper. “I’m the oldest acolyte at the temple. I can’t hide there and pretend I’m courting Maricela anymore. My mother’s lost patience. Now she’s suggesting--” She bit off the words, hoping it was too dark for him to see the flush in her cheeks.

  “Do I want to know?”

  Maybe if she said it, they could both laugh, and it wouldn’t have this sick, horrifying power over her. “Oh, you know. She wants to hire someone to teach me about sex so Gideon won’t have to worry that I’m bad at it.”

  He did chuckle, but it was a reflexive noise that didn’t sound genuinely amused at all. “Well, then.”

  “Yeah.” Her cheeks were still burning. The humiliation wasn’t fading. If anything, the helplessness in her chest was twisting tighter. She covered her face with her hands, unsure if the sound they muffled was the start of a laugh or a sob.

  “Hey.” He touched her shoulder, his hand big enough to engulf it and still so gentle. “It won’t ruin your family if you tell her to shove all this up her ass. It won’t hurt them. Only your mother’s pride.”

  “That might be the worst thing of all.” She stiffened her spine, refusing to let herself lean into him. His strength was a comfort she couldn’t afford to rely on. “I can say no and risk being cut out of the family, but if I do that, I won’t be able to help my younger sisters. I need to find someone to marry. Then I’ll have my inheritance, along with enough money to make a safe place for them.”

  “That doesn’t seem fair to you.”

  It wasn’t. Somewhere, in some alternate universe that had been fair to her, they were still sitting on this bench together, but they were married. In love. They’d snuck away the way they did every ball, just like the first, and their children were tucked upstairs in bed under the watchful eye of their nanny. They’d steal a kiss, and Nita would lean into the warmth of Hunter’s body, secure in the knowledge that she was safe and loved. That happiness wasn�
�t just possible, but guaranteed.

  In a fair world.

  She rose, and his hand slipped away from her shoulder. She locked down the part of her that immediately missed the contact, imagining that ice flowed beneath her skin instead of blood, and nothing could touch her. “Thank you for listening, but we should get back. I promised Grace I wouldn’t abandon her.”

  He stood as well, wordlessly offering his arm. She accepted it, and they started back to the party in companionable silence. Two casual friends, sharing an evening walk. Nothing more. Never, ever anything more.

  It would be nice to live in a world that was fair.

  Unfortunately, Nita was stuck in this one.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ivan had been involved in drawn-out gun battles that left him less on edge than the Reyes ballroom.

  A gun battle might have been welcome, honestly. He knew what to do in a gun battle. Cover Maricela’s body with his own, get her to safety, fight back. He longed for a tangible enemy with an actionable solution. Smacking Gabe’s brother into a wall had been the least frustrating part of his night so far.

  But Ivan couldn’t fight the demons plaguing Maricela. He couldn’t march over to where she endured Gabe’s father’s chatter with an increasingly fixed smile and drag him off her and into a wall. It didn’t matter that he was watching something bright inside her die a little more with every dance--she was a Rios. She would willingly martyr her happiness, then be angry with herself for feeling a moment’s resentment over the loss.

  He was starting to wonder if Maricela could even see the bars on her cage. How could she? She’d grown up trapped inside them, so carefully sheltered she rarely glimpsed the outside world.

  Each dance she endured only strengthened his desire to rip open those bars and drag her out into the real world, even if it was only for a night. Just to see freedom, so she could understand the depth of her sacrifice. Maybe then she’d stop punishing herself.

  Or maybe it would be a singular cruelty, to show her a world she would never be allowed to touch.

  By the time the dance ended, a queue of hopeful men and women had already formed. But Maricela excused herself from the knot of potential partners and turned toward Ivan.

  At first, he thought she was finally taking a break. But her gaze clashed with his as she moved toward him with purpose, and he knew. All the other Riders had taken their turn spinning her around the dance floor, but he’d stayed carefully on the sidelines where he wouldn’t be the focus of everyone’s attention.

  Ivan didn’t know if he could dance with Maricela without giving his feelings away.

  She held out her hand boldly, though her words acknowledged his hesitation. “You can’t say no. Just this once, I’m pulling rank.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Dance with me, Ivan.”

  He clasped her hand, the contact shocking in its directness. After so many glancing brushes of skin, it felt almost obscene to hold her hand so openly. The feeling intensified when they reached the floor and he dropped his hand to the spot where her waist flared into her hip. The beading on her dress abraded his palm, and the floral scent she was wearing filled his senses.

  This close, she had to tilt her head back slightly to meet his eyes. Hers were big and brown, soft with desire and want. She was as dizzy with it as he was, and Ivan wasn’t sure how they’d manage a dance like this. He could barely remember the steps Gabe had taught him.

  “Thank you,” she murmured.

  “Don’t thank me yet,” he replied just as quietly. “I might step on your feet. Zeke’s a mess, and he’s still better than I am.”

  “You exaggerate.” Her hand tightened on his shoulder. “I don’t think it’s possible for you to be less than graceful.”

  The music started, and he stepped to the right, torn between the need to concentrate on his footing and the fact that he could feel each individual fingertip pressing into his shoulder. “It’s a different kind of grace.”

  “No.” She moved with him, as naturally as breathing. “Don’t you feel it?”

  “Feel what?”

  “What to do.”

  He did. He was so attuned to her touch that she barely had to lead. The slightest pressure on his shoulder guided him to one side, the faintest squeeze of his hand to the other. Moving with her was effortless, because he’d been watching her for weeks. He’d memorized her gestures, her movements, her breathing. He’d grown an entire set of nerves that answered only to her.

  His guilty, furtive imagination hadn’t done the fantasy of sex with her justice. If they moved like this through the steps of a dance he didn’t know, how would they move together at one he’d mastered?

  Not something he could afford to ponder with the eyes of all the most powerful people in the sector glued to them. This tuxedo fit him a little too well, and he doubted it would hide a punishing erection.

  Maricela’s gaze roamed over his face. “You’re frowning.”

  If he was, it was only with the effort to keep from doing the opposite. “That’s just my face.”

  She laughed. “You shouldn’t tease me. I consider it an unavoidable challenge.”

  “Maybe that’s why I do it,” he countered.

  “Because you want to be teased back?” Her head tilted to one side as she considered that. “How curious.”

  It wasn’t something he would have put into words, but it made sense. The only people who’d ever teased him were fellow Riders. “You tease people you care about.”

  Her eyes widened, and her fingers clenched around his. “Ivan...”

  Too far. He’d taken it too far, and he didn’t know how to pull back. The whole night felt surreal. With the champagne and the music and the glittering lights and this ridiculous tuxedo, he might as well be a different person. One who was allowed to twirl Maricela through the steps of a dance and smile at her. “Shh. We’re dancing.”

  She returned his smile, and neither of them talked as they moved with the music. The silence was heavy, but instead of being awkward, it just felt full--of pleasure, of longing.

  Of all the things they weren’t saying.

  Ivan was starting to like dancing.

  But a commotion was sweeping through the crowd, mutters and gasps so obtrusive that he couldn’t ignore them. A few of the couples stopped dancing altogether and drifted to the edges of the ballroom.

  Maricela squeezed his hand again. “What in the world--?”

  A scream from the other side of the room cut off her baffled question, and Ivan reacted on instinct. Within moments, he had her off the dance floor, his body between hers and the source of the disruption. Zeke and Reyes pushed through the crowd toward them, and Ivan steered Maricela in their direction. “What’s going on?”

  Reyes caught his shoulder. “Get her out of here. Gideon’s orders.”

  He reached for Maricela immediately as his brain switched gears to tactics. “What happened?”

  Reyes only shook his head. “It’s not important right now. Just go.”

  Maricela didn’t move. “Fernando.”

  Sighing, he met Ivan’s gaze. “It’s Javier.”

  Oh, God. Ivan’s stomach sank into his boots, and he regretted asking. He wanted to drag Maricela away before Reyes could speak the truth Ivan could already read in his eyes.

  But the other Rider’s bleak, damning words didn’t stop. “He’s dead.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The Reyes house was in chaos.

  Numb, Maricela went where Ivan steered her. People spoke to her, but she couldn’t hear them. She was only vaguely aware of being urged into a car, and of Avery, pale and somber, pulling her close until she stopped shaking.

  Javier Montero was dead. It didn’t seem real. None of it seemed real.

  In hushed tones, Avery told Ivan what she’d managed to glean from the gossip spreading through the party like wildfire--they’d found him in one of the studies. There was no sign of struggle or obvious injury...

  But he did have a nast
y bump on the back of his head.

  That made Maricela start shivering all over again. This was all some terrible thing happening very far away to people she didn’t know. Silently, she repeated the lie to herself as the car sped toward home. As Ivan practically carried her inside and up to her room. As Avery helped her take off her dress and replace it with a nightgown.

  Ivan hovered in the doorway to her suite, carrying on a low-voiced conversation with someone in the hallway. The words blurred into meaningless sound as Avery carefully laid her ball gown over the back of a chair. The conversation ended, and Ivan appeared at the door to her bedroom. “One of the royal guard is waiting for you in the hallway,” he told Avery. “He’ll stay with you for the time being.”

  “Thank you.” Avery framed Maricela’s face with her hands, gave her an encouraging smile, and slipped out of the room.

  Somehow, that smile grounded Maricela. She rubbed her hands over her arms as she stared out into the dark antechamber. “This is really happening, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” Ivan went to secure the doors, his footsteps nearly silent on the carpet. When he returned, he closed the door that separated his antechamber from the sitting room and turned to hover in the doorway to her bedroom. “Are you okay?”

  Her stomach lurched. She was being worse than self-absorbed. She was being a complete dick. She wasn’t the one who’d fought with Javier, who might have--

  She shook away the thought. “I should be asking you.”

  His expression remained impassive. Closed off. “I’m fine.”

  He didn’t look fine. He was wound so tight she thought he might shatter. “Ivan, listen to me.” She reached for him. “Whatever might have happened--”

  “No.” He sidestepped her so fast, he was halfway across her room before he stopped. His fingers flexed at his side, and he stared at the floor. “You can’t touch me. Not right now. Do you know what it does to me when you touch me?”