Demeter's Tablet: a Nia Rivers Adventure (Nia Rivers Adventures Book 2)

by Jasmine Walt

  Once in the elevator, Bet, Tres, and I stood in a row. The elevator ride down was strained with silence. Bet took the opportunity to button up his shirt . . . and pants. Watching the kingmaker put himself back together after being dominated and discarded by the HGIC—the Head Goddess in Charge—kind of lightened the mood of death and potential destruction.

  “I’m just curious,” I said to Bet. “What name do you call out when you’re . . . you know, in the throes of passion with our girl, Demi?”

  “Good question,” Tres said. He tapped his bottom lip in serious thought. “Because he couldn’t call out Demeter.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “Because that would give her more power, as he said.”

  “Do you suppose he calls out god?”

  “Enough,” Bet bellowed.

  Instead of being cowed, Tres and I snickered. Who could blame us? This man who’d leveled barbarians, generals, and politicians alike was trying to cover bite marks on his neck by turning up his rumpled shirt collar. He could not be taken seriously at the moment.

  “I was here working out a way for this infernal country to get out of debt,” he said.

  “Infernal?” I said. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

  Tres snorted. Bet cut me with his eyes.

  I decided to give it a rest. Bet might have a few of the answers that Demeter wasn’t willing to give up.

  “You said they’d made demons before?” I asked Bet.

  “It was long ago, back in Egypt. During the time when their parents were still alive. I remember whole tribes and cities falling prey to their idea of worship.” Bet sneered.

  Whole cities?

  “But it stopped once they came to Greece and their parents were laid to rest,” Bet continued.

  “Their parents died here?”

  Bet shrugged. “I don’t think they ever actually died. They just disappeared one day and were never seen again. It was her father, Cronus, that I’d mainly had the problem with. I tried to make peace with him a few hundred years before the Battle of Thermopylae. But he refused. All of this could’ve been avoided if he’d simply accepted the treaty.”

  “Oh, I see,” Tres said. “That’s what you were doing just now in her bedroom with your clothes off—making a treaty.”

  Bet turned to glare at Tres. Tres looked over at Bet with faux innocence. The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Bet stormed out. Tres laughed behind him. Though I saw the humor, I couldn’t bring myself to laugh. Something was going on in that family.

  “Just goes to show you,” Tres said.

  “Show what?”

  “That if you have that much venom for someone, there’s usually something deeper there.”

  “You think that’s love between Bet and Demeter?”

  “Whatever it is between them, it’s a damn thin line.”

  He looked at me pointedly. There had been the same level of venom between us over the years. But we hadn’t started wars to antagonize each other. Maybe a few international incidents, but no one had died.

  “You’re not going to let this go, are you?” Tres asked as we stepped into the hotel lobby.

  I shook my head. Then I crossed my arms over my chest and prepared for an argument.

  “Fine.” He sighed, reaching out a hand and tracing the fine hairs between my temple and my ears. “I have business to attend to in Crete. I’ll be back in two nights.”

  He leaned down and touched my lips with his. It was a brief contact. But the impact made me lose my balance. I fell into his chest. Instead of pulling me closer, he held me up by the elbows until I regained my balance.

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” he said once I was steady and standing on my own.

  “I make no promises.”

  I watched him walk out the door of the hotel. When he was out of sight, I went back inside the elevator and pressed the button to my floor. Once in my room, I grabbed the dress Demeter had gifted to me, along with my travel bag. Then I headed to the airport to do something stupid.

  19

  I stepped out of the cab onto the narrow street. The streets of Rome were packed this evening with tourists and young partygoers. I headed in the opposite direction from the restaurants and nightclubs. After opening the doors of the art museum, I walked into a room filled with the upper crust of art snobbery.

  “Look at his use of Conté,” said one woman with feathers in her hair. She puffed up her chest as she used the artsy-fartsy term for what amounted to a crayon. “It’s so playful and whimsical.”

  “It’s as though he’s deconstructing what it means to be a child but through the eyes of a man,” said a rotund man. His chubby fingers hovered over the lines of the art piece.

  They were both wrong. Zane’s work was always straightforward. He didn’t believe in the metaphysical. He didn’t often wax philosophical. He simply saw something he thought was beautiful and captured that moment in time to make it a permanent fixture for generation after generation to see.

  This was the showing he’d missed two months ago when he came to be with me in Beijing and then to the Gongyi to save me from a horde of assassins known as the Lin Kuie, or forest ghosts.

  On the walls, I recognized parts of my body in the landscapes, textures, and colors. In the sculptures, I saw the same. Given that I was his favorite subject to draw, paint, and mold, I didn’t have to look too hard to find my likeness.

  Neither did I have to look hard to find him.

  In the center of the room was a makeshift dance floor. A few couples swayed to the band. Zane held a woman in his arms. She tilted her head back in laughter, exposing her long neck to him.

  Her breasts pushed up, but Zane’s gaze remained hooded, which wasn’t hard. His lashes were so long and thick it was often hard for others to tell if they had his full attention or not.

  I’d never had to question if I had his attention. Whenever I came into the room, his gaze would always find me. Right now, his eyes stayed locked on the woman in his arms.

  But I knew he knew I was there. Not just because of the Immortal allergy. Even when we’d spent days, weeks together, to the point we were both sniffling and growing weak, he always looked up and caught sight of me the moment before I stepped into his view. I could never surprise him. He knew my moves before I made them.

  On the dance floor, Zane pressed his partner into his torso. With the practiced grace of someone who had danced at balls for centuries, he spun the woman around so his back was to me. The woman’s hand traced down to his tight ass. My vision went red.

  I marched through the dancers on the floor. A few couples stumbled as they moved to get out of my way. I didn’t stop my advance until I was standing shoulder to shoulder with the woman in Zane’s arms. I glared daggers at her. She was lucky I didn’t put one through her wayward hand.

  The woman blinked her muddy-brown eyes at me. “Is there a problem?”

  “You’re in my spot,” I hissed.

  She laughed and looked to Zane. When he said nothing, she turned back to me, but spoke to him. “What is she? A crazed fan of yours?”

  “It would appear so, yes?” He chuckled. “I can feel her nostrils flaring behind my back. I’m sure her eyes are glaring daggers at you. Careful, she likely has one or two strapped to her thigh.”

  His voice was a purr, as though he liked the thought of the jade blade that was indeed strapped to my right thigh. The metamorphic rock wasn’t something TSA looked for in their security checks, allowing me to carry it around the world with ease. I didn’t think I was in any danger here in Rome. It was just a habit that I went everywhere with a weapon strapped to my body.

  Realizing she might be in danger, the woman in Zane’s arms stilled. “What the hell? Is this your wife or something?”

  “No,” Zane said. Though I couldn’t see his face, I heard the smile in his voice. “She is my muse, my goddess, my soul mate. She is the reason I wake up each morning and can see the beauty in the world. I capture it not f
or the eyes of you or any other patrons. I capture it so she can see how beautiful the world is with her in it.”

  The woman gaped at Zane’s face as he continued to hold her in his embrace. I gaped at his back as he delivered the poetic lines like a romantic calling up to my balcony. So maybe he did wax a little philosophical from time to time.

  I didn’t soften at his words. I remained tense. He still held the woman in his arms, swaying slightly. It was seriously pissing me off.

  “But,” Zane continued, “she is cross with me for keeping secrets. Perhaps enough time has passed that she is ready to forgive?”

  He turned his head, but not enough for his dark gaze to connect with mine. In his peripheral vision, he must’ve found his answer. He sighed, his shoulders slumping forward. “That feels like a no.”

  He looked down at the woman he still held in his arms. He continued to sway, but she was now as still as one of his statues. “You should probably go,” he said to her. “This is likely to get ugly.”

  The woman ducked out of his embrace and skittered away without looking back. I watched her go, still seething with jealousy, which was insane. I’d never once felt jealous when it came to Zane. I’d never once doubted his fidelity and devotion to me.

  But that was in the past. We weren’t together anymore. He could do whatever he wanted with whomever he wanted.

  This trip had been a mistake. A big, stupid mistake. I prepared to head for the exit to the museum. But that was when he turned.

  His gaze dipped to the floor, beginning with my shoes. Those soulful eyes traveled up my legs, prominently displayed in the short cocktail dress. It was a slow perusal. I held still. I always held still for him. Time ceased to move. The world stopped spinning. Nothing mattered when I was with Zane except the moment we were in.

  Finally, he reached my face. His dark eyes caressed every inch of my skin, looking for a new angle, searching out a new shade.

  “Bonsoir, ma petite nova.”

  His voice was a caress. It reached out and wrapped itself around me. I felt it pulling me to him. In that moment, I couldn’t remember why I was resisting this familiar place where I loved to be. I reached into my shoulder bag and felt for my cell phone. The feel of the device cradled in my hand reminded me of my purpose here.

  “I’m not here for a social visit,” I said.

  “Business then?” He grinned. “Have you come to patronize my work?”

  “Yes, actually. That’s exactly why I’m here.”

  “Take whatever you want.” Zane waved his hand around the room filled with high-priced art. “Or, better yet, let me make you something new.”

  I was immobile in the middle of the dance floor as his words tried to sway me. But I could not be moved. I had a purpose here. I shook my head to bring my mission back into focus. I looked down so his lazy grin would stop clouding my concentration.

  I pulled out my phone. After tapping a few keys, I held it up in front of him. “Is this your work?”

  Quick as a snake, Zane reached for my wrist. The moment his fingers touched my skin, I shuddered. I dropped my phone into his hand and yanked away from his grasp. His gaze locked on me and lit with amusement before it went to the phone’s screen.

  Zane frowned. “I cannot see anything. It’s all dark. You know I’m not one for the abstract, Nova.”

  I took the phone back from him and peered at the device’s face. On the screen was the picture I’d snapped of the Ninnion Tablet. But it was the first snapshot, the one in the dark. I swiped to the second image I’d taken. The one where I’d used the flash that had startled Socrates. The thought of Socrates and his red-rimmed gaze steeled my resolve. I handed the phone back to Zane.

  “It’s the Ninnion Tablet,” I said. “It depicts the Eleusinian Mysteries.”

  “Yes, I know,” Zane said. “I carved it for you.”

  “For me?”

  He nodded. “You asked me to make this scene for you. You gave me all the details—the Olympians and their parents.”

  So the other two people in the tablet aside from me were Cronus and Rhea, their not-quite-dead parents.

  “You asked me to add the wheat,” Zane continued. “And you asked me to add your likeness as well.” He pointed to the corner of the picture where the woman sat with the Eye of Ra.

  Part of me wanted to call up Demeter and tell her I told you so. I was the goddess Isis, not her. But now wasn’t the time.

  “I asked you for this?”

  Zane nodded, handing the phone back to me. “I made it for you, maybe fifteen hundred years ago.”

  “Did I say why I wanted it made? What it meant? Why I asked you to depict me in a piece with Greek gods?”

  “No, but I suppose it had something to do with your argument with Demeter. And before you ask, no, you didn’t tell me what the argument was about.”

  “I just asked you to create a cryptic piece of artwork and gave you no clue as to why?”

  He shrugged. “It wasn’t the first time.”

  “And you did it without asking?”

  “Of course,” he said. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “It clearly means something. Weren’t you curious what I was hiding?”

  “You keep a lot of secrets, mon coeur. You keep them for others and you keep them from others. I trust that if you need me to know something, you’ll tell me. I won’t interfere unless I feel you might be in danger.”

  There was a pregnant pause as we both thought about the Lin Kuie and the danger that had come after the secrets we’d both kept in that instance.

  “And,” Zane continued, “if you needed me to help you hide something, even if it was from yourself, then I’d have done so.”

  I stared at this man. He watched me patiently. There was an inch of air between us, but he took no steps to close the distance. Zane never made advances. He always waited for me to make a move. He stood still now, eyes drinking me in, nostrils flaring, lips parted—waiting.

  “Will you dance with me, Nova?”

  “No,” I said. My palms went sweaty, and I had to put my phone into my shoulder bag lest it fall to the floor. “I’m working. I have to get back to Greece.”

  He nodded. He was close enough for me to smell the wine on his breath. When he exhaled again, the alcohol sailed through my nostrils, leaving me feeling lightheaded. My lips parted, waiting for another hit.

  “Are you trying to recover the tablet?” he asked.

  “Hmm?” I tilted my head up and nearly bumped his chin. “No, I know where it is. I just don’t know what it means.”

  Though with the pieces of the puzzle falling together, I could see I knew not only the Olympians, but also their Titan parents. And with the parents standing so close to me on the tablet, I had to assume I knew something more than the offspring.

  But my brain was having trouble focusing on ancient gods at the moment. Zane was so close I could hear his heart beating in his chest. I felt my body swaying to the beat of the music, or was it the beat of his heart?

  “I’m sorry I cannot help you with your mystery,” he said into my ear. “Perhaps if you made up with Demeter, she might tell you?”

  I placed my hand on his chest to push him away. But I’d forgotten how soft that space between his pecs was, how perfectly my head fit there. “Demi and I are good.”

  “That’s good.” His voice sounded above me. His chin rested on the top of my head. “It’s good to forgive friends.”

  My thighs brushed against his. My other hand came to rest on his hip. His hand mirrored mine and rested on my hip. His fingers spanned my lower back as we swayed to the beat.

  I’d said I wouldn’t dance with him. I wasn’t really sure how I ended up in his arms. All the weariness I’d felt for the last two months vanished as I rested my head against his chest. I’d just stay here for a few minutes more, just to rest. And then I’d be off to do what I was supposed to do.

  Just a few minutes more.

  20

  One moment
resting on Zane’s chest turned into one dance. One dance turned into two. When the music stopped hours later, we were still in motion, but now we were moving onto the street. And then up an elevator. Down a hall. And through a door.

  I was just going to go in and talk to him. To give him a piece of my mind about his silence for the last two months. But when I closed the door behind us and opened my mouth to confront him, somehow my tongue got tied up. In his mouth.

  I meant to pull away. To start again, correctly this time. By using my words. But my stomach grumbled, and I remembered how hungry I was. How hungry I’d been for weeks.

  As I pulled his lower lip into my mouth, I began feeling a sense of fullness. The thirst that had parched my throat was quenched. The craving for something savory was satisfied as he licked into my mouth.

  But I was going to let him go. I was going to stop this madness. As soon as I was full.

  In the meantime, I took my fill. I attacked his lips. There were no dainty sips on my part. I sealed my lips with his and plundered, gulping him down.

  He allowed it. He opened himself up to me fully as I drank him in. It felt as though I was pulling from him. He felt boundless, bottomless, as he let me take in his essence, drawing his life force from him. But it wasn’t enough. Just as soon as I became sated, I wanted more.

  Zane pulled away from me. I dug my nails into his back, not willing to let him go. It didn’t appear he had any intentions of going far. He sank to his knees, my dress coming with him.

  I retracted my claws from his skin to allow the garment to fall to the floor. He reached for the dagger strapped at my hip. Looking up at me before he touched the blade, he quirked an eyebrow for permission.

  Here was my chance. My chance to say no. This had already gone further than I had planned.

  Zane stood and backed from me, leaving the dagger in place. He rubbed his thumb at his lower lip, his hooded gaze soaking me up. “Mon dieu. You against the skyline of Rome . . . it’s breathtaking. Just let me sketch it.”

  The lights were out in his room. The only illumination came from the picture window at my back. I could imagine what I looked like standing in heels, a thong, and a blade strapped to my thigh. Demeter had been right about this dress and my breasts. A bra had been unnecessary. My nipples were aching with the need to be held, kissed, tasted.