by Sue Wilder
When she asked, he told her of his life, in an abbreviated fashion, leaving out the worst. Then she told him about Rock Cove and he laughed at her childhood antics, seeing her as she must have looked running barefoot through the woods. Her grandmother had been wise, but as the stories unfolded he heard the loneliness and knew he was the cause. Christan would give her these few hours of happiness if he could.
Hunger drove them to the kitchen where they cooked a simple meal. Lexi held a glass of Chianti and watched the pasta boil. Christan stood beside the gas-fired stove, tossing fresh ricotta, chopped walnuts and parsley with olive oil in a bowl. There was crusty bread, still soft in the middle, with salt and olive oil. They carried the brightly colored dishes outside, sat at a table beneath the trees draped in twinkling lights.
As they ate, the sun disappeared, descending in a slow dance of rose and gold. The hills dissolved into a haze of purple. When light from a hilltop town shimmered in the dusk, they talked like lovers. Gentle touching. Low laughter. They shared both intimacies and secret jokes. Hope and regret. Christan’s arms circled her and Lexi pressed against his heart and stroked his back.
“You must have been bad,” she teased, “if they made up a myth to explain you.”
“Who have you been talking to?” he demanded with mock reproof.
“Who do you think?” Lexi closed one eye and peered closer, then opened that eye while closing the other. “Did you really turn into a dragon?”
Christan’s skin shimmered. Her lips parted at the sheen of gold scales before he changed back.
“Wow.”
“That’s it? The extent of your reaction to what once terrified the ancient world?”
“Words fail me.”
She was giggling. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She kissed him back. Then they counted the first five stars in the fading dusk. One star each, for faith, strength, vision, courage. And love. It was a ritual they’d shared, he explained, in every lifetime.
When the night grew too dark to remain outside they carried their plates to the kitchen.
“No,” Christan said when Lexi reached for the light. “It’s better if we remain in the dark.”
He’d known for the past three hours but hadn’t wanted her to worry. Couldn’t afford to be weak under the circumstances. He explained their situation, holding her hands while her tension increased.
“I knew Kace would trace this villa, but I’d hoped to have the time to send you away.”
“I wouldn’t have gone,” she said with a shake of her head. “When?” And he knew she was asking about the attack.
“Midnight or shortly after. Arsen is already here. Darius arrived an hour ago from Portland. Luca has the Italian warriors. Even Leander is here with ten volunteers. You won’t see them. They’ll have taken positions around the grounds. This isn’t about the attack in the alley or getting memories from the girls. This is about you. It’s about me. It’s about restarting a war.”
Christan spoke with cold detachment, the master of war, remembering the last time he’d fought for her on a moon-shot road. When he thought she had betrayed him. Where he hadn’t been able to save her.
“Kace will have more men than anticipated,” he said, smoothing the hair from her forehead. “There’s a political faction, supported by an immortal within One’s court, which is why Leander is here. He’s taken a personal interest. We know they’re well-financed, and unrest has been building for years.”
“Why target us?”
“Convenience, revenge. Our enemies believe with fanaticism, and they always find some excuse.”
“Because you’re a symbol.” A gold dragon shimmering in the sun. A symbol of power and fear.
“And you make me more human.”
Lexi gripped him, her hands fierce.
“I don’t want to weaken you.”
“Being more human isn’t weakness, cara.”
“What is it?”
“What it’s always been,” he said, covering her hands with his own. “What they fear most.” A conscience. An ability to act with moral purpose, to kill in defense of what is right. What the Calata could never control.
“You’ll be out there?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Where will I be?”
“Here. Inside.”
He pulled her hands from his arms, held tight to her fingers. The villa had been built for invasions, he told her, with heavy wooden shutters that locked from the inside. The walls were thick and well-protected. From a central position, she would see both entrance doors and know if they were breached.
“That will not happen,” he stressed as another tremor rocked through her. “You walked the perimeter with Arsen today.”
“The long walls of Piraeus.”
“The strategy worked in Greece and it will work here.”
“But this is the part where you leave.”
“No.” Christan’s body vibrated with the need to change and she touched his face.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she said. “I promise you.”
Christan voice was rough. “If I ever leave and not come back, it will be because I am dead. Even then, I would crawl on my knees to find you.”
“I believe you.” She kissed him. He traced his thumb against her right wrist, along the memory lines, amazed at the way she could put him on his knees and then lift him up again.
“I’ll be outside,” he said. “The plan is for you to stay inside. With the confusion, they may not detect your energy pattern. But if you leave, if you are out in the open, they will track you. And they will find you, because you’re the one person in this world who could destroy me.”
Her shoulders trembled. “Because of the one word?”
“No, cara. Because I would do anything to protect you.”
“I don’t want them to get to me,” Lexi said with conviction. “I don’t want them to use me against you.”
“I will not let that happen.”
“Will you kill Kace?”
“Yes.”
“But…” She moistened her lips, felt the truth. “If they get me, Christan, don’t sacrifice yourself. I… I will come back to you, in a new life. You could find me. But I couldn’t bear it if they killed you.”
His hand trembled as he stroked her hair. “They will not kill me, cara. They have been trying for centuries.”
He pulled her against his chest, wrapped his arms, felt her warmth. She was his life. His fingers brushed against her skin. She remained quiet before she asked. “How long have you known?”
He didn’t immediately answer.
“I should thank you for the day, then.”
“Sweet girl—”
“I mean it with all sincerity. If I had known, I would have ruined the pasta.”
He couldn’t respond. Her courage shattered him. He pushed strands of her hair behind her ears and gathered them at her nape, fastening the thick pony tail with a scrunchy tie and then twisting it into a knot. There was little more he could do except prepare her the best that he could.
“It’s normal to feel afraid,” he said. “But you’re strong. You know the layout of this villa. You can maneuver in the dark. Do you remember the chapel? There’s a connecting tunnel now, through a door in the kitchen pantry. If you leave, run to the chapel. Go through the old priest’s door and head for the trees—the trees will provide cover. You’ll be safe there, cara. We have surveillance and one of us will always be there. Stay low and in the shadows. Put this on.” He handed her a dark zippered sweatshirt that had been waiting on the table. “Breathe, but quietly. Use the tricks Arsen taught you and keep them out of your mind. Do you remember the alley?” He stroked her cheek while she fumbled with the zipper. “It will look like that, smell like that. It will sound like that.”
“I hate that sound.”
“I know you do. And I know you are you now,” he added. “But I need you to stay alive, and I have to ask you to be Gaia again, I have to fucking c
hange you back into her and you have to accept it. You need to remember what it’s like to fight with a spear and knives. When you knew how to kill. You did, then, do you remember? When your father’s goats were attacked and you had to kill the lion? You didn’t like doing it, you cried the whole time, but you fought hard and you won. Let me into your mind, cara. Lower that shield Arsen taught you.” He pressed her left forefinger against the line that curled around her right wrist. Watched the expressions cross her face. Even in the dark he was aware of every emotion.
“This is Gaia.”
“Is that real?” she whispered.
“This is the way the lines work. They’re sensate memories, remember? That’s real experience you’re feeling, remembered from the past and knowledge you need.”
Christan’s arms shook as he held her, his mouth pressed against her temple.
“I’ve given you what I can,” he whispered, surging a pulse of power into her mind. “It’s a stronger defense because it comes from me.”
“I can feel it. It’s—different.”
“You may hear me telepathically, now. Don’t be frightened.”
“This isn’t costing you anything, is it? You’re not weakening yourself to protect me?”
“No,” he said. “Just stay low and out of sight. Don’t get cornered. Always know how to get out.”
A dog barked in the distance. The sound cut off abruptly.
A few seconds later a high-pitched scream.
Tears were running down her face.
“Honor comes from taking the right action, cara,” he said. “Not from the outcome. I have to do this.”
She reached up and gently touched his cheek. “Remember the way we loved beneath the tree,” she said. “But be who you have to be.”
His mouth lifted in that hard-bladed smile, promised pain with heartless skill.
“I will.”
Honor comes from taking the right action, not the outcome.
Lexi stood in the dark after Christan left. She’d known, when he’d said those words, that part of her would break this night. The earth was churning with the threat of advancing powers. They came from all directions. Old imprints, and new, and she drew cold comfort from the fear rising in the night air. Christan was formidable. A legend who once terrified the ancient world. Lexi hoped the fear in the hearts of the advancing enemy was that fear.
She touched her wrist, dragged her thumb across the memory line the way Christan had done, feeling the electricity beneath her skin. Images flashed into her mind. It wasn’t like watching a dream sequence; more like relearning to ride a bike. You might fall the first time. But muscle memory snapped back and the skill return.
Lexi’s fingers curled around a remembered spear. She thought of the words Christan whispered in the dark. How he held her. “Run to the chapel,” he’d said. But she remembered Gaia, now. She would need more than one option for escape.
“Find the high ground,” said the father as he led the daughter to the hills. “Let the lion come to you.”
“Papa, I don’t want to kill lions.”
“The lion will not hesitate to kill you, Gaia. Remember that. Once you strike, do not stop striking until the lion is dead. You can cry about him later.”
She had cried then, but she wouldn’t cry now. She listened to the steady beating of her heart. She imagined the interior of the villa, saw herself moving through the dark, working through the options. If she couldn’t get to the chapel, she could run to the second floor; the windows weren’t barred, but the drop to the ground would probably break her legs. She could hide and wait for the lions to approach. She could do what Christan warned against and run outside.
Lexi sat on the stairs, closed her eyes, pressed her knees together. Tried to relax her arms at her sides while explosions sounded in the night air. She had to assume the villa would be breached. Christan wouldn’t have left her alone if he hadn’t needed all his men outside. A sense of weightlessness calmed her as she slowly strengthened the shields in her mind.
At some point, the explosions stopped, as if the enemy found a safer route than through the vineyard. Lexi wondered if they’d started the shape-shifting yet. It they had, it would mean fewer guns but more violence. The sounds would change, and she wasn’t sure which sounds she preferred.
In the dark, the room became disjointed. Lexi wanted to run, but the honor was in the action, and action was justice. It was courage, even against overwhelming force. She imagined herself as brave as Gaia had been against the lions in the hot, white sun. When her throat had been as dry as the bones bleached out like stones and the goats had run bleating in helpless fear.
If necessary, she would kill lions again.
CHAPTER 35
The long walls of Piraeus had served Athens well, and then served the Persians who followed. First built by Themistocles, the fortifications were defensive in nature, designed to prevent attacks on the corridor connecting Athens to its valuable harbor. At the House of the Butterflies, the vineyards served a similar purpose. The electrical devices hidden in the leafy green and gold targeted the approaching enemy with such accuracy, the mercenaries believed they were being individually attacked. Thermal cameras searched the kill zones; computers recognized the enemy. There was no need for snipers when game technology operated the hidden weapons.
Christan found the new warfare puzzling, but he adapted to its usefulness, maintaining an operational discipline despite a preference for physical confrontation. He didn’t react to the first advancing attack and allowed the computers to fight the battle.
“There are more mercenaries than expected.” It was Arsen’s voice, speaking through the tiny transmitter Christan wore in his ear. He would have preferred telepathy. Telepathy, however, was limited in scope and couldn’t communicate with the dozens of warriors spread out around the villa.
“We’ve been in this position before,” Christan reminded his second-in-command.
“They’re well-armed this time.”
“But not well-trained.” Christan watched another mercenary stop his forward advance and crouch down in the shadows. A moment later, the man ran in the opposite direction. “Any word from Phillipe?” The immortal was enlisting additional help; his contacts within the underworld of immortal intrigue were well-known and legendary.
“He’s talking with One now.”
“Tell him he’s wasting his breath.”
“Three’s working on her own to bring in reinforcements.”
Christan watched as several figures approached along the edge of the road. The moon disappeared behind the clouds, but Christan was a nocturnal predator, feared in the dark. The loss of the moon was not a problem.
“Who’s outside the villa?” he asked.
“Luca’s warriors.”
An explosion echoed from his left, closer to the villa, and Christan swore softly when he realized it wasn’t one of their devices hidden in the leaves.
“Are warriors stationed in the trees?” he asked Arsen. “I told her to go to the trees if she had to run.”
“Luca assigned two experienced men.”
“Contact them.”
A silence for five seconds. “Not getting an answer.”
Christan didn’t answer. He’d already disappeared into the dark. Arsen followed two strides behind his Enforcer.
Lexi focused on the front of the villa. The fighting outside was intense. Sounds of battle approached with the rush, then receded. Time slowed. An explosion erupted, blinding and white, seeping around the edges of the heavy shutters. Erie flickers of light crawled like skittering insects across the floor. As the sounds grew louder, Lexi thought she was back in the alley. The screaming was horrendous and the dark once again impenetrable.
A soft shuffle attracted her attention, followed by the crunch of a foot on loose stones. The stealthy click of a lock being breached and a door opening.
Someone was inside.
Lexi stared into the darkness, knowing vision would not be h
er strongest sense. Gaia’s father had once taught his daughter how to sense the shadows. It was not enough to look for moving shapes, he'd said. The hunter needed to feel the displacement of the air, listen for the tiny tell-tale sounds. Difficult, with all the sporadic screaming from outside. The intruder would be armed, too. Lexi reached out, found one of the decorative figurines Hannah Strome liked to leave beside the stair railing like little shrines. She threw it toward the opposite corner of the large room.
Two white flashes a second later, the pops muffled with a silencer. Additional footfalls joined the first and they were different, smoother; sending two mercenaries after her instead of one almost made Lexi smile. Christan was enough of a threat they’d required the extra precautions. Or the bounty they’d placed on her was that high.
But Lexi knew two enemies were converging on the corner where she’d thrown the figurine. It would take seconds before they realized she wasn’t there. She vaulted off the staircase. Her feet were silent on the tiled floor, and as she stepped over another of Hanna Strome’s little shrines, Lexi remembered the scream earlier. A woman’s scream. Her hands grew damp and she scrubbed them against her jeans, calculating the distance to the front of the villa. The double doors were ten feet away, maybe less. An easy sprint, but in the dark, sprinting had its risks.
The two men were huddled in the corner and conversing now, their voices muffled. A small penlight was switched on and one of the men began to search the room.
“Come out and we won’t hurt you,” he said, his English heavy and thick with an Italian accent.
Lexi didn’t answer.
“This isn’t about you. Come out.” The light moved through the shadows, hesitating on a chair near the windows, reflecting off the table by the door. “We’ll help you.”
Lexi took a careful step to her left.
“One sent us.” A new voice, softer, the Italian less pronounced. “She doesn’t want bloodshed.”
Lexi kept moving. She wondered if they would sense her heart racing in her chest. The narrow beam of light continued to swing like a scythe through tall grass. A few seconds, she told herself, all she had were a few seconds before they found her.
