Mathias seemed far too at ease as he ducked into one of the little nooks. The conversations around us made it almost impossible for eavesdropping, but the semi-privacy of the nook prevented any overly friendly strangers from inviting themselves to our little table for two. As soon as we sat, Mathias leaned across the table and brushed my hair back behind my ear. He then tugged lightly on the edge of my loose head scarf, smiling. “Dark green suits you. But, I like it even better when you’re not wearing it.”
An answering smile tugged at my lips. “I am beginning to suspect that you are far more deserving of being called a rogue than I ever have been.”
His grin spread and he gave a low chuckle that did nothing to even pretend at innocence. “Only for a woman like you, my dear. Promise.”
He winked at me, and I shook my head at his antics. Some days he acted far more like a green boy than a grown man. Although part of me was happy to see it. Mathias carried far too many burdens from his past. Enough to make it a near miracle that he could even act so carefree.
A small laugh escaped me, and a server arrived before I could think of an appropriate retort. The young man smiled too brightly at me, interest flickering in his eyes and a 7 glowing steadily above his head. If I had to guess, he was probably a Fae . . . While Italy and Greece had a penchant for harboring the demis, descendants of the old gods, they were never so low as a 7. Mathias reached across the small table to grab my left hand and placed a very deliberate kiss on my knuckles. The server’s too bright smile immediately vanished and his bronze cheeks darkened with a blush. He nodded to Mathias as he set down two small platters before making his escape.
I raised an eyebrow at the 10 across from me. He offered a crooked smile in reply. “Shall we?”
I glanced down at my platter. A cup filled with a scoop of vanilla gelato, a wooden spoon, and a ceramic brew pitcher of espresso. I grinned. “You ordered an affogato?” I glanced at his identical platter. “For the both of us?”
“Yes.” Although he was looking at it like he would have preferred to pour something stronger over his gelato.
I couldn’t help my growing smile as I prepared to drown my gelato. “I am rather surprised that being this close to coffee of any sort hasn’t curdled your tea drinking blood,” I mused.
Mathias grinned as he shook his finger at me. “If there is one thing in life all people should know, woman, it is this. Never attempt to separate an Englishman from his tea.” He paused and grimaced faintly as he poured his espresso over his gelato. “That being said, however, there are times when one must make . . . sacrifices.”
“Sacrifices. Really?” I laughed again and began eating the dessert. “Mmm, perfection.”
I had nearly finished my affogato before I remembered the real reason we were here. As tempting as it was to pretend otherwise, we hadn’t come to Rome for a simple getaway. A quick glance around confirmed that our nearest neighbors were preoccupied with a lively round of debates regarding . . . the usefulness of the ancient baths and some sort of tournament. I tuned the noisy chatter out as I finished the last of my espresso soaked gelato and then pushed the platter to the side.
The table was so small that I was nearly on top of Mathias as I leaned forward. He immediately closed the distance so our heads were now together, and he interlaced his fingers with mine. I kept my voice low and lowered my lashes as I murmured in his ear, “Did you find him?”
“Of a sort.”
I tightened my grip on his hand. “Of a sort? What does that mean precisely?”
Mathias reached up to tug at the edge of my head scarf again, making the loose fabric slide across my hair a little. I swatted his hand away. He glanced down at me, a smile playing around his lips, but utter seriousness in his blue-green eyes. “I had to find some rather loose lips and even they couldn’t tell me much. There is a man who might be called Yakov here in Rome. Specifically, he’s rumored to live in the hypogeum.”
My mind scrambled to recall what little I knew about Rome. The hypogeum was the formal name for the underground levels of the famed Colosseum, which were riddled with holding rooms and tunnels leading to the various schools that long provided entertainment for the games. What paranormals knew was that the bottom levels of the hypogeum had been preserved or restored. The Colosseum’s cracked and weathered exterior was a glamour meant to keep norms safe and out of the way when they played tourist.
I frowned slightly. “So we need to search the hypogeum. It sounds simple enough. We just join a tour and step through the glamour, yes?”
Mathias ducked his head slightly. His breath was warm against my skin as he slid his lips across my cheek. I shivered in response, struggling to keep my mind on the conversation. The man was a pure menace to my concentration. His lips stopped at my ear and he whispered, “That is not going to be so simple, I’m afraid. The parts of the Colosseum that are not norm friendly are also currently operating by invitation only.”
My brow furrowed even as my stomach started tying itself in knots. “What does that mean for us?”
“Well, my dear, it means we shall need to garner an invitation.”
“An invitation to what?”
Mathias offered a faint smile. “To participate in the games. It’s fight season in Roma.”
I didn’t like the sound of that at all. “Are you certain about this?”
“It’s the only way to find this Yakov,” he stated simply. He rose from the table and held his hand out for me. “Come on, Lauren. We have three days before the next open event and much to do between now and then.”
I didn’t like the sound of any of this. Yet, I still took his hand and let him pull me to my feet. As we stepped out of the café, I looked up at him. “Where are we going now?”
“Shopping, I’m afraid. Come on. Best to get this part over and done.”
* * *
Mathias
I fastened my cuff links and smoothed the front of my tailored black suit. “Lauren, are you ready?”
The bathroom door swung open and out stepped a vision. A smile immediately pulled at my lips as I slowly ran my gaze over her. Her slender five foot two frame was wrapped in a creamy underdress that peeked out from beneath a partially fastened rich purple overdress. Elegant gold lace embroidery marched from along the hem up either side of the front of the overdress and then down the long sleeves as they hung from her elbows. Her black hair was carefully swept into an equally elegant chignon with a gold chain draped across her forehead. She looked like a Turkish princess. My Turkish princess.
I offered a half bow. “I’m honored with your presence, Princess.”
Lauren’s dark eyes danced with amusement banishing the nervousness I had seen there. She smiled at me, a blush barely detectable beneath her creamy tanned complexion. Then her gaze fell to her dress and she reached for the skirt, the gold bangles on her left wrist jangling as she plucked at it. “Are you sure this isn’t too much?”
“It’s perfect. And you look absolutely breathtaking in it,” I assured her. Crossing to her, I caught her hand and raised it to my lips. “You also look the part. Remember the plan?”
She nodded and reached out to smooth the lapels of my suit. Her fingers sent hot flashes of lightning everywhere she touched. I almost forgot the point of the evening and insisted on staying in instead. Fortunately, I caught myself before the words could escape. Pressing Lauren’s hands flat against my chest with both hands, I bent toward her. Her dark eyes widened and her lips parted slightly drawing my attention to them. Being merely mortal, I couldn’t resist. Closing the scant distance, I brushed my lips across hers only for Lauren to deepen the kiss as she clutched at my suit.
Wrapping my arms around her, I held her close kissing her until her hands pushed against my chest. When I stepped back, we were both breathing hard. I grinned at her. “You torment me, Spotter.”
Lauren reached up to touch her lips, then patted at her hair. “This was your idea. I am . . . I am merely reminding you of why you should
behave yourself tonight.”
I grinned as I looked over her, but she raised a hand before I could speak my mind. Giving me a scolding look as she warned, “Don’t say whatever has put that look on your face. I don’t want to arrive at this event looking like a blushing bride.”
“You are a blushing bride,” I pointed out. Then my grin widened as I added, “I like seeing you blush.”
“Mathias, you need to behave.” She held her hand out to me. “Shall we, heart-love?”
The Myrmidon endearment still didn’t slip off her tongue smoothly, but I didn’t care. Her words wrapped firmly around my heart and squeezed it with the reminder of belonging. Of being at home wherever this woman was. I took her hand, kissed the golden fox head decorating her wrist, and then tucked it securely in the crook of my arm.
We had switched from our safe house to the more obvious and opulent hotel that catered specifically to high class powerful paranormals this morning. Part of the ruse we needed to get a particular invitation. With paranormals, it was not an unusual thing for me to request one of the more secure rooms, which meant we needed to ride the glass elevator down from the tenth floor to reach the lobby. Lauren’s grip on my arm tightened as we emerged into the bustling lobby. No doubt she was seeing a lot of high numbers. I could feel the barely contained and debatably controlled power rolling off a good number of the people. But, it didn’t bother me. A quick glance confirmed there were no active threats, and I could stop any number of them.
I covered Lauren’s hand with mine and gave it a light squeeze before guiding us in a casual stroll through the lobby. The other patrons parted around us, leaving a clear path to the doors. I had left my sword stowed in our suite, but my knives were concealed beneath my sleeves in case someone was fool enough to attempt anything. A doorman leapt to open the ornate doors for us, and then the valet came roaring up in the sleek silver Lamborghini Aventador I had acquired for the evening. Lauren gave me a look, but said nothing as I helped her into the passenger side before I strolled around to the driver’s side.
As soon as I nipped onto the road, however, she turned her full attention onto me. Possibly so she wouldn’t have to watch me drive with the abandon of Roman motorists. “Mathias, where did you get this car?”
“I arranged to borrow it for as long as we need it.”
“Borrowed?” She waved a hand at the dash. “Someone let you borrow this car? It must be worth, I don’t even know how much. Who would let you borrow this?”
I smiled and glanced at her. “You say that like you don’t believe me trustworthy with an expensive car.”
“You have crashed two of them in the time I’ve known you.”
“I was run off the road. It’s very different.” I had to stop talking in order to focus on zipping around the suddenly stalled traffic. Lauren’s gasp was loud in the silence, and she covered her eyes with both hands. I chuckled as I slipped back into an opening, joining the mass of cars impatiently moving through the winding streets. “Now that is a bit of an exaggeration don’t you think? I’m an excellent driver.”
“I don’t know what’s worse tonight. Having to go to this thing or watching everyone’s horrible and insane driving. Do not crash!”
I rounded the corner with only a slight fishtail before changing lanes and gunning the engine. Driving in Rome certainly took a modicum of . . . daring. However, I relished the challenge of navigating narrow streets and occasionally difficult directions. Twenty minutes after leaving the hotel, I pulled up to the valet station half a block from our destination. Other paranormals in their formal wear were streaming up the block in pairs and, occasionally, parties of three or more. The scissor door rose and I stepped out, then strolled around to reach the passenger side. I held my hand out just as the valet lifted the door. Lauren’s fingers trembled slightly, but nothing else betrayed her nerves as she took my arm once more. Her heels clicked against the stone pavement as we approached the Roman Forum.
The lighted edifice of ancient ruins and arches shimmered as we passed beneath the triumphal arch of Septimus Severus and through the protective glamour. Where the norms saw only the crumbling ruins and empty lawns that once held the heart of Roman government, the glamour concealed the work done by many different paranormal species to preserve their ancient home. While ruins remained, some had been restored. On either side of the ancient road, Via Sacra, the remains of Basilica Aemilia and Basilica Julia still stood, but they now hosted canopies of sheer silk and raised platforms complete with balconies to look over the road and in Basilica Julia’s case over the long lawn that was lit by a series of flickering torches.
The history of the place seemed to thrum, and I caught myself striding more than walking as we traversed the same cobbled stones where victorious Roman generals and their troops paraded in their Triumphs. Soldiers who had successfully defended the Republic and later the Empire received their honors here. Lauren’s light grasp on my arm tightened slightly, and I glanced down to meet her dark eyes. She raised an eyebrow and murmured in Turkish, “You look like a little boy finally seeing his favorite playground.”
I gestured to the road as I replied with a slight grin, “Do you know how many Triumphs these stones have borne witness to in the centuries? The Romans had the best army after Sparta. Of course, they were clever and recruited their soldiers from the people who best resisted them, learned from them. And we are on the western half of the road, the side that dates back to the early days of the Republic, the same ground that Romulus walked on in his triumph. What’s more Scipio was here, the man who was able to defeat Hannibal the Great and that was only after he had almost made peace with him.”
Lauren’s lips curved up in a smile even as she clicked her tongue. “Allow me to guess. Scipio was a Ten as well?”
“Perhaps or close. Had politics not mucked up Hannibal’s efforts, Carthage would have been able to defeat Rome herself and history would no doubt look very different. Scipio was the general who bested and killed Hannibal’s brother, preventing the brothers from colluding their forces and striking at the heart of the Republic. Few men were able to face Hannibal on the field and do anything but retreat or surrender.” I glanced down at the stones beneath our feet once more. “I always appreciated the fact that Rome never pretended shame at her military strength. If anything, it was reveled in and the brilliant generals not only studied strategy and tactics, they lived and breathed it as though they could only achieve the next life by becoming Alexander, Hercules, or Julius Caesar.”
Feeling her gaze on me, I met her eyes which were soft with understanding. “A good thing to appreciate, I think.” She paused and a hint of teasing entered her dark eyes making them shine as she added, “However, if I had known that you were such a military history geek, I might have gone out with you sooner. It’s hard to be intimidated by a man who likes to overshare facts about his favorite military strategists and debate whether Alexander or Hannibal was a better tactician.”
I chuckled. “I am not a geek. And, the answer is both depending on the circumstances.”
“You gushed over the type of helmet Achilles wore when you were more than half-frozen over,” she countered drily. “You are a geek.”
A gong rang out, the sound harsh as it broke into our privacy. I looked up to see the rest of the patrons filtering toward either basilica. Increasing the pace once more, I led Lauren toward the Basilica Julia, skirting around the end of the lawn even as I eyed the figures already prowling its length. No doubt, they were preparing for the evening’s true entertainment. As we approached the basilica, I noted the crowds were thicker than I had anticipated and from the way Lauren’s grip was tightening on my elbow they were all powerful paranormals in their own right. Nothing I didn’t expect for the patrons of this gathering.
As we reached the draped entrance of the basilica, two men blocked our path. They carried themselves like fighters, their large frames straining their suit jackets. I flicked my gaze over them. Fighting stance, but it was sloppy
and overconfident. I could have taken both down before either of them had a chance to react. The man reaching a beefy hand out hesitated ever so slightly, but I merely smirked at him as I withdrew the token from my suit’s inner pocket. The small figurine of a Thracian gladiator had seemed ironically appropriate when Faustus first gave it to me. I dipped my head to the sprite hovering behind the men, a pad in hand, as I spoke in Italian, “Signora Aysun Tilki of Istanbul presenting Alexander of Sparta for the privilege of a Roman Triumph.”
The figurine went into a basket amongst others, and the men stepped aside as the sprite nodded to us. “Welcome, Signora Tilki, we have not had Istanbul present among our patrons in many years. A competitor from Sparta shall bring many willing coins.” She paused, hovering higher in the air as her wings beat faster, then dropped her eyes as she murmured, “May I know your species, Signora?”
Lauren’s grip on my arm tightened, but she sounded cool and even a touch offended as she responded in accented Italian, “I am a Seeker. This evening has been promising. We shall see if such entertainment truly bears out its history in Roma.”
I smirked as the sprite blushed, wings beating faster, but Lauren only nodded once before tugging at my arm and switching to Turkish, “Let us go in before I change my mind.”
As we strolled into the makeshift halls formed by sheer silver and white silk drapes, I leaned down to murmur in Lauren’s ear, “That was well done, Aysun.”
She rolled her eyes at me before softly retorting, “I brought you here so you may do more than look pretty during our trip, Alexander. Do try to behave yourself long enough that we may fulfill the purpose of the evening.”
A dulcet laugh came from the right just as we stepped into the main area that had been transformed into a casual banquet hall. The stairs leading up to the balcony were in the far back, but my attention was on the couple now approaching us. The same woman who had been following Lauren at the Trevi Fountain with Atlas by her side. The woman’s green-tinged hazel eyes sparkled with amusement as she looked Lauren over, but there was a readiness in her stance that pointed at more than her fae heritage. This woman was a warrior, it was in her carefully balanced movement despite the dark green evening gown she wore. She smiled at Lauren. “I hope the doorkeepers’ vigilance was not enough to give offense,” she murmured in somewhat accented Turkish. “They like to keep these gatherings restricted to more . . . private patrons.”
Hunt by Numbers Page 5
