“He won’t do that,” I countered. “He will never willingly betray me.”
“You will become a burden to him. He is powerful, and you are not. What were you thinking to wed a high number?”
“I had no choice.”
Yakov leaned forward, wild eyebrows sinking low over his eyes. “I thought you said it was of your free will.”
“It is both.” I rubbed at my mark absently. “The timing was not by our choice, but the decision was ours. I could have left him, I chose to stay with him.”
I almost jumped out of my skin as Yakov’s hand landed on mine. He pulled my right arm forward and shoved my sleeve back to expose the golden tattoo. He stared for a long moment then abruptly released me as he sat back. “Now that is something I never dreamed to see again. Your Ten is not just any powerful paranormal. He is beyond dangerous. He is a Myrmidon. Full blooded enough to acquire you as his bride. You are bound to each other now. What is his name?”
Habit made me balk. “Please, Yakov, you already know my name. Information I gave freely, but his name is . . . It could be dangerous for you to know.”
“More dangerous than knowing he is a Ten and a Myrmidon who somehow survived the purges?”
I hesitated still. Raz Yakov shook his head. “You came to me for help. I cannot give it to you until you prove yourself willing to put as much on the line as I do simply by revealing my existence to you. You can leave Roma whenever you wish. I, however, cannot. Choose. Is the information you’re looking for important enough to you? If not, keep your Ten’s name and go on your way. I certainly won’t follow.”
The thought of leaving without answers, of facing more nights of confusing dreams mixed with memory was . . . horrible. I hesitated a long moment. I had faced dragon princes and far too many powerful high numbers to get here. Mathias was in the Colosseum because of my need for answers. If I left without any, it would be as though we had taken all these risks for nothing.
“His name is Mathias, and he was once employed by Weard Enterprises. He broke from them to save me so they want to capture or kill him too. That is how I know he will never betray me. The cost is even higher for him, if he gets caught.” The words left me in a rush.
Yakov was silent, almost contemplative, as he considered me then he lowered his head. “So it would seem. Very well, Lauren Hope, you may ask your questions now.”
I gripped my tea tighter, but still didn’t drink it. “I’ve been having . . . dreams. Nightmares really. Or memories. Of my past, of my parents, but they abandoned me as a young child so I don’t understand what I see in the dreams, not really. I don’t know anything about them or about my past, about our people. And I want, no, I need to understand. I need to know about our people, about what was hidden or forgotten after the high numbers turned on us. Please, can you tell me anything of the Spotters?”
Yakov harrumphed. “I fear I know little outside common knowledge. My parents were killed when I was young as well, and I have spent many years pretending to be a Seer rather than a Spotter. It is why I have survived this long. But, I can no longer leave Roma. It is dangerous even for me to leave the hypogeum. I live in the old gladiator school, Ludus Magnus, hidden by the glamour that tells everyone else it’s all ruins now. Two years past, I attempted to leave Roma and was nearly captured by hunters sent by Weard. I dare not leave again. My alliances here, especially with the games officials, keep me protected but not if I leave. Especially not during fight season.”
“I understand.” I set my tea down once more as bitter disappointment crashed over me. It seems even seers can get things wrong. Raz Yakov didn’t hold any keys to unlocking my past, after all. We had taken all these risks and for nothing.
“When I first came to Roma, I was younger and looking for answers to our people’s history. I’d heard rumors that Spotters used to live in a settlement somewhere in Italy. Roma is ancient and likes to hold her secrets so I thought to start here.”
I looked up to find Yakov watching me intently. He cocked his head slightly to the left, the light of the candles flickering across his craggy weathered face in an almost sinister manner. Something completely at odds with the gentleness of his voice as he continued, “I did not find what I was looking for, a repository of sorts. However, I did find a Lore keeper. One who made his life’s study the forgotten and lost paranormal species. He told me that he had learned the history of the Spotters as a race was lost in the ashes of Vesuvius. Not even the Lore keepers could maintain the buried knowledge after so many long centuries. However, with the uncovering of Herculaneum and Pompeii, there is a chance that the knowledge of our people was also rescued. Portions of it in any case.”
“Did you go there?”
Yakov shook his head. “No. I meant to, but that was when the hunters found me and almost killed me when I resisted them. The first time. I tried again two years past, but Weard intervened again and now I am no longer able to go.”
“What if I were to go? To Pompeii. That is where they found the best preserved artifacts, after all. It makes sense to start in Pompeii.” I hesitated, wondering if Mathias would agree to another detour when I was fairly certain he wanted to leave Italy. I glanced at Raz Yakov who was watching me with intense burning in his eyes. He had to want answers as badly as I did. “If I make it there and find something, I will come back to tell you. Perhaps some place without the burning security glamour.”
He nodded. “I cannot meet you very far, and I do not want you to come to my home. I will meet you on the first level of the Colosseum during the day when the tourists are around. Better hiding in plain sight.”
“Yes. Thank you for your help.” I rose to my feet. “I must get back to the other patrons.”
“Your Myrmidon fights?”
I didn’t answer, my mind was already racing. I wasn’t even certain how much time had passed since I left the viewing room in the company of the dragon prince and woodwose. I nodded to Yakov. “Thank you again.”
Then, I hurried out of the room. I could only hope he didn’t take offense that I had never taken a sip of tea. But, the worry over manners didn’t last. I had to find out what was happening with Mathias.
* * *
Mathias
The sand flew as the Lion tumbled past me. I whirled, sword extended. A roar shattered the air as my sword cut a thin line along Atlas’ ribs. I moved back warily, bringing my sword to the fore once more.
Atlas roared again and shifted back into his half-form. His mane shook with the fervor of his next roar. I could hear the crowd’s answering cheers. We were closest to the Caesar side of the arena at the moment. I tightened my grip on my sword as I observed the shifter with cool precision. I could win. Easily. I could win even without killing him. Something slightly more challenging and therefore worthy.
I did not allow myself to sink fully into the cold, not enough to determine whether he deserved to live or die. I knew he worked for a Therian organization. We had been allies once upon a time. There was no reason to look deeper at what the cold offered to reveal.
He charged me. I brought my sword down, and he caught my wrist. I allowed it. I even allowed him to grasp my other wrist and push me back, my feet sliding across the sand. Beneath the sound of the crowd shouting, he lowered his tawny head and growled low. “Let me win, Mathias. Lives depend on it.”
I didn’t answer save to close my eyes briefly in acknowledgement. He knew to make it look good. And, I could not afford to be named the victor in this particular fight. Then I kicked out, catching him in the gut. I kicked again, knocking him on his back, as I wrenched free of his grasp.
I’d already shed my jacket at the beginning of the fight. We had been in the pit longer than usual. The crowd was getting hungry for blood. Now, they would have it. I charged Atlas, and he transformed back into an oversized lion. He dodged my strike, but I cut off a hank from his mane. That would annoy him.
He snarled at me and charged. I leapt to the side, raking the sword down his side but n
ot deep enough to do more than sting. He was fast. I would give him that much. But, there would be only one reason he won tonight. Me.
The lion leapt at me, and I spun away too slowly to escape his outstretched paw. I groaned as hot tendrils of pain raked across my left side. Then, a hard blow landed on top adding insult to injury. I dropped to one knee. This part would not be fun.
* * *
Lauren
The viewing room erupted into groans and curses as Mathias fell to the sand, apparently incapacitated by Atlas. My heart was in my throat. I could hardly breathe as I stared at the mirror glamour. No, no, no! This was a mistake. I never should’ve brought him here. Why wasn’t he fighting back the way I knew he could?
Nausea swept over me as realization burst. He couldn’t. He couldn’t let an entire arena of powerful paranormals, all of whom had long reach beyond Roma, know what he was. He couldn’t fight the way he had in the past. Because . . . Because of me.
Atlas struck him again, punching him in his wounded side once more. My fingers tightened into fists, digging into my palms, as I stared in horror at the screen. Please, Mathias, fight.
I didn’t dare say it out loud, but he never fought back. I watched his head sink into the sand. Then, Atlas roared in triumph as he stood over Mathias’ limp body. He grabbed something, no, it was Mathias’ jacket and tossed it carelessly over Mathias. It covered his face like . . . like a dead man’s shroud.
My stomach turned violently. I couldn’t even think about him being . . . Closing my eyes, I turned my back on the room as the gong sounded. The announcer’s voice was barely audible above the din of sore losers getting into shouting matches. I heard some mentions of dragonborn, but for the most part I ignored it. The announcer named Atlas of Athens the winner and first champion of the Colosseum.
We weren’t allowed to leave yet. Somehow, I found myself sitting on the edge of a seat tucked in the far corner of the room. I suddenly realized there was another fight, but I couldn’t see it over the crowd of patrons. I didn’t want to see it. The image of Mathias falling, of the jacket covering him like a shroud, appeared in front of me no matter if my eyes were open or shut.
I couldn’t show my emotions though. How I couldn’t tell you, but somehow I forced the threats of tears, the apology I wanted to scream, away. I folded my hands in my lap and closed my eyes as though I was merely tired, not scared to death that Mathias had been killed. And, I waited. I waited for the horrible night of the Colosseum fight to end.
* * *
Chapter Eight
Lauren
“He is this way, Signora.”
I followed the satyr, wishing he would move faster. But, I didn’t say a word. I couldn’t speak. If I spoke, they would know he was important and I had already put him in enough danger.
As it was, I still wasn’t entirely certain that I believed the satyr’s assurances that my competitor was only injured. Maybe that’s what they told every sponsor when the death wasn’t obvious in the arena. Maybe he had been alive when they carried him off the sand only to die in the tunnels. I pushed the thought away with the others.
“Not long now, Signora. Our healers have been tending him.”
I didn’t believe him. There was something in his voice, in a barely noticeable hesitation, that screamed out it was a lie. I pushed the rising emotions back down. Now was not the time.
I caught a glimpse of light up ahead and quiet voices mixed with louder ones. Angry sponsors, no doubt, confronting the healers or the competitors. I didn’t bother to listen to them as I continued following the satyr. His cloven hooves sounded loud against the floor as packed dirt gave way to smooth stone. He led me through a maze of white sheets forming makeshift rooms before stopping in front of one. He smiled, something that should have been less cheery, as he pulled back a sheet.
Mathias was sitting on a cot, feet resting on the floor, as he pulled away from a flustered sprite that was hovering with a shot in hand. He finished shrugging into his jacket as he grumbled in Italian, “I said no. I do not need to be knocked out again. Nor do I need surgery.”
Well, there was another lie. I pushed the new flood of emotions battering at my control back once more. I opened my mouth and then closed it, afraid of what I would reveal if I let anything slip out. Mathias noticed me. He offered a faint smile. “Ah, Signora Tilki, I fear tonight was not a victory.”
“Not for you,” I noted coolly. Then, I looked at the sprite. “Is that necessary? I wish to leave, and they will not permit me to do so without him.”
The sprite and the satyr exchanged befuddled glances. I suddenly realized I had lapsed into Turkish and, apparently, these two did not understand me. Mathias couldn’t quite hide his grimace as he picked up his sword. He quickly translated what I had said into Italian.
The sprite lowered the shot though her expression carried her disapproval. “All competitors may leave of their own will, if able.”
“Good. I am able.” Mathias turned his attention to the satyr. “Show us the fastest way out.”
As we followed the satyr, who nearly tripped over his own cloven hooves to accommodate us, I couldn’t help grabbing Mathias’ hand and giving it a light squeeze. He squeezed back before letting go. I glanced up at his bruised and cut face. The matter of Raz Yakov and everything else would have to wait. For a little while at least.
* * *
Lauren
I quietly closed the door behind room service, keeping the collar of my robe closed tight with one hand. After locking the door back, I carried the tray of a café worthy breakfast into the bedroom. Mathias was still sprawled on his back, right arm covering his face. My gaze dropped to his ribs. They were purple and yellow tinged with green today. A week after the fights, and I could still see the long scratches left by the lion’s claws too. Although, those were scabbed over now.
“I told you I am doing quite well.”
“You’re British. Your leg could be falling off, and you would still say that,” I retorted.
“I thought that was because I’m male. Isn’t that what you said yesterday, love?”
I shook my head. He might have wanted me to smile, but I simply couldn’t bear it. His injuries had been absolutely terrible when I finally got him back to the hotel and was able to look him over. “It’s both.” I set the bed tray down across his lap. “You need to eat. It’s cappuccinos and cornettos covered with powdered sugar today.”
“What Italians have against a nice cuppa earl grey, I’ll never know,” Mathias groaned as he lowered his arm.
A faint smile curved my lips. If he was feeling well enough to protest the lack of his favorite tea, he was finally improving. I leaned down to kiss his cheek, careful to avoid the fading bruises. A narrow cut still decorated the bridge of his nose, and his black eye was finally fading so he looked a little more himself today. Perching on the edge of the bed, I picked up one of the cornettos and took a nibbling bite.
“Lauren.”
I lowered my pastry and studied him. He hadn’t been breathing oddly. “Do you need more of the pain medication? We still have another day or two left of it.”
Mathias grimaced. “No. No more pain medication. Dulls my senses too much.”
He had been in so much pain the first two days after the fights, he had needed his senses dulled. I resisted pointing that out, however. He hadn’t quite forgiven me for even getting pain medication from a paranormal healer. Even though I had been careful to walk into the market from a different direction, and to leave by an entirely different route before finally making my way back to the hotel.
“Lauren, we need to talk about what happened with Yakov.”
This time I was the one who grimaced. I had finally told him what happened in the hypogeum. To say he had not been pleased to learn I gave up our names and heritage was something of an understatement. Worse, he had been disappointed.
“Mathias,” I began only to stop when he raised his hand.
“Hear me out, please.” H
e studied me for a moment before sighing. “I am the one who should apologize. I shouldn’t have called it foolish. Secrets like the one Yakov was carrying would naturally require an equal secret to be revealed. You said you felt he was of no danger to us.”
I leaned toward him as I nodded. Placing my half eaten pastry back on the tray, I brushed my hands off before clasping his left hand. Rubbing my thumb against the back of his hand, I stated softly, “Yes. I promise you I never would have given anything up if I wasn’t certain he meant us no harm. His number never changed. He was watching mine too. We remained 3s, which is what Spotters should be based on what I know.”
“Did you ask him about being related to a high number?”
“No. I don’t see how it’s possible. Being a Spotter is a recessive talent so surely whatever talent a high number brought to the child would overwhelm the Spotter talent.” I hesitated then added, “I think the 9 was there to take my mother away. That it was my fault somehow. I just . . . I can’t remember enough to know how other than . . . I think I forgot to be careful about the numbers.”
Mathias’ brows lowered. “You blame yourself?”
I couldn’t quite meet his eyes as I shrugged. “I don’t see how it wasn’t me. Otherwise, why would they leave me? Unless, I made it too dangerous for us to stay together. For them to stay with me.”
“You were only a child.”
I shook my head and offered a trembling smile. “It does not matter. What matters is there’s a chance I can at least find out something about my people.”
“Are you certain?” Mathias waved his hand at me. “You barely survived the unfortunate detour of the games to speak to Raz Yakov. Yet, you want us to go to Mount Vesuvius to poke around in the ash for anything that remains of the Spotter settlement, then you want to bring that information back to Raz Yakov. Why? Why not stop now, and we can go into hiding somewhere warm and tropical and not anywhere near Italy or Greece?”
Hunt by Numbers Page 10
