by Elle Thorne
Marco clenched his jaw. “Fine, but I w—” He doubled over.
Symone knew what that meant. She knew that Alara was pulling Jaron out. And she could empathize with what Marco was going through. It wasn’t fun, having an elemental leave—or enter—your body.
Alara’s eyes twinkled. “You’re welcome,” she told Symone.
“Not cool,” Marco said through gritted teeth. “Was that really necessary?”
Alara took Jaron’s hand. “Greetings. Your presence is warmly received.”
“Thank you, my love.” His deep voice was filled with mirth.
“Traitor.” Marco gave him a dirty look.
Chapter Seventeen
Symone frowned at Marco. “Can we just get to the matter at hand?”
Marco couldn’t believe this. “You know, I have a responsibility to your brothers. To the Circle. To keeping peace between our kinds.”
“I am a grown woman. I do not need you to babysit me.” Her dark eyes flashed with ire.
Marco restrained himself from growling, though he wanted to. This woman was infuriating. So instead, he turned to Alara. “So, what have you two ladies been up to?”
“Girl talk,” Symone interjected snappily.
“Look—” He was about ready to roar at her.
Alara put a hand on his arm. “Please, Marco.”
Marco clenched his jaw.
Alara turned to Jaron. “I brought Symone up to speed. Told her of our history and our wishes.”
Marco saw red. “History?” He turned to Jaron. “The same history that you never shared with me? That history?”
Jaron looked down, then back up at Marco, an apology in his gaze.
Marco scowled at him. “Well?”
No answer.
Marco turned to Alara. “Why have you told her about anything? When no one has shared a thing with me? Me. The one whose mind and body you see fit to enter and depart at will.”
With a chagrinned expression, Alara shook her head slowly. “Jaron was not to tell. None but our own kind were to know of our people and our history.”
“Marco, I couldn’t.” Jaron chewed his lip. “I am bound by my obligations to my people.”
“Funny, I thought I was your people. Have been for quite a long while now.”
Jaron put his hand on Marco’s shoulder. “You are. It is different. Please understand.”
Marco shrugged his hand off. “So why did you discuss your history with Symone?”
Alara looked at Symone. “I wanted her to know she could trust me.”
Symone nodded. “And I do.” She squeezed Alara’s hand.
Marco felt like he was in the dark. “Why?”
Symone made a scoffing sound. “What is your problem with me? Why can’t someone tell me something without you losing it?” She turned to Alara. “I don’t mind sharing with you. I’m more than happy to talk to you. And to Jaron. But I’m not discussing anything with him.” She pointed at Marco, then made an about-face. “I’m out of here.”
Alara glared at Marco, then took off after Symone, stopping her before she’d gone more than a few paces. Out of earshot for most people, but not a man with shifter hearing.
Marco could pick up every word they said.
“Please, Symone.” She took Symone by the hand.
“He’s a jackass. I’m sorry. Let’s continue this sometime. Without him.” This time she didn’t even bother to look at Marco. “Come on, Max.”
Alara pulled on Symone’s hand. “Please. This is so important. Please wait. Right here. Please. Five minutes.”
“Five minutes.”
Alara strode up to Marco, her features resolute, her back stiff. She raised her hand—he thought she would strike him, but instead—one finger was in his face. “Is this how shifters are? Hotheaded? Quick to flare tempers?”
Marco took Alara’s hand and lowered it slowly, saying not a word.
Alara raised a brow. “You are letting your emotions get the best of you.”
“What emotions?” Marco mirrored her expression.
“Oh, now you pretend that you do not have emotions? I witnessed that kiss. I was there.”
He scoffed. “There were no emotions during that kiss,” he lied, even if the only one he was fooling was himself.
Jaron chuckled softly from nearby.
Marco’s head snapped in Jaron’s direction. “You find this amusing?”
Jaron raised a brow. “I saw your reaction. I know it was—”
“Enough.” Marco scowled. “Enough. You are making this worse than it is.”
Jaron put a hand on Marco’s shoulder. “We have been closer than brothers all these years. I know how you feel.”
In Marco’s mind, his panther roared in agreement with Jaron.
Really? Marco chastised his panther. Traitor.
“The hell with both of you,” Marco groused under his breath.
Jaron laughed harder. “I believe your beast agrees with me.”
Marco scowled at Jaron. “I believe he would not take kindly to being called a beast.”
More laughter from Jaron.
Giving Jaron a silencing look, Alara stepped closer to Marco. “It is imperative you do not do this.”
“Not do what, exactly?”
“Antagonize Symone. Destroy the plan.”
“What does one have to do with the other?”
“I believe she can help with the cause. And I like her. Yes, mostly because I like her. Very much. And she has history with an elemental. Not good history. And I want to know what elemental that was. And what happened.”
Marco paused. History with an elemental. This, he would want to know too.
Alara was silent as though giving him time to reflect on her words. Finally, she voiced her demand. “Repair this so we can get back on course.”
Marco looked at Symone, where she knelt, nuzzling that large dog of hers. He exhaled. When did life become so damned complicated?
“I will,” he promised Alara. Then with one final glance at Jaron, he strode toward Symone and the big dog at her side.
Chapter Eighteen
Symone watched Alara and Jaron talking to Marco. More like dressing him down, she thought.
Next to her, Max whined.
She kneeled down. “Really, Max? Is that sympathy you’re feeling for the panther shifter?” she whispered.
Max whined again.
“Seriously.” She put her nose close to his shiny black one. “He’s not exactly the nicest guy in the world.”
Then why did her inner voice tell her she was full of it? Why did she insist on caring what he thought of her?
She put her forehead against his broad, furry cheek. “Whatever.”
She felt eyes on her and looked up to catch Marco taking long strides in her direction. She rose to face him, a challenge in her eyes.
“I, ah, I—seems I owe you an apology. We might have started off on the wrong foot.”
“Maybe because you seem to have gotten up on the wrong side of the bed.” Now, why did I have to go and say that? Sometimes Symone wished she could control her bitch-factor. She chewed on her lip. She wasn’t interested in apologizing and giving him the upper hand, but she did feel bad. Some.
He was silent, appraising her.
She waited. Finally, she gave in and asked a question that was on her mind. “Why are you trying so hard?”
He scrubbed his face, the stubble making a scratching sound. Sexy stubble.
Stop that, she cautioned herself.
“It means a lot to them. I—hell, I’m pissed. Do you know how long Jaron and I have shared headspace? And he’s never told me a damned thing. And now, you walk in, just met Alara, and suddenly—” he snapped his fingers, “you are her confidante.”
“We clicked.” She leaned close to him. “Well, actually I think she needed someone to talk to. To unload her burden.” Plus, it suddenly occurred to Symone, “I think she’d like my help.”
“With?”
<
br /> “Getting a place for her people.”
“And you’d help? Do you think you can?”
“I’d like to. And maybe.”
“Why?”
“Because it feels right. Do you have a problem with it? What’s up with the third degree?” She paused. “Oh, you’d be experiencing quite a change, losing Jaron.”
He was still for a moment as though thinking of it. “I’m not sure that getting him out of my head would be such a bad thing. He’s hell on a love life. A regular cockblocker.”
“Crass, much?”
He had the decency to glance down, an embarrassed look on his face.
“Anyway,” she prompted him. “How would he interfere with you having a girlfriend?”
He raised his gaze and locked eyes with her. “Probably because of his feelings for Alara.”
And what’s wrong with a guy being true to a girl, she wondered.
Then she found herself cheering at Jaron’s actions and curious about Marco’s girlfriend attempts. And if she had to admit it, she’d have to say she felt a measure of jealousy.
“Why don’t you ask them to tell you about their history?” she asked him in order to divert her own thoughts on the matter.
“Why don’t you tell me?”
“I will if they say I can.”
“That’s fair and something I can respect.”
“Thank you.”
“Can we call a truce, at least while we work through all this?”
“Maybe.”
“I’ll need more than a maybe. At least give me more than that.”
“Under one condition.”
“Which is?”
“You have to tell me some of the stories about Jaron’s interference in your dating life.”
He raised a brow. “I’ll think on it.”
“I’ll need more than that.”
He shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “You have my word.”
“Let’s go.” Symone found herself curious about her own actions and motives. “I assume Brigitte showed you to your rooms?” She glanced down at his swimming trunks. “That was where you changed?”
Marco shook his head. “No. A cabana—” He indicated the other side of the beach with a nod. “My bag’s still there.”
“I see.” Brigitte didn’t waste a moment, did she? “Want to get it?”
“Sure. Be right back.”
Chapter Nineteen
Marco—with the newly retrieved bag—walked next to Jaron, behind Alara and Symone. Symone said she would take them to the villa. The same villa he’d yet to see. They were heading up a path, Max bounding out into the trees, then coming back to check in with Symone, every so often, his tail wagging, tongue panting, thrilled with the walk in the forest, oblivious to the undercurrents that seemed to plague the humans.
Marco was increasingly confused by this woman Symone. When he first saw her, his thoughts were something along the lines of “Damn, she’s sexy.” Then she attacked him with that sand serpent, and he thought, “Hell no, she’s a crazy bitch.” Which—come on, truthfully—word had it that crazy bitches were great in the sack, but that wasn’t something he’d be privy to. Not with the life he led with the constant efforts of Jaron to keep him something damned close to a celibate monk.
Marco would’ve laughed out loud, but instead, he grimaced inwardly, because, for Pete’s sake, he wasn’t willing to rile up that woman again. So, he’d gone from thinking she was sexy—she still was, he had to admit—to thinking she was crazy. She might just well be, he conceded. To now, well, now he just plain ol’ wanted to get to know her better. There was something about her. Clearly, Alara saw that “something,” because why else would she trust her?
Symone was just the perfect blend of woman and alpha—hell, she wasn’t even a shifter, and yet, she had alpha coming out of her very pores. But there was something else. Something he was attracted to, something he wanted to get to know better, and something he didn’t want to let go of.
He caught Jaron watching him.
Marco gave him a forced smile, and was happy that this time Jaron wasn’t in his head.
Symone glanced back. “We’re almost there. We’ll slip in the back, in the basement. The villa’s on a mountain—”
Marco knew that, by damn, his calves were protesting the hike. “You live in the villa?”
“No. I have a separate home.”
Of course, she did. That, he should have expected. She didn’t seem like the sorority type, pajama parties, makeup applying sessions, and whatever else it was girls liked to do. More and more, she did remind him of Circe. In certain ways.
“Anyway,” Symone continued, “the back door we’ll be taking is semi-hidden, and no one uses it.” She gave them a secretive smile. “Mostly because I’m the only one that has a key to it. When we go in, we’ll be heading down.”
“Down where?” Alara asked.
“I’ll tell you more when we’re inside. And have complete privacy.”
Mysterious, Marco thought. And why didn’t that surprise him, Symone being mysterious?
She closed the door behind them. “Welcome to the Circle’s southern hemisphere home. I’ll give you a tour later. For now, it’s best if we keep away from prying eyes. Trust me, the others are a curious bunch. No telling what type of skills they’d use to try to glean answers about why you are here.” She pointed to a door on the right. “That leads to our destination, via a root cellar.” She pointed to the left, where there was a wall carved of the stone. “That leads to the Library of Archives.”
Marco did a doubletake. But said nothing.
Alara gave him a look. Clearly, she was as curious as he.
Jaron, on the other hand, had intertwined his fingers with Alara’s and didn’t take his eyes off her.
Symone knelt and moved a small shelving unit aside, pulled on a lever that was almost imperceptible tucked into the wall. A grating sound heralded the opening of a doorway that wasn’t much more than a hatch. She put the furniture back into its place, concealing the lever.
“Down there?” Alara raised a brow. “No one else knows of this place?”
“Yes, the stairway will lead us to the Archives. No one else knows.”
Symone took three hurricane lamps and a box of matches. She struck one, the smell of it infiltrating the area, and lit the lamps, and handed one to each of them. “Come, Max.” She looked up from the dog. “Best he goes with us, else it will make others wonder since he never leaves my side.” She made her way down into the dimness.
Once they’d all gone into the stairway, she reached across Marco, her fingers not faltering as they found the second lever and she pulled the door closed behind them.
Marco didn’t tell her that he didn’t need the lamps’ light to see where he was going or where he was. There was no need to mention that because her witch skills clearly didn’t encompass the supersensitive vision of shifters.
They walked down a long winding stairway carved from rock, going deeper and deeper underground into the belly of the mountain. He had questions. Did he ever. Like where was this place? Who built it? How was it that no one else knew about it? But he determined he’d wait until they reached a stopping point.
Wherever that point is.
Patience was definitely not one of his virtues as Jaron had always reminded him.
They reached a landing in the stairway. The steps continued, going ever lower, it seemed, but Symone stopped here. “This is it.”
Alara looked around. “What is it? This?”
A large door, one of iron—or steel—it seemed, was to the side.
“A door? A door with no handle?” Marco frowned.
“There’s a handle.” Symone placed her hand on the wall, where a plate twice the size of an outlet was inset at chest-level.
She closed her eyes and murmured a few words foreign to Marco. And judging from the perturbed look on Alara’s face, foreign to her as well.
A handle eased ou
t of the door.
“Magic?” Marco asked.
“Absolutely.” Symone smiled. “This is a sacred area for my people.”
They entered a room. Symone took the lamp and lit a long fireplace match, then traveled from spot to spot, lighting lamps on cornices on the walls.
They beheld the sight before them. A library. Floor to ceiling shelves with tomes of several sizes and from the scent in the room, various ages. A large table of a dark mahogany wood that was scarred and besieged with areas where melted wax had lightened the wood. The table had eight chairs, clearly hand carved and equally ancient.
“What is this?” Alara’s tone held the awe that Marco felt.
There was something else he felt. He didn’t know what it was. His panther informed him of it. The room thrummed with the power of… of what? Magic, he supposed. It was old and ancient magic.
Alara nodded at Marco. “I feel it too.”
“As do I,” Jaron agreed.
“This is where we keep history. Annals, chronicles.” Symone pointed to a corner. “Even scrolls.”
She went from shelf to shelf, wall to wall, her fingers trailing. “Alphabetical. It’s organized. Not by me, by someone before me.” She tapped a shelf. “As, Bs, Cs.” More finger-trailing from shelf to shelf. “Ms, Ns, Os.” A few more steps, another wall, more fingers tapping on shelves. “Ws, Xs, Ys, Zs. Here it is.” She pulled a book from a shelf at waist level. She held the volume with both hands. Bound in faded leather with yellow—or was it gold—lettering.
Alara stepped closer first, Jaron right behind her, still holding onto her hand. Marco imagined if that was the love of his life and he’d been separated from her for several lifetimes, he’d do the same thing. He trailed them and stepped next to Symone, looking over her shoulder at the slim book.
Symone held it up, so they could all see. “It’s almost empty. There is nothing much here. Says the Zimoshi are an ancient people of magic. That they can control elements. And they’re now extinct.” She chewed on her lip. “This needs to be filled in, doesn’t it?”
Marco grunted. “It’s not the only one that needs to be filled in. Think someone wants to bring me up to speed?”
