by Jenna Black
Not that impressive a guess, considering he’d pretty much predicted it earlier. “There wasn’t really any asking involved.”
Anderson sighed. “No, of course not. Konstantin considers his desires to be everyone else’s commands. Is he still trying to court you, or has he begun making threats yet?”
“I wouldn’t even have met with him today if there hadn’t been a threat involved.” My heart constricted with fear for Steph. “He’s threatened to let Alexis … hurt my sister if I don’t do what he wants.”
Anderson hesitated a moment before answering. “I didn’t know you had a sister,” he said. “If she’s still alive, it’s only because Konstantin thinks he can use her to control you for the time being. He won’t allow another Descendant—even a Descendant of Artemis—to survive when he can harvest her immortality for one of his pets. He won’t destroy you as long as you’re useful, but your sister…”
“Steph and I aren’t related by blood,” I clarified. “I’m adopted.”
“Ah. Good. Otherwise, all your family members would be in danger.”
Yeah, I’d already figured that out. But if Konstantin was going to use Steph against me, I had no doubt that he’d be just as happy to threaten my adoptive parents if he thought that might make me more pliable. I could only thank my lucky stars that they were out of the country and out of his reach, at least for now.
“If I do what Konstantin wants, he’s going to kill anyone I track down for him. Right?”
“Yes. He always makes his purges of Descendant families as thorough as possible, but sometimes people slip through his fingers. I suspect he’s worked up detailed genealogies of all the families he’s ever identified and has extensive lists of people he’d like to locate.”
“He gave me a list of three.”
“Trust me, that’s not even the tip of the iceberg. He’d rather present you with a short list and try to lull you into a sense of complacency than let you know that once he’s got the leverage he needs, he’ll set you to tracking down hundreds of people for him to kill.”
I winced. “Hundreds?”
“At least. The Olympians have been around a long time. Konstantin has been their leader since the early fifteenth century.”
I felt momentarily dizzy at the concept. I was finally getting around to accepting that the Liberi were immortal, but it was still hard to absorb the idea that I’d talked to a man who’d been alive since before Columbus discovered America.
“He was bent on destroying Descendants even then, though of course it was a lot harder before the days of modern transportation and computerized records. But just think—if he missed a family member in one of those Descendant purges back in the fifteenth century, how many Descendants might that person have running around today?”
I saw his point. And I once again saw that I couldn’t do what Konstantin ordered, no matter what the risk. I blew out a frustrated breath. “Listen, I need your help.”
“Oh, do you now?” he responded, and there was no missing the calculation in his voice.
“You keep trying to convince me you’re one of the good guys,” I forged on. “If that’s the truth, then you won’t let Konstantin and Alexis hurt an innocent woman, right?”
He thought about that a long while before he answered. “I hate to sound like a mercenary. But I can’t forget you’re the woman who killed Emmitt and shot Blake. I’m not a hundred percent sure that you’re one of the good guys. I’m sure your sister is a lovely woman, and she doesn’t deserve whatever Konstantin has threatened. But why should I stick my neck out for her when you’ve been so terribly … disobliging?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do.” I swallowed the lump of anger that rose in my throat. He had a point, and I knew it. He wasn’t even fully convinced I hadn’t killed Emmitt on purpose, so there wasn’t any particular reason for him to feel kindly toward me. That didn’t mean I had to admit it.
“I’m sure that’s very clear-cut from where you’re standing, but from where I’m standing … not so much.”
“So that’s it? I didn’t fall at your feet and adore you after you threatened to torture me, and therefore to hell with me? And to hell with Steph? If that’s the way you feel, then why the hell have you called me about a billion times?”
“I didn’t say to hell with you,” Anderson responded quietly, his calm making me feel like a child throwing a tantrum. “I was explaining why I’m not going to help your sister unless you give me something in return.”
I guess it had been foolish of me to hope that Anderson would help me out of the goodness of his heart. It sucked that I wasn’t in a position to tell him where to shove it.
“What do you want?” I asked through gritted teeth.
“I want you to find someone for me as well, but I promise it’s not for nefarious purposes.”
Too bad I didn’t have a clue what Anderson’s promises were worth. But I also didn’t have a whole lot of options.
“Who?” I asked, trying not to sound as wary as I felt. “And why? And please don’t give me the runaround the way Konstantin did.”
“I won’t. But it’s rather a long story. Perhaps you should come to the house so we can talk in person. I’ll make dinner, and we can have a civilized conversation.”
“We can have a civilized conversation anywhere,” I countered, not at all anxious to set foot in the mansion again. The place didn’t exactly fill me with warm, fuzzy memories. “If you want to make it a dinner meeting, choose a restaurant.”
He hesitated a moment before answering. “If we come to an agreement and I am to protect your sister, then you will have to come live here. My … arrangement with Konstantin is that he will not harm those who live under my roof or the families of those who live under my roof. It’s not a perfect arrangement, and he wouldn’t hesitate to break it if he thought he could get away with it, but it would provide your sister a great deal of protection.”
As usual anytime I had a conversation with one of the Liberi, I had about a million questions. However, they were all drowned out by my outrage.
“You want me to come live with you?” I cried. “Are you crazy?”
“Perhaps so,” he said drily. “Offering you my protection won’t be my most popular decision ever, but this is my house, and my rules.
“At least come have dinner with me. I promise you’ll have safe passage, even if you and I can’t agree on a single thing.”
I shook my head, though of course he couldn’t see. “Why should I believe you won’t just shove me back in that basement jail of yours the minute I show my face?”
“You’re asking for my help. What good is that if you trust me so little?”
Reality check time. I couldn’t protect Steph on my own. Sure, I could warn her that my problem-client had threatened her, and she could hire some security. But I couldn’t warn her without having to give her an explanation of the threat. If I told her the truth, she’d never believe me. If I made up an explanation that left out all the supernatural stuff, she’d insist we call the police. And even if I thought of a way to overcome those obstacles, who was to say human security would be able to protect her? I had no idea what Konstantin and the rest of the Olympians were capable of.
But Anderson did.
“All right,” I said reluctantly. “I’ll come to the house. But you’d better guarantee you won’t let Blake or Jamaal near me. I catch sight of either one of them, and all bets are off. Got it?”
It was an empty threat, of course. We’d already established that I needed Anderson’s help, which left me very little bargaining power. But Anderson didn’t press the issue.
“I’ll make sure you don’t run into them,” he promised.
That didn’t make me feel a whole lot better. Anderson might be the leader of his people, but they hadn’t so far shown themselves to be the most obedient lot.
“Would seven o’clock work for you?” Anderson asked. “Or do you need more time?”
The
sooner we got this over with, the better. “I’ll be there at seven.”
“I look forward to it.”
Too bad I didn’t share the sentiment.
ELEVEN
Having been suddenly turned into an immortal caught between two warring factions of the Liberi Deorum, I hadn’t exactly had time to deal with the mundane challenges presented by having my car totaled. I had a suspicion that wasn’t going to be changing anytime soon. My car had been towed, but I had no idea where or by whom, nor did I know how Anderson had explained the accident. He’d have had to offer some explanation, right? I mean, there was blood all over the place—both mine and Emmitt’s—and I didn’t imagine a wrecker service would haul the car away without any questions being asked.
If I thought there were any chance of going through legal channels peacefully, I’d have called my insurance company about the accident. They might even have reimbursed me for car rental. As it was, I decided that at least for now, I would ignore the whole problem. I rented a shiny new silver Taurus, then drove out to Anderson’s mansion in Arlington.
Renting the car had taken less time than I’d thought, so I was a little early. The warmer weather of the last couple of days had melted all the ice, but I couldn’t help the chill that ran down my spine when I caught sight of the iron gates at the head of the driveway. A big part of me longed to turn the car around and just go home. Pretend none of this had happened. Pretend Steph wasn’t in danger, and I was just an ordinary woman.
Shoving down my disquiet, I lowered my window and hit the button on the intercom outside the gates. I wasn’t sure what to say, but apparently silence was good enough. Moments after I hit the button, there was a faint buzzing noise, and the gates parted. I dried my sweaty palms on my pants legs as I waited for the opening to be large enough to drive through.
The visibility was a lot better today than it had been the last time I’d navigated the twisting driveway that led to the house. Even so, I drove like a nearsighted granny, my hands clutching the steering wheel way too tightly. My heart rate jacked up as I fought against the memory of driving through the sleet. When I rounded the final curve and hit the straightaway, I slowed to a crawl.
Everything had happened so fast the other night that I couldn’t really say where the exact spot was that Emmitt had suddenly appeared in the middle of the road, nor where his body had lain when I’d crawled out of my car. My headlights illuminated gouges in a couple of trees beside the road—the trees that I’d plowed into. My stomach lurched, and for a moment, it as was if I were living at both times simultaneously. I could have sworn I smelled blood and scorched rubber.
I brought the car to a complete stop, then lowered my head to the steering wheel and closed my eyes, forcing myself to take slow, deep breaths. My head was spinning and my skin was clammy with sweat. I wondered if I was having a real live panic attack. Obviously, I had yet to deal with the horror of that night, and I wished I could have told Steph about it. She wouldn’t have been able to say magic words to make it all better, but just the act of talking might have eased some of the pressure inside me.
After a while, my heart rate slowed to something just a little faster than normal, and I no longer felt like I might pass out behind the wheel. Cautiously, I raised my head, half-expecting to find sleet clattering against the windshield. But no, the sky was clear. The past was back in the past where it belonged, at least for now.
Blowing out a deep breath, I put the car in drive again and proceeded to the house. I parked in a circular drive that surrounded a decorative fountain, then got out of the car, my legs still a little shaky from my brush with panic.
As I’ve mentioned, the house was easily big enough to be termed a mansion, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if it turned out to be a renovated pre-Civil War plantation. The front door was framed by a series of columns and featured a porch that was bigger than some houses I’d lived in. A cluster of elegant outdoor furniture formed an almost cozy seating area on one half of the porch. The other half featured a whitewashed swing and several dozen potted plants, all of hearty varieties that could survive a Virginia winter outdoors.
Anderson was waiting for me on that swing, one leg curled under him, while his other foot pushed on the porch floor just enough to create a little motion. He was dressed in a pair of faded denim jeans and a navy blue sweatshirt, his feet tucked into sneakers that had seen better days. The casual, comfortable outfit seemed almost out of place with the majestic mansion in the background.
Moving slowly, as if trying not to alarm me, Anderson rose to his feet. I had to admit, I felt extremely wary. If he’d made anything I could have interpreted as a hostile move, I’d have been running for my car in a heartbeat. But he kept his distance, and even stuffed his hands in his pockets for good measure.
“What happened out there?” he asked, jerking his chin toward the driveway.
I felt the blood rush to my face as I realized he’d been sitting here watching while I had my little panic attack. If I wanted Anderson to think of me as a tough chick he didn’t want to mess with, I wasn’t exactly going about it the best way.
I licked my lips, then regretted the nervous gesture. “I couldn’t help … remembering,” I said, because I had to say something.
Maybe I was just seeing what I wanted to see, but I thought there was a softening in Anderson’s expression. “Why don’t you come inside,” he beckoned, heading toward the door. “It’s a little chilly out here.”
At that point, I was eager to comply. If I was inside the house, I wouldn’t be able to see the spot where I had killed Emmitt, and maybe I’d be able to keep the memory at a more comfortable distance. I forgot to be wary as I hurried to cross the threshold while Anderson held the door open. Luckily, there was no mob of angry Liberi waiting to jump me, or I’d have blundered into them blindly without even a hint of a fight.
The foyer was everything you would expect in an enormous mansion. The floor was of intricately patterned green marble, and the walls were decorated by oil paintings that might well have been the work of grand masters—I’m not enough of an art aficionado to tell an imitation from the real thing. There was even a crystal chandelier that looked like something right out of Phantom of the Opera.
If Anderson took any particular pride in the grandeur of his home, he didn’t show it. He barely seemed to glance at the house, or notice my reaction to it, as he led me through room after elegant room until we came to a huge state-of-the-art kitchen.
The rooms we had passed through on the way to the kitchen had all been pristine and formal, almost like they were more for show than for actual living. The kitchen was a different story. It was as large and well-appointed as any other room I’d seen, but there was no missing the signs of habitation. A couple of dirty cups in the sink. Some crumbs on the counter near the toaster. A walk-in pantry crammed with a disorganized array of boxes and cans and bags.
The air was rich with the smell of spices, and I saw a huge vat of something simmering on the stove. I couldn’t be certain, but it smelled a lot like chili. My stomach grumbled its approval, and my mouth started watering. Who’d have thought the leader of a group of such powerful immortals would cook chili for dinner, just like an ordinary single guy? I bet neither Konstantin nor Alexis had ever let such peasant food cross their lips.
At one end of the kitchen, there was a breakfast nook, surrounded on three sides by windows looking out onto the back lawn. A butcher block table occupied the nook; Anderson had laid out a couple of place settings there. An open bottle of wine breathed in the center of the table.
“Please, have a seat,” Anderson said.
I was strangely glad he didn’t try to pull out my chair for me. Both Konstantin and Alexis were such stuffed shirts I couldn’t help appreciating Anderson’s more casual manners. I sat down while Anderson gave the pot on the stove a stir.
“I hope you like chili,” he said. “It’s about the only thing I can cook that anyone other than me would willingly p
ut in their mouths.” He shot me a self-deprecating smile over his shoulder.
“Chili’s great,” I assured him. “Can I help with something?” I asked, belatedly remembering my manners. Then I was surprised at myself for asking. Ever since I’d first met him, I’d been considering Anderson an enemy, or at the very least an antagonist, but over the course of just a few minutes, I seemed to have dropped my guard entirely.
“No, no,” he answered. “One of the advantages of chili is that all I have to do is scoop it into a bowl. Strictly a one-person job.”
He got a couple of bowls out of one of the cabinets and generously ladled in the chili. Then he reached into the oven and pulled out a foil-wrapped bundle, which turned out to be cornbread. He put the bowls and cornbread on a couple of plates, then carried them into the nook and set them down. The chili smelled heavenly.
“Don’t worry,” Anderson said, one side of his mouth curling up in another of his wry smiles. “I didn’t cook the cornbread, so it’s safe to eat.”
The meal was surprisingly pleasant. We didn’t talk about the Olympians or Emmitt’s death or what either faction wanted from me. Instead, we talked about the kind of trivialities that almost reminded me of the getting-to-know-you part of a first date. We learned we were both Redskins fans, and I was appropriately jealous to discover he had season tickets. He had typically male tastes in movies—action flicks good, anything remotely mushy bad—but showed no hint of the veiled sexism I’d seen in Alexis and Konstantin. He didn’t even make a face when I admitted I liked romance novels. And, unlike Jim, the Date from Hell, Anderson showed interest in what I was saying and didn’t try the steer to conversation toward himself.
If it really had been a first date, and nothing had come before, I’d have said I had a good time. Too bad it wasn’t a first date.
Observing Anderson’s “cult” in the days before I’d joined the ranks of the Liberi, I’d noted that although he served as their leader, Anderson had a remarkably laid-back manner. That manner was very much in evidence tonight. I kept reminding myself that Anderson was dangerous and not to be trusted. I even forcibly reminded myself of the way he’d hurt Jamaal, and the way he’d threatened to hurt me. But it was hard to reconcile that memory with the man who sat across the table from me, chatting amiably and smiling easily.
