Assassin's Heart (11 page)

Authors: Monica Burns

BOOK: Assassin's Heart

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Atia’s words hit him like a blow to the side of his head.
Merda
, was the woman that good of an intuitive? No. Cleo. He was going to have the woman’s head on a platter for this. The scarred side of his face ached as the muscles tugged against the thin layer of skin. He struggled to suppress the demon inside him as he responded with an abrupt shake of his head.

“I am in complete control of my abilities.”

“But
not
the emotions that came with the discovery of who you are.”

“And your point being?”

“My point, you stubborn fool, is that it’s time you accept that what happened that night was out of your control.”

“It
was
within my control,” he bit out through clenched teeth. ” I made the decision to go into that building with only three fighters. As team leader, I was responsible for their safety.”

“You made a leadership decision,” she snapped. “And it’s a miracle you survived.”

“A miracle?” he rasped as his wrist ached from the way his fingers dug into his flesh. “Two fighters were tortured to death, a woman was carried off to be a brood mare for those
bastardi
, and that Praetorian son of a bitch who claimed to be my father let me live because he knew it would be a punishment far worse than death.”

“No, he recognized you had your mother’s heart, and not his,” she said with quiet determination. “In letting you live, Nicostratus hopes you’ll surrender to the darkness inside you. Why else would he tell you who he was? It’s a game to him.”

“This is a pointless conversation,” he said without emotion.

“V
a bene.
Just remember that you are
not
your father’s son.” She directed that piercing gray gaze of hers at him. It was a direct command by the Prim
a Consul
. “Praetorian blood might run in your veins, but your heart is all Sicari.”

The reminder was of no comfort. Atia was mistaken. With each passing day, his dark

blood was howling for revenge. The sinister half of him whispered constant words of encouragement, urging him to hunt Nicostratus down and retaliate. Where Praetorians were concerned, there was no Sicari code to adhere to, and his friends would be willing to go after the man with him. But Nicostratus would announce his paternal pride the minute they got within shouting distance of the man. Tension laced through him at the thought. An image of Nicostratus smiling down at him in cold amusement chilled him until he had to suppress a shiver of fear. He shoved the memory back into the hole he’d buried it in more than a year ago.

“Your message said you wanted to ask me something.” He sent her a steely glare to signal the matter was finished. Frustration tightened her lips into a thin line, and she nodded.

“Yes, I wanted to know if you’ve had any strange dreams of late? Moments of strong deja vu?”

Damn, was the woman half Praetorian like him? The Prim
a Consul
knew he’d always been fond of ancient Roman history, but he’d never mentioned anything about his dreams. He danced around the question with an ambiguous response.

“If you’re worried I’m still having nightmares related to my … to that night—don’t.”

“No, I was simply interested in knowing whether you’d been dreaming about ancient Rome.”

The observation made him go rigid. What in the name of Jupiter was the woman fishing for by asking such a question? He knew better than to lie. Atia had this uncanny ability to spot a lie faster than most people could tell one. He hedged once more.

“I don’t see how dreams like that would signify anything.” He shrugged.

“An old legend I know of might convince you otherwise.”

She resumed her perusal of the book in front of her, a frown of concentration furrowing her brow. When she didn’t speak, he folded his arms across his chest and scowled at the woman. It wasn’t the first time Atia had aroused his curiosity with some mysterious comment.

The woman was a master at it where he was concerned. She knew how much he enjoyed digging through history books. If there was something she wanted him to research for her, she just threw him a tidbit to pique his interest before she reeled him in. Well, he wasn’t biting this time. He could play the waiting game as well as she could.

She outlasted him.

“What legend?” he growled with exasperation.

Once again, he’d allowed the woman to play him, and it pissed him off royally. She didn’t look at him, but he saw her struggle to bite back a smile. Her gaze still focused on her book, she waved her hand slightly.

“It centers around Maximus and Cassiopeia.”

“That’s not a new story,” he said with disgust. The carrot had been nothing more than a ruse. For what reason, he had
no
idea. Perhaps for no other reason than she enjoyed teasing him. She raised her head and turned those piercing gray eyes of hers on him.

“It’s an old story, and few but the Prim
a Consuls
know the tale. The legend says Maximus will return to find the Tyet
of Isis
.”

“And what makes you think this legend is true?”

He wasn’t sure where she was going with this story and he was beginning to wonder if he really wanted to know.
Christus
, he was an idiot for having even taken her bait. Her gaze still on him, Atia stood up to face him, a glint of excitement in her eye.

“A number of things have happened over the past year that make me think the legend has merit. Perhaps the most important one is what Emma saw when she touched the Dagger of Cassiopeia.”

“She told me she’d read the Sicari Lord’s coin, not the dagger.” He shook his head slightly in puzzlement.

“She didn’t say anything because she saw something that troubled her deeply.”

Something about Atia’s expression set off a warning signal inside his head. The Prima
Consul
had the look of someone about to spring a trap. He grimaced as he tried to form a plan that would let him leave the room without being caught in the woman’s web. He couldn’t. He was a sucker for a historical mystery.

And it didn’t help that Atia had a way of making the most far-fetched possibility sound almost realistic. He was more than familiar with Emma and her ability. Since formally sealing her blood bond with Ares in front of the Order, she’d read a number of artifacts in the Order’s possession in an effort to find the Tyet
of Isis
. Her visions had been fairly accurate, based on firsthand recorded accounts in the Order’s library. Whatever Emma had seen, Atia was convinced it had everything to do with this story that Maximus would come back from the dead to find the Tyet
of Isis.

“V
a bene,
” he growled at his inability to restrain his curiosity. “I’ll bite for a second time. What did Emma see?”

“She saw Maximus Caecilius Atellus, scars and all.” The Prim
a Consul
arched her eyebrows at him as she offered him a mysterious smile.

“How does she know it was the first Sicari Lord?”

He knew Emma’s gift was an extraordinary one, but he wasn’t sure he was willing to go so far as to believe she’d seen Maximus himself. Images from his own dreams pushed their way to the front of his thoughts, and he shoved them aside. They were irrelevant to the current discussion.

“She knows, because she saw him kill Cassiopeia.”

“
Il Christi omnipotentia,
” he breathed. Emma’s visions often included a great deal of violence, and he knew she sometimes found those images traumatic to watch. Seeing Maximus kill his wife couldn’t have been an easy thing for her.

“I think it was quite troubling for her,” Atia said quietly. “In fact, I think she saw a great deal more than she shared with me. However, she did tell me about an extraordinary image that might interest you.”

She had his full attention, and she knew it. He clenched his teeth as he bit back his desire to ask her what else Emma had seen. Atia arched her brow at him and waited. Patiently. This time he wasn’t going to give in. He glared at her, and she sent him a conciliatory smile.

“Emma said she saw you.”

“Me?” He met her gaze with a frown of amazement. “Why would she see me?”

“She saw you as Maximus.” The quiet announcement was all the more dramatic because Atia didn’t raise her voice. He snorted with laughter as he met the Prim
a Consul’s
calm gaze.

“I know Emma’s gift is strong, but I find it highly doubtful it was me she really saw in her vision.”

“Perhaps, but then how do you explain your dreams of ancient Rome?”

“My dreams have nothing—”
Merda
, the witch had tricked him. He glared at her smug features. “This game is over, Madame
Consul
.”

“This is far from a game.” Atia quickly stood up and crossed the floor to clutch his arm. “I’m convinced it’s a matter of life or death when it comes to the Tyet
of Isis
. I believe Emma saw the truth, Lysander.”

“What truth?”

“I think you already know the answer to that,” the Prim
a Consul
said softly. “Why else

would you be dreaming of ancient Rome?”

Dulcis Jesu
, how in the hell had the woman known to even ask him about his dreams? He’d not told anyone about them. Like some women in the Order, the woman’s strongest ability was her telekinetic power, but he knew she was intuitive as well. How she’d found out about his dreams he didn’t know, and to tell the truth, he didn’t care. The woman had already tricked him into admitting that he had the dreams, but it was one hell of a stretch between those dreams and what she was suggesting. And he really didn’t want to contemplate what she was suggesting.

“You’ve been smoking crack again, haven’t you?” The sarcastic comment earned him a smack on his arm.

“Damn it, this isn’t a joking matter.”

“I wasn’t joking. I’m serious,” he said harshly. He threw off her hand with a snarl of frustration. “You’re playing connect the dots with clouds. You’re trying to make a legend about a man dead two thousand years, my dreams, and Emma’s image from the past all add up in one small package. That’s not truth. That’s reaching for straws.”

“Then answer me this question. When you dream about Maximus, are you Maximus or are you a member of the audience watching a play. Do you ex
perience
the dream?”

“What difference does that make?” he snapped.

“It’s the difference between a past-life experience and just a dream.”

The Prim
a Consul’s
comment slammed into him as he remembered the exquisite sensation he’d enjoyed when Phaedra had sucked—
no
. That wasn’t Phaedra, and it sure as hell wasn’t his memory of a dead woman called Cassiopeia. It was his brain longing for something he couldn’t have.

“Reincarnation?” He snorted again, only this time in disgust. Shaking his head vehemently, he glared at her. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m a half-breed
not
a Sicari.”

“Maximus was a general in the Praetorian Guard before his enemies tried to kill him. And like you, he had both telekinetic and telepathic abilities.”

“I’m
not
him, Atia.” He heard the menace in his voice, but it didn’t faze her. Those gray eyes of hers just studied him with curiosity before she dipped her head slightly in acceptance.

“As you wish,” she said with quiet resignation as she turned away from him. “But the next time you dream about Maximus and Cassiopeia, think on what I’ve said here today.”

He waited for her to say something else, but she didn’t. She just walked back to the table

where her book lay open, sat down, and resumed reading. Odds were she was disappointed in him. Uncertain, he remained where he was, half hoping she’d berate him for not believing. Her silence alone was the clincher.

Atia always shut you out when you disappointed her. Frustrated, he stalked out of the library. The setup in this Sicari facility was much smaller than in Chicago, and he took the stairs down to the next floor. What did the woman expect from him? She was asking him to believe in something he couldn’t see or touch. And her suggestion that his dreams were from a past life-
Christus
—that didn’t sit well with him at all.

His earlier assessment about the possibility that someone needed to verify the woman’s sanity came back to haunt him. Was it possible she really
was
losing it? Whatever the
fotte
was going on, his dreams were off-limits. They were sacrosanct. Because in his dreams, Phaedra was his, and he wasn’t about to share the one simple pleasure he had left with anyone.

The sound of voices floated out of the conference room as he walked down the hallway. He heard Cleo’s hearty laugh, followed by a string of swear words that almost managed to make him smile. The woman had the ability to steal people’s breath away with her beauty then shock them into gasping for air the minute she opened her mouth.

The moment he stepped across the conference room’s threshold, everyone present grew quiet except for the soft rustle of people shifting in their seats. He didn’t even have to look for Phaedra. His entire body was a divining rod pulling hard in her direction. She’d taken the seat directly to the left of his chair at the head of the conference table. His blind side. A deliberate move on her part. Most likely to avoid his gaze, given their exchange earlier.

His mood grim, he slowly walked to his chair, where a file sat on the table. The majority of the team had laptops in front of them, but he had little patience where computers were concerned. With an indiscernible flick of his fingers, the folder at his seat opened to the page he’d marked the night before. Emma’s notes were extensive, but that’s all they were. Notes. They were hunting for a needle in a haystack. A needle that had been missing for almost two thousand years.

When he reached the table, he looked at the file’s top paper then lifted it to review the next page. It wasn’t a necessary action. He’d reviewed the file extensively over the past three days. But playing with the paper served to ease the tension in him, bringing the mission front and center so he could push the rest of his emotions into the darkest reaches of his mind.

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