Loki's Game (9 page)

Shaking her head, Lily turned her attention back to her monitor, only halfway paying attention to the words there. There was too much going on…too many things happening at once, and not enough thought processes available to make them all make sense. She picked up her coffee cup and took a long drink as she continued to read.

Tribal Markings

Every pure-breed shifter carries markings, which not only signify his or her original clan, but can give an inkling of true age. The markings often appear as tattoos, which spread with age, and remain visible even when in animal form.

Lily thought about the fluid, intricate lines crisscrossing the majority of Rowan’s body, and shuddered. Thin tendrils reached toward his face, one of the only unmarred areas of skin on him. If the passage was correct, he in truth could be well over six-hundred years old. And the way each black line curved over his skin, the way the thinnest of those lines reached out above his ear toward his eye…

Growling, Lily closed the website down and punched the monitor off. It would do no good to remain on the topic of his body…of Rowan at all. She had to get a grip on herself, and do it fast.

She was all too ready to move on when a knock at her front door startled her into nearly dropping her coffee cup. Muttering curses under her breath and smacking at the drops of brown liquid staining her nightgown, she stalked across the room and snatched open the door. The receptionist from Rowan’s office stood there, holding in one hand the keys to her car, and in the other a clipboard.

“Sign this,” Lurch said in the same curt, efficient manner he’d used at her interview, and thrust the form into her hands. It was a release for the keys.

“Um, thank you,” she said as he dropped the keys into her hand and stalked away without another word. Standing in her robe on her doorstep, Lily looked at the ring of keys then at her car in the driveway and sighed. Disappointed that Rowan hadn’t brought them herself, she gave herself a sharp mental slap. Wanting him and doing the best thing for herself seemed at this point to be polar opposites. He exuded danger. And mystery. She mentally slapped herself again. It was much easier to ignore his second nature when she was in the room with him but then again, he’d said he would let her make the decision. And sadly, as she looked across her front yard and down the street at her quiet neighborhood, she knew that her answer would have to be no.

With time and persuasion it could be something different, but without his presence the odds weren’t good that she would get the persuasion she so desperately wanted.

* * * * *

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” Lily gasped as she rushed through the door of the office. “There was an accident and I didn’t have the phone number.”

“That’s quite all right,” the receptionist said brightly. “Miss Reynolds will see you now.” She stood with a perky pop to her shoulders that made Lily want to retch. “This way.”

She exhaled a deep sigh and tucked a wayward strand of hair back into her ponytail. Lily hated feeling so unsteady, but truth be told she’d been so busy feeling sorry for herself that she’d nearly forgotten the appointment only an hour later. She remembered at the last possible second and thrown herself together, running out of the house like her rear was on fire.

The receptionist led her to an austere office, decorated in clean lines with little in the way of non-functional furniture.
Not at all like Rowan’s building,
she thought, and mentally kicked herself again. It seemed to be a running theme.

The room might be cold, but it felt safe.

“Lily Redway,” the woman behind the desk—who, with her school-marm chignon, coldly matched the room—said as she stood and extended her hand. “I am Carolyn Reynolds.”

“A pleasure.”

“Have a seat.” Despite her looks and efficient speech, she seemed friendly enough. Lily sat stiffly on the chair, a thin smile straining her face. “I am sure you understand that this job is a temporary contract. One of the Gallery’s benefactors needs a curator for his private collection, which must be cataloged and cased for a two-month show to begin in exactly four weeks.” Lily felt sick. Her throat tightened and her heart thumped like it had lead weights in it. Surely it couldn’t be… “Loren Eshu asked for only the best,” Carolyn said, and Lily’s body unlocked gratefully. It wasn’t Rowan. But…

“Loren? Since when does he have a collection?”

Carolyn raised one neatly manicured eyebrow. “You know him?”

“I do… He was a member and donor at the Gallery. I knew he was an art lover, but I never would have imagined him the type to want a private show.”

“He has a highly impressive collection, and quite frankly, Lily, you are the only plausible candidate I have. Can you start tomorrow?”

Lily closed her eyes and took a deep, calming breath. Little by little she pulled her thoughts together. Of course it wasn’t Rowan. Those sorts of coincidences didn’t happen to people like her, and Carolyn seemed like the last woman on earth to keep company with a man like Rowan. At least Loren would be a familiar face. Not the job opportunity of a lifetime, but those only came along once in a lifetime…and she already passed hers up.

“Of course,” she said calmly. “I’d love to.”

“I understand the collection is in disarray, and that quite a bit of it may require restoration, but I am certain you can handle it.” Kudos. Awesome. Warm fuzzies spread through Lily from the praise of the woman she’d met in person only ten minutes earlier. She knew the name of course…Carolyn had been the one to sign the papers terminating her previous job.

“I can,” Lily assured her. Maybe this job would help prove that the closing of the other gallery was premature. “I enjoy a good challenge.” The icy woman cracked a small, brittle smile in response, and Lily knew when Carolyn turned her attention to the computer that she was dismissed.

“Tina will give you the information.” Carolyn’s attention then focused on the papers in her hand. They were done, and the door behind her cracked open quietly.

“Thank you,” Lily said, backing out of the room, and received no response.

* * * * *

Lily’s mood on the drive out of town was one of utter confusion. She found herself ecstatic over the job, but beneath the happiness was a hard ache. She missed Rowan, and that reaction alone disturbed her. She’d never had such a reaction to someone before, never craved contact like she did with him. She suspected she was in trouble the first time she saw him. Then he had essentially proposed after forty-eight hours. It wasn’t that Lily was afraid of commitment…she was afraid of that sort of commitment. Too fast. Too overwhelming.

She might have had a chance of putting the thoughts out of her head, but a traffic detour took her past his home, where he was leaning out a second-floor window. Shirtless.

Lily winced, jerked her wandering gaze back to the road, and prayed he hadn’t seen her. If he tried to contact her—she glanced at her cell phone lying on the seat next to her—it would be over. Luckily—or unluckily, depending on how she looked at it—it never rang and she escaped the city limits with her dignity intact.

But not her heart.

She wanted him in the most primal of ways—as any woman would want a gorgeous man—and without the animal in front of her she found herself believing it all just so she could have him.

“You’ve lost it, Lily,” she told herself, and turned the radio up as she pulled onto the highway. The newscasters had taken over her favorite station again, this time talking about something that seemed totally unreal. “You really have lost it, girl,” she said out loud as she listened to the reports of black panther sightings in the area.

“Well, Bob, I never thought I’d hear of panthers in this area.”

“Too right, Stacey,” Bob laughed. “The last time panthers came to this area, they went home with their tails between their legs.”

Stacey groaned. “Bad sports analogy, Bob.” Lily echoed the sound and punched the radio button to turn it off. The past forty-eight hours were full of weirdness…the last thing she needed was to look out her back door and think she was staring into the eyes of an African jungle cat.

* * * * *

Rowan spotted the little car long before it reached the street in front of him. Just the glimpse of her face through the windshield—conflicted as it was—made his heart do a back flip. She saw him, of that he was certain, and beyond his vision he could feel her moving closer, like she was already in his blood. The compelling need to meet her at the door overtook him, but he remained rooted to the balcony with every shred of determination he possessed. Rightly so, as she continued past and he realized his wishful thinking would get him nowhere.

Chapter Eight

To be prepared for Loren Eshu’s collection would have meant being prepared for Loren himself. Lily remembered him well. He was friendly enough but in a reserved, cool way that was so different than Rowan’s open warmth…and his looks were a stark contrast. Where Rowan was tall, fair, and broad, Loren was smooth and slender, with little definition beneath his silk shirt. His hair was shaggy and black, but gelled back into place, and his angular face clean shaven. His brown eyes sparkled with wickedness. He was roguishly attractive, but something about him kindled a spark of reluctance in her.

Intimidating
was the first word that came to mind when she looked at him. He was frightening, but not in an obvious manner. Loren had a fierce look about him; dangerous. His features betrayed a sly insanity, and she knew that behind his lips lay a sharp tongue. But the charming smile on his face dazzled the thoughts right out of her head.

Lily stumbled around awkward reintroductions, following his lead while trying to ignore the curious way he watched her. She then followed him through his home into what looked like a ballroom. Artifact cases lined the walls, stuffed so tightly with items that she could scarcely make out what was in each. They were surrounded by stacks of boxes, each marked with a different symbol. She recognized none of them. It also looked as if he had just moved in.

Loren’s collection, while vast, was an epic disaster. Like Rowan’s collection, it was filled with unique and bizarre artifacts, but it was not clean and organized. Also unlike Rowan, she realized as she glanced around that the majority of visible pieces were weaponry.

“My grandfather was a war buff,” he said to her questioning gaze.

“Interesting.” She lifted a spiked flail from a musty box. “If he loved these things so much, why didn’t he take better care of them?”

“He did… I’m afraid they’ve been shuffled from place to place since his passing, and I haven’t had much time to give them the love they need.” He looked her up and down, and Lily suppressed the urge to shudder. “Which is precisely why I’ve hired you.”

“Well, you probably should have hired a restoration crew first… Some of this stuff is going to need professional care.”

“I am sure,” he said, crowding her personal space past the point of comfort or propriety, “you are more than capable of handling my things, Lily.” The Loren she remembered was not this forward. The way his dark gaze slithered over her skin made her nervous, and she struggled with the urge to run from the room. The double entendre also seemed out of character for him. “I can’t for the life of me understand why such a beautiful woman would confine herself to stacks like these.”

“It’s a living,” she replied, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear and turning away from him, “and I love the history.” She couldn’t look at him anymore. It was too odd, and Rowan’s leaving was still too fresh in her mind.
He didn’t leave… I didn’t call him,
she told herself, but that only made the separation hurt more. “I have to admit, my specialty is more of the oil and watercolor nature,” she said, still forcing her hair behind her ears as she paced across the room, “but I think I can handle this.”

“Your husband is a lucky man,” he said coolly. Lily paused, tension tightening her shoulders and back.

“I’m not married,” she offered with great reluctance.

“Boyfriend?”

She paused; refused to look at him. “I was seeing someone.”

“Was?”

“Past tense.”

“A shame. He doesn’t know what he had.”

How the hell could he know that? She’d known Loren Eshu in more than just a casual way for a grand total of an hour. Of course, she’d only known Rowan a few hours before she’d crawled into bed with him…and look where that got her. Her luck with rich eccentrics seemed to have run aground. However, she wasn’t going to make that mistake again, no matter how charming this man might be.

Still, Loren tried and Lily continued to gently rebuff his advances, citing that recent split. It wasn’t entirely false…she had decided not to contact Rowan. His…problems…were a little too much for her to deal with, she told herself. Of course, the more she thought about it the more like a strange dream it all seemed. Plus, she felt the driving need to prove herself as professional to her new, albeit temporary, boss without the possibility of padding her résumé with his affections.

* * * * *

Lily threw herself into her work with a grateful vigor that surprised everyone around her. She liked having something to do—it kept her from thinking too much about…certain people. Plus, having the steady predictability of cataloging a collection gave her distraction from the fact that in the three years she’d lived in Savannah she had yet to secure more than passing acquaintances, and from the constant focus of Loren, who, to her dismay, never left the room, watched her with unnerving interest, and who appeared to greatly enjoy making her squirm.

Planting the millipede under her purse was evil. She was certain he knew it when he did it, but he seemed so delighted by her shriek that he was absolutely unrepentant when she rounded on him and unleashed a tirade that rivaled the fury of Hell. He simply draped one arm around her shoulders, squeezed her, and told her he’d never spring another millipede on her again. He leaned in like he would kiss her forehead, but she quickly ducked out of his grasp and stuffed her head into one of the many boxes.

It wasn’t that he was unattractive. He just…well, he was her boss first and foremost, and she reminded herself every time the thought cropped up. He was her employer, and she had a job to do. And her heart simply wasn’t ready for another…

Correction.

A relationship
. Not another. A relationship.

Growling, Lily flung her notebook to the table and thrust her hands into her hair. Every single thought in her head always circled back around to Rowan-freaking-Keir. Even Loren’s collection took her back to him.

“Is there a problem?” Loren’s voice cut through the silence, its sarcastic edge tearing at her already raw nerves. Lily pasted a smile on her face and turned to him.

“No…not really,” she lied, and wiped her hands on her jeans. “Only that you have a massive collection in horrible shape and your constant hovering is making me nuts.”

The bastard laughed at her. “Forgive me for being interested in the future of my collection,” he replied with an amused snort. She scowled at him. “Of course, the future of my collection could be much more secure if…” Lily held up a hand to stop him.

“I appreciate the flattery, but I do prefer to work alone,” she said, trying hard not to be short with him.

“I was only going to say that it would be more secure if my temporary employee would agree to migrate to my full-time payroll.” Her blue eyes snapped up to meet his dark, nearly black ones, and her jaw felt like a broken hinge.

“Full-time?” she stammered. “Like, permanent?”

“Of course. Granted, I am certain I could come up with a list of perks that might make the job seem more worthwhile.” She didn’t like the way his features curled, or how his whole demeanor became dark and possessive.

“L-let me think about it,” she replied, and shrank back toward her work. “And I do work much better undisturbed.”

Even after the rebuff he continued to smile. “I will take the hint,” he said, and backed away, “for now.” Lily snorted and turned back to the table and her laptop, trying to appear calm and collected despite the chill settling in her stomach. As he left the room, she realized that the work before her was not complex enough to keep her imagination entirely busy.

The similarities between Loren’s collection and Rowan’s played heavily on her mind. Both contained artifacts thought to be lost to history, and spanned centuries. She wondered briefly if they’d been collected in the same manner…

That was ridiculous.

Nobody was that old. Besides, Loren didn’t have the markings…that she could see. Come to think of it, she’d not seen Loren in a short-sleeved shirt, much less without one. Her curiosity piqued, Lily found she couldn’t turn her brain away from her mysterious employer. There was one certain way to find out if he had the tattoos, but she wasn’t willing to sacrifice her dignity to find out. Granted, he was attractive enough that she might give up a little heavy petting…but no matter how she tried to imagine herself in his arms, the face atop the body always morphed into Rowan.

Plus, the thought of Loren’s hands on her felt wrong.

And she was imagining things. It dawned on her that she’d put so much stock into that stupid website that she was using it as a basis for comparison between her former lover and her current employer. Lily set her teeth hard against the growl rising in her throat and went back to scribbling notes on her list.

She threw her pen down and breathed a sigh of disgust. He’d just offered her a full-time spot on his payroll despite the constant physical objectification. Of course, Rowan had done the same thing right before bedding her, so she couldn’t split hairs there. Well, not technically. The difference was that from the first moment she’d laid eyes on Rowan, she’d wanted to climb him like a tree, or play doctor, or anything that would involve one or both of them naked and in compromising positions. And for that, she’d had her safe little world ripped open, and despite the fact that she’d been the one to do the leaving—or rather, not calling—it still frustrated her to no end that she couldn’t get him out of her head.

* * * * *

A week into her new job, Lily’s attention was pulled away by Loren’s excited hand at her wrist. “I found something you need to see,” he said, and tugged her to the far corner of the room. Standing amid a band of staves was a sheathed sword. The weapon stood taller than she, its hilt beginning even with her nose and ending nearly a foot above the top of her head.

“A claymore?” she asked as he pulled it from its place. He leaned it into her hands, where she was surprised by considerable weight. When it shifted, she nearly dropped it. “The work is beautiful, but I’ve never seen anything like it. What’s the origin?”

Loren smiled and lifted the weapon easily. With one hand he lifted it and removed the sheath. The blade glistened. It looked brand new, save the stain at its tip. The metal appeared to have been dyed black.

“You are looking at a weapon of the gods,” Loren said, his voice quietly reverent. “Gram, the Dragon-Slayer.”

Gram.
She’d heard that name before, but she couldn’t remember where.

“Dragon Slayer?” she asked. She tried not to sound disbelieving, but it didn’t work so well. “Where does it come from?”

“This sword was forged on Regin’s anvil a hundred lifetimes ago. The old world saw it in the hands of Sigurd, Asgard’s most beloved hero.”

“It’s Norse?” she asked. Loren nodded.
Rowan.
This was his area. Odd, she thought, how after years of loneliness, the two men she had found herself in close contact with had the same fascination. Inwardly shrugging, Lily wrote it off as a funny coincidence. After all, loads of people enjoyed mythology. “And you’re telling me this sword was used to slay a real dragon?” Loren smirked at her, his dark stare twinkling with mischief.

“It is Norse…but even I have a hard time believing it’s the real thing. My grandfather owned it for years. He swore it was real, but I’m willing to bet it’s a replica.”

“So you’re saying the sword was real at one time, and someone made a copy of it?”

“Well,” he hedged, trying to wipe the smile from his face, “I’d like to think it could have been. I’d like to believe this could be the sword that Loki himself fought to take from the humans.”

Lily laughed. She couldn’t help it. “Are all millionaires as kooky as you? Or is this special just for me?” Loren rewarded her with a grin, and sheathed the blade again.

“I do try to entertain,” he replied with a flourish, and leaned the sword back into the corner.

“You’re really fascinated by the gods, aren’t you?” she asked, as she moved back toward her work station.

“I’ve studied them for years,” he said. “The big rumor in my family is that we’re descendents of a god.”

“Really?” she asked, her interest piqued. “Which one?”

“Eshu…the African trickster.” He moved toward her. “My grandfather said that’s why our last name is what it is…in homage to him.”

“Now that is interesting. And it certainly explains your penchant for playing pranks on me.”

Loren chuckled and leaned on the table. “That’s my way of showing you how fond I am of you. That, and the offer. Have you considered it?”

“I have…”

“And?”

“And I still don’t know. Is it all right if we wait until this showing is over before I make that decision?”

“It is…” he trailed off, his gaze still fixed on hers in a way that made her feel like he could see straight into her soul. “And now that you’ve humored me, perhaps I can be of assistance as you move through this mess. I know what most of it is. I just can’t tell you exactly
where
everything is.”

Lily liked the sound of that. “I’d love your assistance, especially if it makes my job easier.”