Protector of the Flame (31 page)

“I’ve often wondered what he was like when he was younger.”

“Reckless, full of rebellion and had a horrid temper, but age has done a fine job of mellowing his disposition.” Elianus had a rich bass voice that resounded from deep within. Listening to him made her think of smooth jazz and dark chocolate. “A great conflict has raged in his heart since he was a youngling. He always wanted to leave House Herut, whether it was a longing born in his soul or adverse seeds planted by the Council’s affection, I don’t know. The harder they worked to garner his love, the more they drove him away.”

“Is that why he left?”

“He never felt the calling to serve Herut. Wanderlust pumped in his veins. He often imagined stumbling upon his
kabashem
while traversing a mountain or in the crowded streets of a foreign city. When he left, it was Constantine’s greatest fear that he would have a Whitescape while away and never return.”

“Cyrus said Constantine told him he was certain he would return one day.”

Elianus scoffed. “Constantine believed if he found you on his journey of self-discovery during those wild years that Herut would have lost him forever.”

As they lingered by the railing of the open air outlet near her door, Serenity contemplated his words. A slip of silver moon hung high in the sky. Streaks of charcoal-colored clouds obscured the stars.

“You were with him in Panama?” She already knew the answer.

“Yes.” He stared out into the evening, burly, six-five frame tensing. His nutmeg arms were at least three times the size of hers, his neck strong and veined like a tree trunk, his head smooth as a polished eggshell.

“What was Abbadon’s sister like?” To mention her name would have flooded her stream with ire, sharp as razor blades.

“Have Cyrus and Abbadon never discussed Lysandra?”

Her gut churned. “Once, the night she killed Cassian. But all I know is the monster she became calling herself Artemis, not the woman that spent time at his side and in his bed.”

He folded his arms and lowered his head. “You should address your questions about Lysandra to Cyrus.”

“You swore to keep him from all harm if possible.”

The affront shone clearly in his eyes. “I would do anything to protect you both.”

“I haven’t brought it up with Cyrus because it would cause him unnecessary pain. You could spare him that with a few simple answers.”

“Abbadon has sent her on to the afterlife. This shouldn’t weigh on your heart and mind.”

But it did. If Cyrus had been the one to take Lysandra’s head, there’d be no need for such a discussion. She rested her forearms on the railing and clasped her hands. “Did Cyrus tell you I was living with someone when he found me, a human?”

“He spoke of Evan Wade.”

“Cyrus was curious and wanted to meet him. Hell, he even went so far as to become his client.” She met his gaze, hoping to see a shred of empathy in his dark brown eyes. “I want to know more about the woman who had him first. She had great love for him, I think. She must’ve to strike at his heart with such vengeance. All I know is the beast, and nothing of the beauty that captured him.”

Elianus gripped the railing. “She was steady and adroit, much like Abbadon,” he began softly, recalling days more than two hundred years ago. “A lovely fountain of patience, well-versed in poetry and philosophy, and quite adept with a sword.”

Her pool of energy bubbled, but she focused on control. The image of Lysandra flashed in her mind. Even with a patch over one pale blue eye, she had been gorgeous: blonde tresses the shade of moonlight, porcelain skin, a shapely figure and full breasts far larger than she would ever have. “How did it start?”

“I don’t believe he was prepared for her charms. She was a beauty, but it was her wit and candor that I think enticed him. At Herut, everyone had an agenda where he was concerned. Although they had genuine love for him, they also knew the power he’d one day wield. Lysandra asked nothing of him. He found it refreshing.”

“But it went beyond friendship.”

“Yes.”

“Did you condone it?”

“No, but not for the same reasons as Abbadon. It didn’t bother Abbadon that it was his twin sister Cyrus bedded. It was the violation of Herut’s precepts. For me, I didn’t like the way he treated her. Even as it started Cyrus knew it would not last and did not care. I couldn’t condone his use of her as a diversion to quench his curiosity or as a means to prove that Herut wouldn’t rule him. It was unworthy of him.”

“Did he love her?”

Elianus stared at her, wariness in his eyes. A static charge clipped the edge of her hungry energy stream as she connected to Elianus’s pool. He looked startled by her question and forced connection as she siphoned energy.

“I cannot tell you what was in his heart. I can tell you that she had Cyrus the boy while you have the man.”

His words and the connection to his stream put her at ease. Her agitation faded and a sense of harmony oscillated in her pool.

“Their relationship has haunted him every day since, a cataclysmic
bêtise
that bound him to Herut through disgrace. Herut would have preferred he returned out of love, but they were willing to take him any way they could.” Compassion reflected in a glimmer of his eye. “It isn’t wise to be a friend to one’s charge. It can cloud the judgment and endanger their life. He called me after he brought you to Valhalla. In the weeks that passed, I heard a change in him and knew your union could sunder him from Herut. After your injury when he stayed at your bedside, waiting for you to wake, I would’ve staked my life that he would’ve walked away from us to live a free life with you.”

“Would you have hated him if he left to be with me?”

“I…” he shook his head, “…no, but I’m certain a great many wouldn’t have understood. I pray for redemption. He need not be under the roof of Herut for that to happen. But it matters not now, for in the end Herut has won.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t trouble yourself with jealousy over a ghost. It is Herut that shall encroach upon his time and affection now.”

Elianus bade her goodnight.

With a heavy heart, she returned to her room and watched Cyrus sleep.

She was jealous. Jealous of a ghost. Jealous of Herut and of anything else that kept him from being completely hers.

A mistress she could incinerate with a plasma ball. Only two bullets to the gut had stopped her from trying to do as much to Lysandra.

But his House had a claim on him long before she’d even been born.

Cyrus was her sun and moon, but she couldn’t ignore the painful fact he was indeed the north star of Herut. A burden, a sacrifice, a destiny he didn’t want any more than she did. He’d rather be just a warrior and simply live his days with her at Valhalla, free.

Freedom was the true gift of being
advenuati
. Despite the chasm between her and Sothis, she could never repay her mother’s shrewdness in giving her a life without the shackles of a House.

First, they had to break this curse and put an end to the insanity threatening their lives.

Then, she and Cyrus could try to find happiness somewhere in between duty and honor.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Serenity bopped to the tune of DeVotchKa’s “You Love Me” playing in her head. She missed her iPod, which was long dead, on her morning runs and while painting.

Her shoulders shook to the beat of guitars as she mixed a dab of yellow daffodil with ochre oil paint. Humming the lyrics, she swayed side to side.

“You’ve been quite lively these past few days,” Neith said from her wingback chair.

“Hmm. I suppose I have.” She spun in a circle, humming.

“This is the second painting you’ve started. Do you think you have it right this time?”

She shrugged, focused more on the music in her head than Neith’s question. The ancient beauty’s soul remained elusive. For some reason, she couldn’t capture it.

“You’re still leeching.” Neith fanned herself with the peacock feather.

Leeching had become a daily practice. Even though she drew on Cyrus, it wasn’t enough. Her body always craved more. Energy bubbled light and bright as champagne in her core. Hunger drove her to stay full, saturated with the life force of the others and the more she pulled the more euphoric she became.

“I’m working on it. I’m plugged in and giving back.”

“It isn’t balanced. The flow must be even.”

She wiped her hands on a rag. “I’m going to go get water. Do you want anything?”

“My portrait finished. And you far away from my energy stream until you’ve achieved balance.”

Once cleared from the eye line of Neith’s doorway, she skipped and danced down the library hall to the beat of the music in her head. She refused to acknowledge the curious stares of the historians.

The sound of castanets came in after the bridge and she mouthed the lyrics.

Adriel rounded the corner from the walkway wearing a T-shirt, jeans and flip-flops.

Her heart leapt.

The shirt revealed sinewy arms. Denim caressed his long legs, highlighting their well-developed shape. Although he had the face of an angel, in that moment, she saw nothing angelic about him. He was all man—sexy muscle over long limbs.

She skipped to him, humming and twirling her hands. His face brightened with a wide grin. She waltzed into his arms and he gave a quick, tight hug.

“I’ve never seen you in ordinary clothes.”

His black T-shirt had a faded cartoon spaceman and rocket ship. Although it seemed silly, it suited him. With the music playing in her head, she danced around him in a full circle, carried on a whimsical cloud of joy fluttering through her bubbling energy stream.

He laughed. “I only wear them on the mainland. I’m about to go shower and change. I reek, so you’ll have to excuse me.”

Serenity sniffed his chest—citrus and fig. “You don’t smell.”

His cheeks blushed to the color of strawberries. “You’re too kind,” he said with his renewed New Zealand accent. “I’ve worn the same clothes for two days and perspired dreadfully in the plane, but I couldn’t wait.”

She brought her face close to his as if ready to exchange a top secret message. “Wait for what?”

He held up a large white paper bag and dangled it.

She snatched the bag and turned around to open it as she walked back into the library. He draped his arm over her shoulder and peered inside along with her.

“Chocolate!” she gasped with delight. There were six different kinds of candy bars and four boxes of assorted gourmet chocolates. Her energy stream ebbed from the collective and surged behind her in a gush that made her dizzy.

Adriel cupped her shoulder to steady her. “Are you all right?”

The dizziness passed as her stream merged with Cyrus’s. Holding up the bag, she looked over Adriel’s arm to show her
kabashem
the chocolate goodies. “Look, he—”

In whiplash speed, Cyrus closed the distance between them and struck Adriel in a fierce blow, knocking him from her side.

Adriel soared through the air across the room. His body slammed against the heavy bookcase, his head cracking against wood. Rows of papyrus scrolls slid to the floor in a deluge.

“Why was he touching you?” Blustering fury raged in her mate.

Cyrus ripped the bag from her hand and glanced inside. He snatched her elbow and dragged her to the bookcase.

“Don’t ever touch her again! Do you understand?” Cyrus threw the bag of chocolates as Adriel fumbled to stand.

Her heart pounded in her ears and she shuddered under Cyrus’s touch. Adriel was a thorn in both their hearts. She let another carefree moment of weakness slip away from her control, but the interaction had been innocent and in public. Cyrus was and always would be the one true anchor keeping her from drifting into oblivion, the shining light in the darkness, her reason for living. Surely, he had to know. “What’s wrong with you? Have you lost your mind?”

He stared past her as if he didn’t see her at all, as if he only saw his anger and the source of his contempt. Adriel.

For the first time, she feared her
kabashem
and what he could do with his immense power and dark strength if unleashed. And that fear was a tight fist in her throat. She looked down at his tightening grip on her arm, the pain intensifying. “You’re hurting me.”

Cyrus let her go, the taut muscles in his neck uncoiling, the bulging veins softening.

Adriel finally wobbled to his feet and wiped blood from his mouth.

“Are you okay?” Serenity asked, not daring to go near him. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t ever apologize for me!” Cyrus pinned her with a ferocious look that stole her breath. The blaze in his Black Dragon eyes burned even hotter, setting them aglow. “I should have killed him. If he touches you again, I’ll crush his fucking hands.”

She stared at her husband, but an enraged stranger glowered back. He never came to the library to see her. Why today of all days, and at that moment? “Why are you here?”

“I need a reason to see you?” A white-hot burn crackled through their merged energy streams raking through her.

This roiling cauldron of rage was her fault and she seemed to keep making it worse. She reached for his chest to comfort him, to soothe the savage within before more blood was shed, but he smacked her hand away.