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Authors: Monica Burns

BOOK: Assassin's Heart
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“Yes,” he growled. “You?”

“No, because I’m trying to understand how you can say you love me, and yet you don’t want to blood bond with me.” She raked her hair back off her forehead and glared at him in frustration. “I think I know why you don’t want children. You’re afraid you’ll pass on some terrible gene of Nicostratus’s to any child you father, but me? If we take precautions, why would sealing the blood bond be a problem, unless … having children isn’t what you’re really afraid of, is it?”

“Take care, c
arissima
. This isn’t a path you want to tread.” His gaze narrowed at her, and his beautiful green eye was a hard gem.

“And why is that? Could it be you’re worried you’re somehow going to infect me with that Praetorian blood you have in you?”

She saw how her words exacerbated the strength of the tic in his cheek. She’d hit the target. He hadn’t come to terms with his Praetorian half, and he didn’t want to drag her into his personal hell. She loved him all the more for wanting to protect her, but she wasn’t going to let him get away with it. When he didn’t answer her, she shook her head slowly.

“Bonding with me will
not
send me over to the dark side.”

“It’s not up for discussion.” A deep, rumbling growl echoed out of his chest as he turned away from her and stepped toward the door. Damn it, she hated it when he walked away from her or a problem between them.
“Then there’s no point in us staying together, is there?” The question made him come to a dead stop. His features unreadable, he turned his head to look over his shoulder at her.
“Not if you’re going to insist on something I can’t give.”
The cold, inflexible note in his voice sent her reeling. Her bluff had failed. He’d give her up rather than give way on the blood bond. She swallowed hard. Could she live with him without that commitment? Could she accept it without resenting him for not loving her enough to take that extra step and overcome his fear? The fact that she didn’t have an immediate answer scared her. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, he was gone.
Deus
, she wanted to deck the hardhead. She quickly braided her hair into a single plait then sat on the bed to pull on her boots. Finished, she buried her face in her hands, trying not to cry. She understood his fear, but she didn’t know how to help him overcome it. The torture he’d endured at Nicostratus’s hands had changed him in ways she’d not comprehended until now.
She’d always known the emotional torment of that night had stayed with him. But how was she supposed to make him accept he wasn’t responsible for the Praetorian blood in his veins? How did she make him understand that he was the sum of
all
his parts not just one piece? It wasn’t his Praetorian side that defined him.

He was convinced that his relationship to Nicostratus made him part monster. And she

was convinced it terrified him. Well, the one thing he wasn’t factoring into the equation was her. If he thought she was going to give up on the two of them without a fight, he was wrong. She’d given up the last time. She’d walked out of the hospital that night more than a year ago without fighting for the two of them. This time she wasn’t giving up so easily.
Somehow, she’d make him see reason. She’d find a way to help him see past the fear and to conquer the demon he thought resided in him. The resolve in her gaining strength, she got to her feet and left the bedroom. The empty living area of the suite said he’d already gone to see Atia. She tightened her jaw with determination. Quite soon now, Lysander Condellaire was going to find out that his Sicari heart was stronger than his Praetorian blood.
She left the suite and hurried down to the study Atia had made her temporary office. When she arrived, she saw Lysander seated in one of the chairs opposite the Prima
Consul
. Without saying a word, she simply crossed the room and sat down next to him. Atia’s gaze narrowed on her.

“Lysander tells me the two of you have been dreaming about Maximus and Cassiopeia.”

“Yes. We compared notes, and it appears we lived”—she shot a glance at Lysander, whose face remained emotionless—”might have lived as the first Sicari Lord and his wife.”

It was the first time she’d referred to Maximus in the manner most Sicari would refer to the ancient Roman general. Beside her, Lysander stiffened. The emotions running beneath his cool facade made her swallow hard. Saying he wasn’t happy with her comment would be an understatement. Atia nodded, a pensive look on her face.
“Lysander has some misgivings at saying you’re the reincarnated couple.” Atia arched her eyebrows at the two of them. “What do you think, Phaedra?”
“If we’re not, then how do we explain the dreams? Mine are lifelike in their imagery, and I believe Lysander’s are just as vivid.”
“There are other possibilities.” Lysander cleared his throat. His response made Atia frown. She immediately reached for an aging, leather-bound book on the table to her right. Carefully, she turned the pages of the thick volume until she found the spot she was looking for and turned it around to lay on the table in front of Lysander.
“Sometimes the most improbable becomes the obvious. Read it,” she commanded. He leaned forward as she pointed to a passage in the book. When he began to read to himself, Atia stopped him. “Out loud, please.”

” ‘When the Sicari Lord is Mars to the Nazarene’s tem
plum
, the search for the Tyet
of Isis
will be won only if he accepts the truth Somnus shows him, and to regain what he’s lost, he must be prepared to use his lady’s dagger.’ “

Phaedra leaned forward to look at the book, and her arm accidentally brushed against Lysander’s. An electric shock raced up her arm at the touch, but when she glanced at him, there was nothing on his face to reveal that he’d even noticed the slight bump. Was he already starting to shut her out? Lysander looked up at Atia with a puzzled frown and shook his head.

“Is this the prophecy that Atellus has been citing for the past couple of weeks?”

“No,” Atia said quietly. “This is something only a Prim
a Consul
has access to, although I’m certain this is what Prim
a Consul
Julius Marchio used to create his version of the Sicari Lord’s prophecy. This was written by Tevy. He gave it to the first Prim
a Consul,
Antonius. I only show it to you because of who you are.”
At the mention of Tevy’s name, Phaedra froze. Tevy was the tribune who’d served under Maximus. If Lysander hadn’t been convinced he was Maximus reincarnate before, she was certain t
his
would change his mind. She turned her head toward him. His features were devoid of color, and he looked as though someone had dealt him a numbing blow.

“Tevy?” he choked out in a harsh whisper.

Without thinking twice, Phaedra reached out to him with her senses. It was like hitting a wall of darkness. He knew she was reaching out to him and was intentionally keeping her out. But it didn’t hinder her ability to feel the bleak horror he was struggling with. Atia eyed him carefully as she nodded.
“He survived the Battle of Milvian Bridge, along with another officer. Both of them served under Maximus after Octavian denounced all of Maximus’s followers as Sicari. The second officer, Crispian, was instrumental in saving a large number of Sicari from Octavian’s persecution in the days after the battle,” Atia replied, her expression filled with gentle compassion.
In a violent move, Lysander was on his feet, the chair flying through the air to crash against the bookcase on the wall behind him. Fear crested over his angelic profile as he backed away from the table. It was easy to see just how pale he’d become, because the scarred portion of his face still retained a small amount of color due to the pink muscles beneath the thin layer of scarred skin. Concerned, Phaedra started to stand, but Atia forestalled her with a wave of her hand.
“Pick up the chair and sit back down, Lysander.” The calm, soothing sound of Atia’s command echoed quietly through the room.

The silence in the room vibrated with tension, and the Prim
a Consul’s
gaze didn’t waver from Lysander’s face as she waited for him to obey her. Dismay had replaced his fear as he slowly did as he’d been ordered. Seated once more in front of the table, he leaned forward, arms on his knees as he cupped the back of his head in his hands to stare at the

floor.

“Knowing you as I do, Lysander, I am sure this is not an easy thing for you to accept. For the past year, you’ve believed yourself unworthy to be called Sicari. But I know differently. Your heart is Sicari, and you are the Sicari Lord Tevy wrote about in this prophecy.” Atia tapped the page of the book.
Instinctively, Phaedra stretched out her hand to lightly touch the back of his head. His body flinched at her caress, but he didn’t try to avoid her touch. After a long moment of silence, he sat upright to meet Atia’s sympathetic gaze. His features composed with a stoic expression, he looked at the Prim
a Consul.

“Even if I accept this idea that I’m … I’m Maximus. This”—he swept his hand in the air over the book—”doesn’t make any sense at all.”

“If you break it down, it makes perfect sense,” Atia said. “Mars was the son of Jupiter. You are the son of Nicostratus.”

“Nicostratus isn’t a god.” Lysander’s icy words were a harsh rejection of her explanation.

“No, but he represents the Collegium within the Church, the Nazarene’s tem
plum
, which in many circles is representative of a god.”

“Don’t you think that’s a bit of a reach?”
“Is it a reach that Somnus is the Roman god of sleep and that dreams are his domain? Tevy says that Somnus will show the Sicari Lord the truth. The dreams you and Phaedra have had are a clear indication of the connection the two of you have with Maximus and Cassiopeia.”
“And the dagger? Exactly what does that part of the prophecy mean?” A thin veil between acceptance and denial layered his voice.
“Emma never told you this, but while she was at the estate in White Cloud, she had a vision when she held Cassiopeia’s dagger.” Atia hesitated then continued. “She saw a man who could have been your twin holding the dagger.”
If she’d not been convinced before, she would have been now. Phaedra looked at Lysander’s still stoic expression. A quiet resignation vibrated off him that revealed more than his expression did. He drew in a harsh breath.
“And what do you suggest we do with this … information?”
“I’ve sent for Cassiopeia’s dagger. I want you to carry it with you at all times.”

Lysander paled again and shook his head. “If you’re expecting me to use it on her again, I

won’t.”

Phaedra started at his emphatic statement. He’d spoken as if he’d already used the dagger in the past. He believed. He finally believed. Her hand reached for his, and in an instant, his fingers were crushing her own. She didn’t protest. How could she? He was dealing with so much. Even she was having a bit of an adjustment with the reality that she was Cassiopeia reincarnated.
But she hadn’t fought the idea like he had. Hearing it confirmed had been a slight shock, but it had not stunned her in the way it had Lysander. The moment he’d heard Tevy’s name had been the moment he’d accepted the truth. Her fingers began to ache, and Lysander’s grasp immediately eased as if he’d read her mind, but he didn’t let go of her hand.
“I think you’re meant to use the dagger to save Phaedra. Then again, the prophecy might be telling us that you’re to use it against Nicostratus. Who, if I’m correct, is Octavian reborn.” This time, they both stared at the Prim
a Consul
in amazement, and she smiled slightly. “You seem surprised.”

“How could you possibly have known?” Phaedra shook her head.

“It’s quite logical, actually. The man is second only to the Monsignor, and Gregori is growing old. Nicostratus is the real force behind the Collegium now. It makes sense that those who were with you in the past are with you now.” A mantel clock on one of the bookshelves chimed the quarter hour. Atia picked up the book and headed toward the door.
“I believe you have a briefing to lead in a few minutes, Lysander. I think we’re quite close, perhaps only hours away, to finding the Tyet
of Isis
. When Emma shares her research about the plate you found at the Circus Maxentius, I think you’ll agree.”
The Prim
a Consul
disappeared through the door, leaving them alone. They sat together in silence for a long moment before Lysander released her hand and stood up. He crossed the floor of the study to stare at the Sicari icon carved into the wood between two bookcases. As she watched, his fingers traced the sword intertwined with the chakram.
“Are you all right?” she whispered.
When he didn’t answer her, she went to him. Without speaking, he pulled her into his arms, the scarred side of his face buried in her neck. The confusion pulsating out of him made her heart ache. He’d been through so much in the past year, and now he was coming to grips with another shocking revelation. But this time she was with him. He
straightened to look down at her, and she lightly caressed his scarred cheek. A shudder ran through him.

“I love you,” he rasped. “No matter what happens, I want you to remember that.”

“If you’re worried the past is going to repeat itself, it won’t.”

Despite the confidence in her voice, a shiver raced down her spine, and she swallowed the lump of fear rising in her throat. He didn’t agree or disagree, he simply kissed her. The heat of him warmed her, eased the dread that chilled her.
His mouth was firm and hard against hers. It wasn’t a kiss of desire or passion. Her senses opened up to him and recognized the kiss was an expression of all the emotion in his heart that he couldn’t speak to her. As he lifted his head, she clung to him, suddenly terrified at the last bit of unknown she’d tasted in his kiss. She didn’t know what he was planning, but she was certain she wouldn’t like it.

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