Shadow Blade (22 page)

She blinked in surprise,
then
had to tamp down a sudden burst of anger. Given his history, she could understand his reluctance to view artifacts that might remind him of the life he used to have. That didn’t explain the heat in his words, though.

“There’s nothing wrong with museums or zoos. Archaeologists dig through the past in order to preserve it.”

“If they wanted to preserve it, they should just leave it where they found it. Let the dead stay buried.”

“But there’s so much we can learn! For all that we know
,
there’s so much more that we can only guess at. You yourself said that few people are aware of history as they live it. When archaeologists come along and discover these things,
it’s
treasure to us. More than treasure, it’s almost sacred. We get down on our hands and knees and scratch through decades and centuries of dirt and muck not because we want to put these things on display, but because we want to understand, because these things matter to us, these lives matter to us.”

He sighed. “Look, I’m not trying to belittle your profession—”

“And I’m not trying to belittle your history. Most of which is lost to us, if you don’t mind me saying so.” She reached behind him for the silver transport case and pulled it into her lap. “Some of us think it’s important to understand who we were and where we came from.
To learn from the past in order to understand and face the future.
Even those who have no clue what their past is.”

“Kira—”

“I understand that it’s hard for you. I just thought you might appreciate the museum’s efforts at preserving your history. Just wait here; I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes.”

She got out of the SUV quickly, crossing the walk to the bridge that would take her to the Carlos. Embarrassment and a little hurt burned her cheeks. She thought she was doing a nice thing for him and he’d snapped at her instead. Last time she’d try to be nice to the Nubian.

Her step slowed as she crossed the bridge to

South Kilgo Circle

and the pale marble buildings that ran along the southeast side of the quadrangle green space. The Michael C. Carlos Museum sat between Carlos and Bowden Halls, with the Woodruff and Candler libraries forming the top of a T. Usually she loved the old trees and rolling hills, especially in afternoon sunlight, but Khefar’s reaction bothered her more than she wanted to think.

She supposed she should be more understanding. His whole purpose for existing was to rejoin his family in the afterlife. Until then, he probably wanted no reminders of his former life. Seeing the Carlos’s collection of Egyptian mummies and funerary objects as well as Nubian artifacts would only remind him of how far from his own world he really was. When he’d mentioned feeling at home in Cairo, she’d jumped to the wrong conclusion—ancient artifacts weren’t a comfort to him.

Kira hadn’t been back to Venice since Nico died. She’d told herself it was because her Shadowchaser duties kept her from returning. The truth was, it was too painful, even all these years later.
Especially now, with the wound of Bernie’s death still raw.
No photos, no TV shows, no movies—anything that mentioned Venice had been excised from her life. If Venice was like that for her, what was seeing lifeless exhibits of preserved relics and remains like for Khefar?

She quickly dropped off the cleansed pre-

Columbian artifacts with the assistant
curator,
then returned to the main floor. She thought about doing a quick run through the African and Egyptian sections to see if there was anything in the collection that might pique the Nubian’s interest,
then
changed her mind. She didn’t like being pushed; she was sure Khefar wouldn’t like it either. Instead she headed for the door.

Something caught her eye, a flash of dark movement. She turned away from the entrance, making her way through the Greek and Roman sections and up the ramp that showed the path of the Nile. Veering right, into the Egyptian coffin room, she found Khefar staring at an ornate wooden sarcophagus from the Ptolemaic period. He’d dressed all in black today but the color suited him, just as he seemed to fit this place.

Kira stopped beside him, remaining silent for a moment. “I’m sorry for pushing you into something you didn’t want to do.”

He smiled at her. “Do you really think either one of us can push the other into doing something the other doesn’t want to do?”

“Good point.” She relaxed, ridiculously pleased that the strained awkwardness between them had passed.

“You were right, Kira,” he said then. “It’s a nice collection. I’m glad I came in.”

“Me too.”

Khefar gestured around the room. “Is this where you work?”

“No. They already have a very established Egyptology department. I just do freelance stuff for the Carlos and other museums and private collectors, along with some independent research. Did you make it up to the top level where the Nubian and sub–Saharan Africa exhibits are?”

“I did.” For a moment his lips thinned. When he turned back to her, his expression was carefully neutral. “You promised me a workout. You’re not trying to get out of it, are you?”

She could have gotten whiplash from the abrupt change of topics.
“ ’Course
not. I’m ready if you are.”

They stepped back out into the afternoon sunlight. He started out down the quad back the way she’d originally come. As they reached the bridge, she asked, “Was that painful for you, seeing the exhibits?”

Khefar stopped, hands gripping the bridge railing. “Not as much as I thought it would be. It could be because my hindsight is extremely clouded and many of my memories have looped back onto each other and are no longer clear. Some, however, are as sharp as the day they happened.”

Kira didn’t have to ask which memories he meant. “Do you still remember them?”

He grimaced, staring over the side of the bridge to the creek below. “I’ve tried to remember their faces so I could have them painted and carry them with me always, but their images have been lost to me. Merire was my wife and she gave to me Henku, my firstborn, and Seneb, my youngest son, and Meri, my daughter and just as precious. Seneb was but three when they were taken from this life.”

She didn’t think about it. Kira just reached out, wrapping her gloved hand around his biceps, stopping him. He turned to her, surprise filling his eyes. She wondered if her expression mirrored his. She never impulsively touched anyone, but he needed the comfort and she felt driven to give it to him.

“Khefar.
You have their names. Remember, as long as you can speak their names, they live.”

He stared at her for a long, unfathomable moment. Then he lifted his free hand, covered hers. A brief squeeze, then he let go, digging into his front pocket to hand her the keys. “I parked this way.”

She followed him to the SUV without a word, but the silence was a good one.

The Shadowchaser was an amazing piece of work.

Khefar changed into shorts and a T-shirt in the men’s locker room, but his mind was focused more on Kira than on turning his shirt right side in. Kira had been so put off having him in her home even after they’d spent a night reconnoitering around the city, and yet she’d tried to comfort him. She’d touched him and offered reassurance and he was sure neither had been easy for her. It made the words, and the gesture, that much more precious. That simple act, those plain words, had beaten back the despair more than anything else could have.

Somehow, he’d return the favor. It had only been a couple of days since Comstock’s brutal death. Kira held herself together by duty and determination; she hadn’t even fully shared her grief with her friends at the store as far as he could tell. She was like a bowstring: taut, stretched almost to breaking, ready to let loose at any moment. He was an expert archer; he knew the strength, skill, and patience it took to master a powerful bow. Kira had already shown that she didn’t appreciate his display of strength in attempting to help her. She was too mistrustful to yield to any skillful attempts to outmaneuver her. That left patience.

He sighed. Handling Kira would be much more difficult for him than trying to string Odysseus’s bow had been for Penelope’s suitors.

Kira was already waiting when he returned to the workout room. She’d exchanged her gloves for leather wrist guards and changed into formfitting navy yoga pants and a tank top that reminded him Kira was wholly, utterly female.

“Are you ready?” she asked, reaching up to secure her braids into a ponytail.

He smiled, pulling his T-shirt over his head and tossing it aside.
“Definitely.
What about you?”

Silence.
He turned to see Kira staring at him as if she’d never seen him before. “What is it?”

“Nothing.”
She pulled her Lightblade free of its sheath. “Let’s do this.”

Khefar’s dagger was instantly in his hand.

They circled each other. Khefar wondered if he would start out easy. He’d already seen her fight, toying with the hybrids on motorcycles and defending herself against the seeker demon. When she fought, she fought to win. He had no doubt that if he had truly been her enemy, she would have given her all to ensure he wouldn’t walk away from the encounter.

Spotting an opening, Khefar struck first, to see if he could knock the blade from her hand. He didn’t put nearly as much force behind the thrust as he would in a real fight. Kira blocked the thrust easily and sent it back to him, with more weight.

He parried. Khefar knew she’d give as good as she received, or even better.
Too bad we don’t have shields to make the fight even more interesting,
he thought.

The parry caught her slightly off balance and she dropped to the padded floor and rolled. Kira gave the warrior a big toothy grin as she regained her stance. “You’re not holding back.
Now.”

“Should I?”

“Only if you want to piss me off.
Let’s make it fun!”

More thuds, grunts, the metallic whine of metal against metal. She spewed curses after he dropped her the second time. “You’re taking advantage of me, you bastard!”

“In what way?”

“All that damn skin showing—it’s distracting!”

He gave her a hand up. “Like a seeker demon dripping acidic spit while trying to kill you isn’t distracting?”

“You know what I mean. And it’s not like I’m trying to kill you.”

“All right then.” He slid his blade back into its sheath,
then
tossed it atop his shirt. “Let’s try hand-to-hand. That way, if you do decide you want to try to kill me, we can at least make it interesting.”

“Just had to go issue a challenge, huh?” Kira sheathed her own dagger and set it aside, then swung her arms to further loosen her muscles, her grin almost childlike.

“So, what’s your fighting style?” Khefar asked.

Kira stretched languidly.
“Depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether I’m bored or not.”
She smiled at him. “I like Brazilian Capoeira and jujitsu among other things. I also learned a modified Krav Maga while training to be a Shadowchaser. So I hope you took your vitamins today, old-timer.”

“Who’re you calling—oomph!”

Kira smashed her shoulder deep into his solar plexus, tackling him. They rolled, wrestled, and grappled until he managed to toss her off him. She scrambled to her feet just as he regained his.

A grin wreathed her face from ear to
ear,
her eyes were alight with joy. She moved in again, flowing easily from fighting style to fighting style, some he hadn’t witnessed in a century or more. Gilead knew how to train their Shadowchasers.

After one particularly quick and brutal combination, they broke for a breather, the entire length of the room separating them. She
laughed,
a true laugh of unadorned delight that shook her entire frame. Khefar wasn’t prepared for it—the laugh, the bright mood, his reaction to it. It made him careless. In a blur of motion Kira swooped in, sweeping his legs out from under him. Somehow she wound up atop him, left hand holding his shoulder down, her right forearm pressed into his throat. “I win!”

The warrior thought they both had won, but he wasn’t going to tell her that. Her chest rose and fell with each exerted breath, taunting him to drop his gaze away from her face. Before he could say anything, her expression changed. She looked down at her hands, his bare chest. An unguarded expression of pure, naked longing crossed her face,
then
disappeared so quickly he’d have missed it had he blinked.

“You have so much skin showing,” she whispered. She raised her hands, fingertips hovering above his chest. “I can touch you. If I touched you, touched all that beautiful skin, nothing would happen.”

That wasn’t true. Something very instinctive and very male would happen, and there was nothing he would be able to do about it.

“Shall we see?” Keeping his gaze locked to hers, Khefar threaded his fingers through hers. Slowly he moved their joined hands from his shoulder across to his throat and down his chest. She sucked in a breath, her eyes widening in reaction. He tried to remember the last time he’d caused a woman to make a sound like that. Nothing came to mind.

He pulled his hand away, stretching his arms out, allowing her to touch him as much as she wanted. It was such a simple thing, touching someone else. Something that people the world over took for granted. Even as he’d wandered the earth for millennia, he hadn’t denied himself the basic human needs to comfort and be comforted. Such comfort could be bittersweet: if it deepened beyond a casual relationship, there would inevitably be pain. Humans aged. They died and were not reborn in this world. Only Khefar remained.

Yet Kira’s powers denied her any opportunity at all to feed this basic human need. Even the brief
embrace of congratulation, the supporting shoulder of friendship, the bonding trust of a handshake were
denied her. A weaker person would have been driven mad.