Stolen Fate (2 page)

If it would help him get out of here, he’d tell her anything she wanted to know. “I made a living stealing artifacts. Mortal artifacts sell quite well on the black market. My preferred museum was the Scottish Museum of Antiquities. Eventually, other thieves decided it was prime hunting ground as well. I enchanted the museum exhibits to stop my competitors before they got to the best bits stored in the vault. The enchantments only activate in the presence of Mytheans. The museum blew up that night because other thieves tried to use counter-magic. Something went wrong.”

“So Logan was your partner?”

“Nay.” It was a lie, but no way in hell was he ratting out his friend. The night that the museum had blown up, Logan had managed to escape. Ian, knocked unconscious in the blast and buried under an enormous pile of rubble, had not. “What’s there that you want so bad?”

“The Book of Worlds. Mortals have it in the museum.”

“What’s that?”

Her jaw slackened. “How could you no' know about it?”

“Never had any reason to know about it.” He folded his arms over his chest.
 
He hadn’t had the same education as most Mytheans growing up. It had bothered him once, but no longer. Prison had hardened that type of concern right out of him.

“Well, it’s the single most important book in the world. To Mytheans and to mortals, though they doona even know it exists. It’s a record of all the true religions.”

“Interesting, but what’s the big deal? Mortals would no' believe it anyway. They’re too stubborn.”
 

Though Mytheans were the creatures of myth made real by mortal belief, mortals had no idea. They still fought over the one true god or the one true afterlife. They’d never accept that mortal belief had birthed everything from the gods and mythic creatures like witches and demons to the afterworlds where mortals went after death. It’d be terrifying to realize, particularly since Mytheans now existed independent of mortal belief.

“In the back of the book is a covenant signed by all the gods—Greek, Norse, Hindu, Christian,
all
of them—promising no' to interfere on earth to gain more followers or more power. If it’s destroyed…” She gave him a loaded look.

“The gods would no longer be bound by their promise,” he said.

“Exactly. They could come to earth and wage divine war. No’ all pantheons are power hungry, but it’s in the nature of gods to seek worshippers. Many of the ancient gods’ followers are dead, and they miss the adulation. They’ll seek new ones, here on earth. And of course the mortals will fight amongst themselves to prove which god is best.”

He whistled low. So not only was the book real, it was important. Damned valuable, too. His fingertips tingled.

“Why is the book in the museum?” It hadn’t been there when he’d been a free man or he’d have stolen it.

“I doona know. And Logan will no’ tell me unless I get your help in retrieving it. He thinks my only way into the museum is with your help. I can get you out of here for the time it takes to retrieve the book. After that, depending on your behavior, the university will reopen your case and consider an early release.”

His fists clenched. “The university does no’ change its mind. I’m in here for another two centuries.”

“They might. And this is your only chance.” Her voice was hard, but desperation crept in at the edges.
 

She was lying about the university, and she wanted this. Very, very badly. Why, he wasn’t sure. But he was her only shot if she wanted to get past the enchantments he’d placed on the museum.

“Well?” she asked, a brow arched. “Are you going to help me?”

He nodded. No question—he’d take any opportunity to get out of here. He’d see what Logan had planned, and if that didn’t pan out he could just steal the book for himself and barter his release. Either way, freedom, that elusive dream that was once so far away, was too close now to prolong it with questions. Questions could wait. Everything could wait, until he was on the outside.
 

“Good.” She reached into the bag at her side and pulled out a circular piece of metal. She held it up. “You’ll have to wear this.”

Fuck.
A gods-damned collar.

“It’s been spelled so that you canna get more than ten meters from me. You also will no’ be able to use your invisibility. That had to be added specially to the collar. But considering your talents, I think it’s worth it.”

An angry flush crept into his cheeks. Collared like a damned dog. Like a pet. That’d kill any chance he had of escaping. He realized that she was watching him with calm gray eyes, as if she knew how much this pissed him off.

“Will it negate my other powers?” he asked. He had a mixed bag of talents, courtesy of his Historius and Sylph parents. The Historius side allowed him to find ancient, valuable artifacts and work a little magic, while the Sylph side allowed him to become invisible even though he wasn’t a full-blooded air spirit.

“Your Historius talents will remain, but it will diminish your strength and speed a bit, so that you canna turn on me.” Her face hardened.

“Fine.” He jerked his head. Even without his Mythean strength, he was far stronger than a mortal. He was stepping into another prison, but at least this new one didn’t have four walls. It would make stealing the book more difficult, but he’d worry about the damned collar when he got out of here.

“Good.” She stepped toward him.

The clean scent of her—no perfumes or fragrant lotions—wrapped around him. Soap, her skin. Nothing more. When he’d lain in bed at night, alone, so fucking alone, he’d dreamed of all the things a woman could be. The shape, sound, smell of her—in his mind, it had always been sweet scents, flowers and perfume.
 

But this woman smelled of none of what he’d wanted for so long. Yet she had ensnared his mind all the same, lighting up long-neglected needs. She stood so close he imagined that he could feel the heat of her radiating against his arm. It made his skin prickle with awareness.

The guard stepped into the room. “Everything all right?”

“Fine.” Fiona pinned him with a steely gaze, trying to take control of the situation. To take control of him.

He held out a palm. “I can put it on.”

He didn’t want her to collar him.

“I have to do it. It’s part of the spell, so that it knows I’m the one it canna leave.”

He frowned, then jerked his head in assent, and she stepped closer. Effortlessly, she broke the collar in two and raised the halves of dull metal. Every muscle in his body tightened as her arms neared, anticipation and nerves burning through him. The reaction pissed him off.
 

There’d been a time when he’d been the one in control, able to move a woman with his charm. Make her melt, make her want, make her ache
.
No longer. Prison had taken his smoothness and turned it into jagged need.

She was so close it made his muscles tense up and his cock harden. Her gaze was riveted to his neck. He could feel the guard watching the strangely intimate moment as she clipped the two halves in place around his neck. Her fingers brushed against him, hot as a burn, and his nerves lit up all the way to his cock, like a live wire connected the halves. He sucked in a breath to get himself under control. The metal, only a centimeter in diameter, rested at the base of his throat, heavy and obnoxiously symbolic.

“Done,” she said. “Now me.”

His eyes snapped to hers. She handed him a smaller circle of metal. A bracelet.
 

Too bad. He wouldn’t mind collaring her.
 

He took it and she held out a wrist. “They’ll link us. If you exceed the ten meters’ distance, your body will freeze up.”

“Will yours?” Sounded like a dangerous damned device if they were in a bad way. He’d be trapped.

“Nay. And I’m the only one who can remove your collar.”

So she was the one he’d have to convince to remove it. He drew in a deep breath and broke the bracelet in two as he’d seen her do with the collar. Though it had looked like a solid circle of iron, it broke easily in two places. He raised the pieces to her wrist, both desperate to put the thing on as quickly as possible and to stroke the pale skin of her wrist.
 

He clipped it on her and stepped back, his eyes lingering on the circle of metal that linked her to him.

“Good. We’ll go.” She turned and headed for the door.

That was it? He was free to walk out? Just follow behind this no-nonsense woman and out into the sunlight?
 

Fine by him. He followed his savior out the door, his mind buzzing with the possibility of freedom.

Fiona, she’d said. Tough, and a little bit ruthless from the look in her steel-gray eyes. But damned if he didn’t like her. Hard not to—she was getting him out of this place.

CHAPTER TWO

Holy shite, it worked.
 

She’d just busted a prisoner out of jail. And not just any prisoner. A tall, muscular, dangerous-looking one whose eyes felt like they were burning into her back. He was too handsome for her sanity, with black hair and black eyes that saw too much. He looked like a poet but was built like a warrior. A warrior who would help her get that damn book back.

Fiona marched down the stone hallway like she had every right to be there. Which she did.
Sort of
. After Logan had delivered his odd message to her this morning and said that Ian was the only one capable of getting through the museum, she’d gone to Lea, the highest-ranking university official that she knew, to plead her case. Lea was the historian, and one of the top three officials at the university. They were the only three with the unilateral ability to grant prisoners temporary release. Thank gods she was also Fiona’s closest friend.

Lea had agreed to provide Fiona with the documents that would release Ian temporarily, on the condition that he wore the collar, which would ensure that he couldn’t make a run for it and couldn’t use his most dangerous magic. So they should be fine—as long as they made it out of the building and no one asked too many questions. Even though Lea had okayed Ian’s release, Fiona’s boss, Darrence Wright, sure as hell wouldn’t like the fact that she’d taken matters into her own hands. Utilizing prisoners for intel was definitely
not in her job description at the moment.

But she
had
to get that book back.

“I’ll lead from here,” the guard said from behind when they walked through the entrance to the prison, which was in the basement of the building that housed the Praesidium, the university’s security division.

The guard walked past her and pushed open the door to the stone staircase. His were the only handprints that could activate the door. And only if they were alive and willing. She and Ian followed him up the stairs, eventually alighting on the first floor of the Praesidium.

“Thanks,” she said, then nodded at Ian while trying to keep from appearing too rushed.

The Praesidium, named when Latin was still the language of knowledge, provided security services for the university. Now she and Ian would have to make it through the building without being stopped. No one would recognize Ian, not after nearly one hundred years down below, but the collar around his neck marked him as a prisoner.

But he’d ditch her without it, so it stayed on. She shot him a look that she hoped said
let’s move.

His eyes lit with understanding.

Good, he could read people well.

She walked quickly, nerves making her chest feel tight. He followed her down the stone-paved hallway, his presence huge and looming behind her, and through the beautiful atrium of the entrance hall. Gray clouds hovered over the glass dome in the ceiling, casting a dim light on the wooden floor. They crossed it and pushed out through the great wooden doors into a cold January day.

She heard him inhale deeply from beside her, pleasure plain in the sound. It struck something within her, something that mourned for the years he’d spent locked up, though she barely knew him and definitely disapproved of what he’d done to get himself imprisoned.

“Air taste better when you’re free?” she asked.
 

“Hell of a lot better,” he said as he followed her down the grand stone steps. The pleasure was thick in his voice.

He’d be thrown back in prison when this was all over. She felt guilty about it, but it didn’t stop her.
Whatever it takes.
The motto had served her in the past and would continue to do so.
 

She finally had a chance to fix her life. To fix what she’d screwed up so badly. For ten years, her life had revolved around her failure to locate the Book of Worlds, as she’d been prophesied to do. Hell, it still revolved around it and probably always would.

Five
different fate gods had prophesied that she’d return it to the safety of the university. And she’d failed to find it.
For ten years.

That book defined her. It was everything that made her special, everything that made her a failure.

Her skin prickled as they strode across the cobblestone parking lot, around the great oak in the middle, and toward her little hatchback, which she’d parked in the shadowiest part of the lot. It was lime green and stood out like a priest in a brothel. She had no reason to be parked at the prison and didn’t want anyone noticing her car.