The 52nd (The 52nd Saga Book 1) (35 page)

Belong?
My stomach fluttered, kind of liking his twisted confession. I waited for it to settle, staring at his dark lashes, wondering how he saw us
now.

“I accept your apology. But why would I never belong to you? You never asked.” Not that it would matter, even though I secretly desired
him.

He turned toward me, gripping my hands with more pressure. “I want you to know, Zara, that even though I made my commitment to the Celestials, my allegiance is with you now. You are my life. If anybody, or any soul, ever laid a finger on you, I would go to hell and back to tear them
apart.”

I loved hearing it, but I suddenly shivered as if Xavier’s mother’s ghost was watching, hoping I could do her bidding.

“Lucas,” I began
softly.

“That includes Xavier,” he added sternly, and then he
stood.

I was disappointed with myself for not speaking up. I stretched my legs and followed him outside, already thinking of when I would ask him next. He pointed across the land to the south side of the
cliff.

“My room was just over there,” he
said.

“And what was that?” I pointed to the large castle in the
center.

“Where the transformation took place, and where we meet with the Council when we find out who is going to be sacrificed. It was there that I first heard your
name.”

I touched his arm lightly. “Can we go
there?”

“If you
wish.”

As we moved across the public plateau toward the castle, the tourists bustled like ants in the scorching sun, snapping pictures of each landmark from every angle imaginable.

“Does it bother you that all these people are here?” I asked after bumping into a
child.

“Not anymore.”

He stopped at the castle steps and looked up briefly, then glanced at
me.

“We have to be quick before security comes,” he cautioned.

I looked up the stairs of rotting stone, then down at the thin line of rope blocking them off. Lucas hopped over and held out his hand. I squeezed it painfully hard as I crossed the line, trying not to fall as we took the first few steps. When we reached the top, Lucas’s breathing was slow and even. He smiled at my human exhaustion as I
panted.

“Were these stairs ever hard for you to climb?” I gasped
out.

“I’ve never been fully human,” he reminded
me.

We hid ourselves in the shaded room and sat down in a corner against the wall. It was dewy and cold here, and awkwardly quiet. Lucas opened his mouth, but seemed hesitant to
speak.

“You don’t have to share anything with me you don’t want to,” I
said.

He pulled my hand over to his leg and patted the back of it gently, a human gesture. It was nice. It made me picture us back in Tahoe after all this, at college, giving each other affection as humans do. It made me forget who he was, who
I
was, and there was only . . . 
us
. It felt
right.

“When we came back here for the transformation,” he began slowly, “the city had been empty for a while. There were no torches, no children, no noise. It was a dark space, a new ghost town. We waited all night for the Celestials to come. I sat right here for hours, torn up inside after what had just happened. Then, right before sunrise, the Council appeared. They spoke only of what we were to do as Watchers, and then they marked us with a sacred paint called Maya
blue.”

Lucas intently rubbed the black drawing on his arm. His head dropped back against the wall as he stared at the door and into its emanating
light.

“When they finished, they left us alone, and our tattoos began to appear. First they were faint lines, unfinished. Then, as the sun peeked over the horizon, the lines connected and began burning with a bright blue flame. And then it
began.”

“What
did?”

“The transformation. Nothing changed for Mother and Dylan because they were already immortal. The only change for them was the markings, which appeared without trouble. But Father, Gabriella, Tita, and I fell to the ground with the pain of it. It felt like every atom in my body was exploding. Dylan tried to comfort Gabriella, but there was nothing he could do. I could hear Gabriella and my father screaming, as I was, begging and pleading for it to stop. My mother tried to be with me, but my father needed her most. He fell into a coma for three days. We all thought he was going to die, but the sun rose on the third day and he woke up, changed. He was strong and fast and godlike.”

Minutes passed before I realized I hadn’t moved at all. My dry eyes burned from not blinking, picturing Lucas and the others screaming with unbearable pain in this very room. I should have been repelled, but a tiny portion of guilt trickled in, and my heart ached with remorse.

“How long did the transformation take?” I
asked.

“I recovered first, only because I was the strongest. I was well by the next morning, Gabriella and Tita by the second night, and my father on that third day. Watching Dylan as Gabriella transformed—it was the only time in five hundred years that I’ve ever seen fear on his face. He thought she wasn’t going to make
it.”

I cringed, thinking of the beautiful Aztec princess helpless on the floor in agonizing pain. A thought popped into my head, and I looked at Lucas anew. This beloved—and hated—gift of immortality that he possessed was going to be our biggest challenge if we’d ever get to be together. I cringed again, thinking of
me
squirming on the floor in pain. I would never want to do it, but I would, if it meant I could spend eternity with
Lucas.

“Does your dad remember anything about
it?”

“He says he can vividly remember the tattoo appearing, like fire etching a mark on his skin. After that, he doesn’t remember much. He blacked out pretty early
on.”

“What do you remember?”

“Everything.”

Lucas clung to my hand more tightly as he stretched his legs. The tingling sensation had dulled, and our pressing hands had become a furnace, but he hung
on.

“Like what my dad said: fire singeing your skin, trying to get to your core. When the tattoo was complete, a new level of pain started. Every fiber inside your body ripped apart and rebuilt into your new self. I wished death would come for me,” he
said.

“I can’t imagine.”
Me becoming immortal is out of the question
.
I would die . . . I know I would . . . I’m weak . . . and then what good would that do for anyone?
A rush of hopelessness washed through
me.

“You will never have to.” Then he kissed the back of my hand, confident, and said as he stood, “Come, enough of the
pity.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Escapade

As we left Tulum, Lucas insisted on opening my door. For another careless moment, I wondered if we were taking the next step in our relationship, but then I forced myself to stop thinking about us—as if there would ever be an
us
. It was impossible, and stupid. Lucas was immortal and beautiful and a prince; he had very specific laws to obey and a plethora of gods watching him. I didn’t belong in any of
that.

I held my loose strands of hair so that they wouldn’t fly up in the convertible’s breeze. After miles of flat, thick jungle, we approached an unmarked road hidden in that green wall. Lucas slowed and turned into an overgrown labyrinth, weaving bumpily in and out until he stopped at a small gap in the trees spilling over with white
sand.

He hopped out and walked to the opening, motioning cheerfully for me to join
him.

“Where are we going?” I asked as I followed him through the primeval
jungle.

“We’re nearly
there.”

I heard water when he stopped. Behind him was a hidden stream bordered with moss-covered rocks and waxy plants that hung over its rippling
water.

Lucas slipped off his shoes. “Time to
change.”

“What are we doing?” My eyes moved from the stream to Lucas, who was now pulling off his shirt. His physique was enthralling: slender for my idea of a stereotypical god, but his stomach had major ripples of hardness and was extremely pleasing to watch. Suddenly aware of my unsubtle stare, I looked
up.

“You’ll see,” Lucas said with a
grin.

I stripped to my bikini and let my hair out of its unwinding braid. I was timid as I neared him, a fool to think that he could ever find me seductive. But as I set my clothes next to his on a dry boulder, trying hard to conceal my emotions, he turned. His eyes, full of intentions too great for a human, numbed me. I watched him nervously, my feet pricked by the jungle floor, as I invented my own reasons for his actions.

Before I could come up with anything solid, he broke his stare and stepped into the stream. I smiled, uncertain, then went in after him. The bath-warm water went up to my ankles. He held my hand as he guided me down the stream to a sinkhole.

“We’re going in there,” Lucas
said.

I edged up behind him and glanced down over his shoulder. The sparkling stream of water fell into a small, emerald-green pond below and went tranquil. White sand ringed the miniature cove, which opened into a cave across from our perch. It was beautiful.

Suddenly he backed up close against me and bent down, grabbing my knees and hoisting me onto his back. Startled, I dug my fingernails into his skin at first, but then unglued them and settled my arms around his shoulders.

He cocked his head to the side. “Hang
on.”

I tucked my chin into his shoulder, and he jumped. It was a thrill, like the drop of a rollercoaster, but the moment I thought to scream it was over, and my feet slid gently down to touch the warm sand. I looked up and saw icicle-shaped stone formations suspended beneath the ledge from which we had just jumped. Underneath, earthy spikes rose up to meet them, slowly reaching for some distant future reunion.
Stalactites and stalagmites,
I thought absently, not sure which was which.
I used to know . . .

Lucas jumped into the crystalline pond and swam into the cave. I saw colorful fish speeding away from his powerful strokes, his tattoo black and dull. He stopped and treaded water, looking at
me.

“What are you doing?” I hissed, planting my feet stubbornly on the
sand.

“Zara, I had you bring your swimsuit for a reason. Are you coming, or am I going to have to come out and get
you?”

I huffed and put my feet in the water. I took baby steps over the slimy stone, but then there was a quick splash as I was dunked in the deep
end.

He chuckled when I came up for air, hair straggling over my face. I ducked my head back in the water, swept my hair back, and reemerged to find him there, embracing my body. His strong kicks kept me afloat so that I could swing my arms around his neck, making me all the more aware of our bare skin touching.

“Take a deep breath and hang on,” he warned. “I’m going to count to
three.”

“Wait, what?”

“One,” he
smiled.

“Wait, what are you doing?” I asked, my unthinking hands pressing his slippery skin closer to
me.

“Two.”

“Lucas, no!” My legs wrapped around him, my thighs squeezing tightly.

“Three!”

I breathed in deeply, and we sank. It felt normal at first to be underwater as he pulled me slowly through the semishaded waters. I unwound my legs and drifted, letting Lucas guide me. As the sun shone through the water in diagonal streaks, Lucas pointed to a school of colorful fish. One brushed against my foot . . . and suddenly a whirlwind whisked us into the dark emptiness beyond the rocks. I jerked away, but Lucas’s grip was too strong, and the sudden current pulled us, twisting, into a
tunnel.

I clenched my eyes tightly and focused on saving precious oxygen, but the pull stopped ten seconds later, and Lucas pushed me up into open air. I panted hard as my head spun, glimpsing another cave around me, lit by sunlight sneaking through a hole above us. When I had my bearings, I swam after Lucas toward an island of sand. We settled on it, Lucas looking all Zen, legs sprawled, and me still recovering from the trip. I looked up to see more stone icicles over our
heads.

“Do you remember which is which?” I asked. “Stalactites are . . . growing down, right?”

“Yes, stalactites are the ones on the ceiling. They formed thousands of years ago when the acid in the rain dissolved the limestone and created cenotes, which is what we’re in right
now.”

“This place is incredible.” I combed through my damp hair with my fingers. “Do you come here a
lot?”

My movement seemed to distract him. Instead of looking away or backing away—as he usually did—he watched, a lazy smile lifting his cheeks. Did he . . . was I . . . 
sexy
to
him?

“Not too often. It’s sort of dingy in here,” he finally
said.

The water was pure crystal. I looked through bluish green straight to the floor
below.

“I don’t think it’s dingy,” I replied. “If I were a pirate, I’d bury my treasure
here.”

His deep laugh swirled around me. “You, Ms. Claustrophobia?”

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think,” I alleged, just as my stomach growled. It had to be getting close to dinnertime, but I ignored
it.

He looked up. “I’m going to take you to get some of my favorite tacos in the
city.”

My stomach sighed graciously. “When I was a little girl, I begged Mom to make me tacos every night for dinner. She did, but by the third night she put her foot down. So the next few years after that, Mom made tacos for me every Tuesday.”

His belly rippled with a silent laugh. “Taco Tuesday. How come I didn’t know that about
you?”

“Probably because hearing about you was more interesting.”

He frowned. “No, it’s not. I want you to share all those things with me. I want to know everything about
you.”

“You
do?”

Lucas shifted toward me. “Of course, why wouldn’t
I?”

I wiggled my butt in the sand and made myself more comfortable. “Shoot. Ask me something.”

He grinned foxily at the challenge and sat up. “Favorite pastime.”

“Snowboarding. Duh.” I giggled.

He snickered. “Yeah, I guess I already knew that, though I would have pegged you for a reader. Favorite
movie?”

“
Empire Records
.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, why not? I’m obsessed with music
and
Liv
Tyler.”

“I always thought you were a proper club sport lady: tennis, golf, equestrian.”

“Like I have enough time or money for a
horse.”

“Well, you did say that horses were your favorite animals.”

“That doesn’t mean that I have to give my whole life to
them.”

Lucas looked away briefly, pondering his index finger as he swerved it through the sand. “Where do you
really
want to go to college?”

I supposed I had expected this conversation to come up since our hash-out at Fallen Leaf. At least I was somewhat prepared this time—and secretly dreaming he’d follow me wherever I chose to go, like in a fairytale.
And the prince and princess lived happily ever after.
It sounded dreamy, but very unlikely. Not because Lucas wasn’t into me—
he sees me differently now, I can tell, there’s potential
—but because in fairytales, princesses don’t grow old and wrinkly while their princes stay young and timeless. I sighed.
I’m not even a princess.

“I always imagined that I would end up somewhere back east. Maybe Maine or New Hampshire,” I shared reservedly.

He frowned a slanted smirk, swaying his head side to side as he thought. His finger continued to scribble.

“Is that not good?” I wondered.

“No, Harvard and Dartmouth are always good choices.” He eyed the grains on his fingers, not really into the conversation. It made me uncomfortable, wondering if he was thinking about how I would financially accomplish
this.

“Gabriella told me about your degrees.” His hands didn’t move as he looked up.
Must have cost a fortune
. “Why didn’t you ever practice?”

He swiped his palms together to brush the sand away and scuffed his feet on the bar of sand as he leaned back. “None of that matters. I gave up my life five hundred years ago when I became a Watcher.”

“Don’t be silly. Everybody, including you, has the power to write their own future, no matter what’s happened in the
past.”

“My future was taken from me, Zara, including my posterity,” he said bitterly. “So I don’t really see the need to excel any more than I already
have.”

“Oh . . . I didn’t know that. I’m sorry.”
One more “consequence” in the bucket.
My heart
sank.

He sighed, crossed his legs, and grabbed his ankles as he slouched. “No, I’m sorry. None of this is your problem.”

He seemed distracted. I couldn’t help but think it was about what they needed to do to save me. The sand seemed like a good distraction, so I dangled my own finger in
it.

“Lucas, we need to talk about Xavier,” I started.

He stared at me now with calculation, like Agent 007. There was no fear in his eyes, only precision and calm as he spun his citla between his fingertips. “Zara, if you found out there was a hit on me and you had the ability to stop it, what would you
do?”

I stared at him, imagining that I’d probably try to take the diplomatic way out. I believed everybody had good in their
hearts.

He looked at his star as it spun and continued. “Would you try to speak to the hit man and convince him to leave me alone, or would you just kill
him?”

I shook my head because he was wrong. “It’s not the same, Lucas.”

“It’s very much the same. You can’t help the unwilling, Zara.”

As I rubbed a rusty chill from my arms, my stomach rumbled again and he hopped up. He started for the
water.

“We better get you some tacos,” he
said.

“This conversation isn’t over,” I replied stubbornly as I waded
in.

He chortled mildly before we
dove.

By the time we reached the car I was full-on starving. The trees’ shadows edged the road until we turned onto the small highway and drove west into the lowering
sun.

Late-afternoon traffic on Main Street in Merida crowded into the heart of the city. Brightly lit restaurants lined the streets, small storefronts with plastic tables and chairs set outside. As we approached the city center, the wide avenue dropped us into a maze of narrow one-way streets packed with old cement buildings caged in by cement
walls.

When we finally reached the center, a spacious square fringed with bushes and sidewalks and local tourist businesses, we passed an enormous cathedral. It was maybe hundreds of years old, with European details fashioned into its bone-colored stone. I wondered if Lucas was here when the people who took his lands built it. I couldn’t imagine him helping them. I pictured him watching from the shadows, upset.

Lucas rounded the corner into an alley, where he stopped beside a small podium and a black carpet that extended into the building. An usher with buzzed, coarse hair and a black suit welcomed Lucas by name and opened my door. He dipped his head in a courteous nod before raising his
arms.

“Come, your table is ready,” he said in heavily accented English.

We followed him into a small hallway. Iron sconces appeared at even intervals on the dungeon-like walls, flickering in the darkness until we reached an elevator. An usher with slicked-back hair waited inside to direct the ancient moving box to a higher
floor.

“
Hola
, Guillermo,” Lucas
said.

The valet left us as the elevator operator smiled and slid the iron doors shut.
“Hola, señor.”

We stood silently, watching the floors pass just beyond the cage. Lucas smelled like he had just taken a shower, which only made me more aware of how I must smell.
Sweat and dirt and fish water, yuck!
Thankfully, when the elevator stopped, the air flooded with the smell of fresh tortillas.

Beyond was a dark floor lit by neon and cheap candles on the tables. We followed Guillermo into the cantina, past customers already enjoying their dinners, through double glass-paned doors, and onto a balcony that overlooked a square courtyard. Swags of red flowers and white fairy lights dressed every inch of its ceiling and walls. Ours was the only table
here.

Mariachis on the street below played trumpets and guitars, catchy tunes that floated up to us. I watched Lucas incredulously, his foreign world spinning around me, as he pulled out my chair. Again, his glance never moved from me. He watched me with something more than the possessiveness I’d felt in Tahoe. He looked at me with longing; he looked at me with caring. The sideburns he’d had this morning were gone, blended with the shadow on his dark, prickly chin.
I’ve never dated anyone that looked this old.
I didn’t mind at all—he was just the kind of guy I’d pictured being with ten years from now—I felt young.
Celebrities do it all the time, right? And according to everyone we know, he’s only five years older than me, so yeah, it could work.
I pretended to adjust my chair to let my nerves calm
down.