The Shades of Time (38 page)

He hissed, "Do
you understand now?"

Slowly he
lowered his huge frame over her, nudging her legs apart, his cock
pressing on tender flesh as he teased and withdrew. She thrust her
hips, seeking him, yet he denied her, a smile playing on his lips.
She had no idea what she was supposed to understand, and she didn't
care.

"It's not
comfort I want now."

"What do you
want?"

"This…" He slid
inside her, her body in tremors as it stretched to accommodate his
thick length. "I want this."

Lifting her
hips, he thrust, driving deep, again and again, until she moaned as
the spasms gripped her in waves of pleasure. She wrapped her legs
around his waist and rocked until he roared his release, spilling
his hot seed deep into her womb.

Nico lay back
on the pillows and drew her close, nestling her head on his
shoulder. He murmured something but she couldn't make out the
words. Eventually his light snoring was all she needed to drift to
sleep.

When next she
woke the candles burned low. The rain had stopped sometime during
the night. She turned over, prepared to settle back against the man
who would rock her world only to find him staring at her with a
devilish grin on his face.

He traced the
planes of her face with his lips, exploring every inch of flesh,
with such exquisite gentleness her body practically vibrated from
the sensation.

Nibbling at her
ear lobe he husked, "Tell me what you want."

Want? What did
she want? No one had ever asked her that. Not ever. And it was not
a simple question. She knew what he asked. But would she be able to
live with the consequences of her answer?

Are you strong
enough, M'lady?

Yes, Nico. I am
strong enough for this.

Then tell me,
what do you want?

You, Nico. I
want you.

Chapter
Twenty-Eight

Nico cursed
under his breath. "Damn it, woman, hold still."

"Why don't you
call for your housekeeper?" She grunted as the stays tightened
about her ribcage. "Do you even know how to do that?"

Brushing his
lips along her shoulder, he murmured, "I know how to do many
things…" He spun her about and stared admiringly at the soft mounds
of flesh. With his thumbs he traced the edge of the corset, eyes
growing dark with passion.

Veluria knew
they kept Cosimo waiting, she could feel the twinge of irritation.
It would not do to make yet another bad impression. Their first
meeting had been … perhaps inconclusive was the correct term, not
quite the sparring match she'd anticipated. However, everything had
changed since that fateful day in Venice. She needed her wits about
her, otherwise she and Cosimo would act at cross-purposes.

Yet she found
it nearly impossible to concentrate with Nico's lips and hands
stroking and prodding with devilish insistence.

A knock on the
door left Nico sputtering, "What!"

"Sir? It's
Paulo."

Her lover's
face split in a huge grin. They'd not seen nor heard from his man
since he'd been dispatched to court. Nico grabbed her robe off the
bed and hastily placed it around her shoulders. In two strides he
reached the massive door and yanked it open, pulling his friend
into a bear hug.

Before Paulo
could extricate himself Veluria wrapped her arms about his waist.
The man's ears turned red from embarrassment.

Stuttering,
Paulo said, "Um, s-sir… May I have a word?" He looked from her to
Nico and backed out of the suite.

Nico raised his
eyebrows at her but she nodded and waved him off. The door shut
quietly leaving her to wonder what was going on. It had nothing to
do with Cosimo, of that she was sure. The urge to eavesdrop was
strong but she would no longer risk violating Nico's privacy. The
playing field had changed dramatically, though her lover would not
recognize that term. When she made her decision, when she gave this
man her heart, she could only guess at the consequences.

That the
Sisterhood would disapprove was a given but what they would do
about it was unclear. There were simply no precedents. She mentally
keyed onto the word 'salvage' as her guideline. It indicated that
not everything was cast in stone and that alternate outcomes might
be possible if she made the correct choices—and whatever those
choices might be they included Nicolo de' Medici.

As Nico came
into the bedroom he instructed Paulo, "Find as many good swordsmen
in town as you can. We leave tomorrow, first light."

"Yes,
signore
." Bowing he gave her a quick smile and turned to
leave.

"And Captain,"
Nico's voice was thick with emotion, "thank you. For
everything."

Paulo
stiffened, pride and embarrassment warring across his grizzled
features. He muttered, "Sir," and beat a hasty retreat.

Nico came into
the room holding a bundle of clothing. "Paulo brought this back
from my hacienda in Madrid." He handed the crumpled clothing over.
"He thought you might need it."

Veluria took
the soiled dress and laid it carefully on the bed, her anxiety and
need to examine the hidden pockets ramping up until her brow beaded
with sweat. She'd been certain she would never see her precious
talisman again.

Was now the
time for full disclosure? She'd given this man her heart. Was she
also prepared to reveal all of her secrets?

Nico wrapped
his arms about her and whispered in her ear, "You won't find them
there." He laid a hand, palm up, onto the fabric, her stiletto
looking small in his huge hand. "A beautiful, elegant weapon for a
beautiful, elegant woman."

Them, he said
'them'. He knew.

"Yes, I know
everything, my love."

He unfisted his
left hand. On it lay the device in the shape of a cross embedded
with tiny gems, each one part of the encoding, the technology, that
would take her, take them … home.

When he laid
the crucifix on the bed, her hand reached reflexively for it but
she stopped, fingers hovering over the device. She thought she'd
made her choice—it had seemed so easy when she'd been convinced
there were no other options. Giving her heart was one thing, giving
up her life's work, her purpose, was something else entirely.

This was not
the right time to confront that choice. She feared it would leave
her open to error. Every decision, every perturbation, pushed them
down a path that shut out all other probabilities. She could change
history, she could not change fate.

Nico said, his
voice harsh and unyielding, "Know this. Whatever happens, you are
mine." He pinched her arms once, hard, then released her and
hissed, "Get dressed. Cosimo awaits and I have much to
prepare."

Terrified
Veluria cried out, "Nico?" but he advanced to the door and left
without a backward glance.

Her body quaked
with fear and loathing. By leaving the possibility open that she
could and would return to her own time and place, she'd hurt him
grievously. He knew better than she that he had no place in her
world, that his very existence would be anathema.

Swiping at the
tears pooling on her cheeks, she dressed and prepared to meet the
one man who could derail everything.

****

Cosimo said,
"Come in, my dear." He waved to the bench, "Please. Be seated."

The man was
smaller than she remembered, somehow diminished in stature, the
burden of his son's death and the events to come weighing heavily.
The lines about his rheumy eyes spoke to pain, yet she never
doubted his fierce resolve to protect what was his.

She folded her
hands in her lap and waited while he poured a goblet of wine and
attended to the polite forms. She gratefully accepted the wine and
sipped it while allowing her gaze to sweep the room, taking the
measure of the man through the treasures displayed so casually
about the space.

She said,
"Nico…"

"…will join us shortly." He sat in a chair opposite and gave
her a calculating look. "My son has told me what
he
knows." She blanched at
the implication of that emphasis on 'he'. Cosimo continued, assured
of her undivided attention. "Now, my dear, it is time to tell me
what
you
know."

A thousand
warning bells went off all at once, her head splitting at the deep
drilling, the unmitigated brutality of the assault, far worse than
what she'd experienced so many weeks ago in the tunnel by the
canal. The goblet fell from her hand, the red wine pooling like
blood about the hem of her skirt. Fingernails gouging into her
palm, piercing the skin, releasing thin streams of viscous blood to
drip on her skirt, she was helpless to gainsay the man's
powers.

Like Nico he
demanded but unlike his son, who had gently peeled away each layer,
taking the time to understand and assimilate the knowledge, Cosimo
rampaged through her senses like an angry bull, smashing her
barriers apart like so much fragile glass.

Dear Reverend
Mother, stop this!

Allow it,
child.

No! It hurts,
it hurts so much…

Be strong, my
child. Your trials have yet to come.

An eternity, or
an instant in time, passed—she could not be sure. Then it was over.
She expected to feel ravaged—raped, violated—but nothing quite
described the turmoil, like angry seas tossing a small craft after
a wicked storm. Her gut bubbled and boiled and she feared she would
vomit from the bile rising to her throat.

Cosimo cradled
her head and crooned soft words she could not understand. If he
were attempting to comfort her, he failed miserably. Her soul
yearned for Nico's touch, his love—only that could calm her
battered spirit.

Have I destroyed that too, as I've destroyed everything I've
touched in this world?
Stefano, Antonio…
Lost to me, to the ones who love them.

She did not
hear Nico enter the room. He tore his father's hands away from her
head and drove the older man back until he landed with an audible
thud on the ornate seat. She couldn't see her lover's face but his
voice was thunderous.

"What have you
done?"

"What I had to,
boy." The old man's voice wavered slightly but he stared up at his
son with resolve.

"If you've hurt
her…"

Cosimo glared
at her with a mixture of fear and awe. Even Nico was surprised at
the man's expression. With a pleading note, his father said, "Let
go of me."

Nico complied
and moved to stand behind her. She still could not see Nico's face,
nor could she read whatever passed between father and son, a
communication so private, so intimate, she had no means to
interpret what it meant.

The hands that
gripped her shoulders with punishing intensity promised violence,
the man so out-of-control she believed him capable of anything at
that moment.

She grew
lightheaded, the silence, the total absence of sound amidst a
cacophony of emotion, stretched her resources thin. Nico's groin
pressed against her back. He would not feel the slick weeping as
her flesh ripped to the sweet sting, Stefano's hiss of pleasure
amidst the damning words of comfort.

With an effort
she pulled back, forcing her concentration on the here and now.
Time warped and wavered and her senses told her they no longer had
the luxury of engaging in such sport.

Talking, always
talking, never doing… The other awaited her.

It was
time.

Time.

The tunnel
echoed with the unspoken words.

She is
mine.

Do what you
must.

I will not
leave her.

Protect…

The willow
stick whistled, such a sweet melody, slippery, slick, the taste of
iron thick on her tongue, soothing her parched throat…

Thrusting,
driving, his sobs rend her soul, possessing her, devouring her.

She is
mine.

No Tonio, she
was never yours. She never will be.

****

The dim light
in the room told her evening quickly advanced. She'd been out for
hours. She lifted her head to find Nico staring with anxious
eyes.

"How do you
feel, sweetheart?" Nico gathered her close and stroked her
hair.

She mumbled
into his chest. "What happened?"

"You had
another episode. My father put you out," he shrugged, "if that's
the correct term."

Veluria said,
"We call it stasis."

While grateful
for the older man's intervention, for she was sure she had needed
it, she wasn't happy about how both men seemed able to exercise so
much control over her body and her senses.

Cradling her
breast, his thumb flicking the nipple until it stood taut, Nico
gazed with hooded eyes, his breath ragged with need. Lazily tracing
his fingers over the soft rise of her belly, he probed her moist
folds, his lips purring against her throat like a great jungle
cat.

Playing her
body like an instrument, his mouth wandered at will until she lost
focus and gave in to the man's power and dominance. She arched her
hips as he pleasured her beyond her endurance. With a cry she
answered his silent plea…

Yes, Nico, I am
yours.

****

Cosimo watched
the carriage drive away. The retinue was smaller than he would have
preferred but it would do on short notice. Paulo had done a good
job of securing some of the city's better swordsmen, if not the
most savory. Of their loyalty to Florence there was little doubt.
Paulo and his son would see to it that they acquitted themselves
well in service to the family.