The papers in front of him detailed Phaedra’s experience, her capabilities, and her weaknesses. He bit down on the inside of his cheek as he stared down at the information. He didn’t have to read Phaedra’s qualifications. He knew them well. With a vicious swipe of his hand, he slapped the file closed against the wrought iron table.
“Goddamn it, I don’t need her here.”
That wasn’t true and he knew it. Of all the healers in the Order, Phaedra was the best, and someone with her abilities would be a valuable asset to the team. His fingertips brushed across the ravaged tissue that barely covered the muscles of his face. She’d actually been willing to heal him that night in that hellhole a year ago, but he’d rejected her attempt.
Phaedra had believed he’d been afraid to watch her suffer his injuries during the healing process. That was partly true, but even if he’d given in to her pleas that night, not even
her
abilities could have destroyed the monster hiding beneath the surface.
Worse, she would have seen him for what he was during the healing process. Many healers experienced not only the injured’s physical pain, but the emotional trauma of the event as well. He hadn’t been willing to risk that with her. He closed his eye, all too aware of the empty, misshaped socket on the other side of his nose.
The Order had offered him plastic surgery, but he knew it wouldn’t have changed anything. He knew what he was. What he saw in the mirror every day served as a constant reminder of the ugliness in him. A monster he’d never known until it had revealed itself that night. It made him vigilant against letting that darkness hurt his friends or the Order itself.
He shoved his way out of his chair, and it toppled over backward as he stepped out of the sunlight and into the small living room. Enough. He wasn’t going to let the past, or Phaedra DeLuca, get in the way of him accomplishing his task. A taunting laugh surfaced in the back of his mind.
With a grunt of anger, he returned to the bedroom to snatch his eye patch off the nightstand. It wasn’t a necessity, but he’d found the patch helped minimize the initial impact his scarred face had on most people. Then there were the occasions when it served to make unsavory characters uncomfortable. The circular leather piece settled into place over his sunken eye socket, and he walked back into the sitting room as a sharp rap hit the small apartment’s door.
“Enter,” he ordered, expecting Irini had returned to pick up his breakfast tray.
In the next instance, his entire body went rigid with surprise as Phaedra entered the suite.
Desperately, he tried to ignore the fact that every nerve ending in his body was on fire with tension.
She’d woven her ebony hair into a braid that ran down the middle of her back to a spot an inch or so past her shoulders. The memory of that dark hair spilled out around her on a pillow made the knot growing in his throat expand and tighten. Her complexion was flawless, and her skin was the golden brown typical of southern Italy natives. Like him, she wore the standard work uniform of the Sicari Order, only on her, it clung to curves that stirred up sensual images he knew best to leave buried.
But it was her eyes that always managed to draw him in and hold him paralyzed. They were a warm brown with gold flecks that flashed whenever she was angry or excited. Slanted just enough to give her an exotic look, they were narrowed at him right now. A sign she was assessing the situation. He immediately acknowledged the fact that at any minute he’d be drowning in deep waters.
Chapter 5
PHAEDRA was still mulling over Cleo’s words as she headed toward Lysander’s apartment in the Rome safe house. In some respects, Cleo had been right about the underlying tension between her and Lysander. That tension had intensified the moment she’d condemned him at Julian’s R
ogalis.
She’d stood there in front of that funeral pyre furious that Julian had allowed his pain to overrule his judgment. Her friend had gone looking for trouble all because of her. Watching the flames of Julian’s cremation, her guilt and anger had destroyed her ability to think straight. Everything had slammed into her like a freight train. Her guilt over Julian’s death, the pain of Lysander’s rejection, and her own inability to get on with her life.
It had made her want to strike out at whatever entered her line of sight. And the minute Lysander stepped toward her at that funeral pyre she’d exploded with rage. His pity was the last thing she wanted, and it had made her lash out as savagely as possible. The instant she blamed him for Julian’s death, she’d regretted her bitter words.
The anguish on his face had said he was blaming himself not just for Julian’s death, but for the two warriors who died in that Englewood warehouse in Chicago. But Julian’s death hadn’t been his responsibility. It had been hers. That moment had changed her. For the first time, she had an insight into what Lysander had to be living with every day.
The anger bottled up inside her had been washed away until the only thing left was the ache that came with loving him. From that point forward, she’d stopped looking for ways to taunt him. If he’d been puzzled by her new restraint, he’d never allowed it to show. And now he’d asked for her. Hope wasn’t something she could afford with Lysander, but that didn’t stop it from growing in her heart.
The fact that he wanted her on his team for the Rome assignment was enough to make that emotion bloom like a fragile flower. She didn’t understand why, but he’d suddenly changed his mind about having her on the same team with him. It was a complete aboutface from the past year when he’d gone out of his way to
avoid
having her assigned to any of his missions.
Her knuckles rapped on the door of Lysander’s apartment. If the man had meant to throw her off stride by bringing her to Rome, he’d succeeded. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so frigging nervous. His deep voice ordered her to enter. Swallowing her fear, she moved through the door.
The sight of him standing in the middle of the room sent her heartbeat skidding out of control. If she’d been a racecar suddenly shifted into high gear, her heart couldn’t have gone any faster. There was an odd look on his face that she could have sworn was fear before his expression froze into granite. What could the man possibly be afraid of where she was concerned? Every nerve ending in her body tugged on her to get as close to him as she could. She resisted the pull as he folded his arms across his chest.
The movement emphasized sinewy shoulder muscles rippling beneath the black T-shirt he wore. A rush of fire sped up her spine until her neck was hot beneath her braided hair. Unable to help herself, her gaze slid downward to the solid line of his powerful legs encased in snug black leather. The memory of those strong legs sliding against hers made her jerk her gaze back to his face. That didn’t make her feel any better because that beautiful green eye of his was watching her like a hawk.
He faced her head on, his features polar opposites of each other. One profile a horrible mass of scarred tissue and muscle, the other side was that of a beautiful angel capable of seducing a woman with just one glance of that piercing green gaze of his. Something he’d managed to do quite easily a year ago. The black patch over his scarred eye added to the hard, dark edge of emotion he exuded as he stared at her in silence, waiting for her to speak. Deus, the man made her nervous as hell. She fought to get her pulse rate under control.
“We need to talk,” she snapped.
Christus
, that wasn’t a good start.
“About?” His uncooperative tone made her tighten her lips.
“Damn it, why do you always have to be so cryptic?” The man was more than that. He was exasperating. “You’re worse than Ares.”
“I’m flattered.”
“It
wasn’t
a compliment.”
He arched his eyebrow in an arrogant fashion at her frustrated remark but remained silent. She drew in a deep breath then exhaled. This was
not
going well at all. She was supposed to be apologizing to him, not antagonizing him. She centered herself in an attempt to create some calm inside her.
“Okay, let me start over. We have … a history, you and I. This isn’t Chicago, and since you asked for me on this assignment, I thought it best we clear the air between us.”
“I didn’t ask for you,” he said harshly.
If he’d struck her, she couldn’t have been more stunned. How could he say he hadn’t asked for her? She was here. She’d received the e-mail, and her name had been on the passenger list for the Order’s Learjet that had flown her here.
“I don’t understand … as Le
gatus
, you picked your own team. I was told to report here.”
“The Prim
a Consul
added fighters to the list I submitted. I didn’t put your name on my list.”
The skin on her face grew cold as the blood drained away. He’d not asked for her. Deus, could she have ever been a bigger fool? Her head was spinning, and she didn’t know which way to turn. Rejection was becoming a habit she could do without. Had he let her come all this way just to tell her she wasn’t wanted? She went rigid at the thought.
“So why didn’t you tell Atia to take me off the roster?” she bit out.
“I didn’t know she’d assigned you to my team until my Primus
Pilus
gave me your file a little while ago,” he said quietly.
For a moment, she could have sworn there was a gentle note of apology in his voice. She immediately discarded the notion. It was just wishful thinking on her part. The man was being polite, nothing more. But she didn’t want him to be polite. She wanted him to say the past year had been nothing more than a big mistake. She wanted to hear him say he cared about her and had pushed her away because he’d not wanted to see her hurt. That’s what she wanted him to do.
He didn’t do any of that.
Instead, he rubbed the back of his neck and stared down at the floor in a contemplative fashion. Her imagination had the audacity to suggest that her presence had thrown him off balance. She tried to dismiss the idea but couldn’t. The man was almost stone hard with tension, and it had to be because she was here. If they were going to be walking around on eggshells with one another, then she needed to go home. But the truth was she didn’t want to go home.
“Send me back to Chicago then.” She heard the break in her voice, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“Atia had her reasons for sending you here. She’s not likely to send you home,” he said smoothly, but she could see he was uneasy about her being here. “As for the past. It’s just that, the past.”
She flinched at his words. It wasn’t j
ust
the past. It was as real and vivid to her as if it had happened yesterday. Only a man who didn’t care about her could use those words. She drew in a sharp breath as she bent her head to avoid looking at him. The last thing she needed was for him to see how vulnerable she was where he was concerned.
“Then I guess I’m staying.”
“If you’re worried I’ll treat you differently than the others-
don’t
.”
His words had a sharp edge to them that said he’d somehow been offended by her comment. She jerked her head up to see his green eye studying her with an emotion that made her heart skip a beat. He blinked and it wasn’t there anymore. Had that been a flash of desire in his gaze or was she imagining things?
The knot in her throat swelled. She was an idiot. When was she going to learn that things weren’t going to change? She kept looking for anything that might give her hope, but she kept coming up empty-handed. It was time to move on, but she wasn’t sure how. Maybe the best way to do that was to do what she’d come here for. Apologize.
“I didn’t just come here to clear the air between us.” She hesitated, uncertain how to proceed.
“It’s not like you to hold back, Phaedra,” he said with a trace of cynical amusement. “Just say what you have to say.”
Christus
, the man wasn’t making this easy. She didn’t blame him for being wary of her. The verbal lashings she’d given him over the past year weren’t something she was proud of, but she couldn’t take them back. At the same time, she knew he wasn’t completely blameless. He’d been a
bastardo
to let her go that morning thinking they’d shared something special. And she was the idiot who kept praying he’d lied.
“I wanted to say thank you for … you were good to me when Julian died.” She saw him stiffen with surprise. Clearly, her words weren’t what he’d been expecting.
“I know how much he meant to you.”
There it was again, that stiff note in his voice. Almost as if it pained him to talk about Julian. Maybe it did. It definitely wasn’t an easy topic for her.
“Julian was my friend. You did what you could to make things easier for me, and I’m grateful.” Her gaze met his, and she bit her bottom lip at the impassive expression on his face. “And I’m especially grateful for you not telling Atia that I healed Ares after he ran the gauntlet.”
“It was easy to do. I didn’t see you heal him,” he growled.
The dark expression on his face made her mouth go dry. Tension vibrated between them in a way that was tangible. She could feel it sliding over her skin until she wanted to run from the room. But she charged ahead.
“But you knew. You saw me after the fact. You even carried me back to my room—”
“Where’s all this leading, Phaedra? I’ve work to do.”
“I wanted to talk to you about the night of Julian’s R
ogalis
.”
“There’s nothing to say,” he bit out between clenched teeth as his body grew even more rigid with tension. “You spoke the truth.”
“
No.
” The vehemence in her voice was startling as she turned and walked past him to stand at the door leading out onto the balcony. “I’m to blame for what happened to him, not you. He wouldn’t have disobeyed your orders if I hadn’t rejected his offer of the blood bond the night before.”
Her words were a hard blow to his midsection. Julian had asked her to be his wife. Is that what they’d been arguing about when he’d encountered them in the gym the night before Julian died? Why had she rejected the Sicari fighter?
Il Christi omnipotentia
, was it possible she still cared for him despite the vicious way he’d rejected her at the hospital?