suppressed it easily. Memories of his dead love had that effect on him.
Mary.
He hadn’t thought about her for months. He almost wanted to think he was forgetting about her, which would make things easier for his heavy heart, but that would be a lie. If he lived another thousand years he would never forget Mary’s face. She had been everything to him. Taras had even ended his service to Rome just to be with her, yet she died that same night. He’d loved her and Rome more than his own life, and both had been stolen from him by a Bachiyr who’d used him to frame an innocent man.
His career in Rome and Mary were both gone, and his life, such as it was, remained intact. He was no longer a Legionary, or anyone’s lover, or even human. All that remained of the life he’d lost was the small patch of blue cloth in his hand, which he still carried everywhere he went. Theron had taken those things from him. He’d stolen them as sure as he’d stolen Mary’s ring from her finger as she lay dying in the alley. Taras had bought her that ring, a symbol of their forbidden love.
“I will find you someday, Theron,” Taras whispered to the empty room. He folded the strip of cloth and tucked it into his bag. “When I do, you will not get away again.”
“Marvelous,” said a female voice behind him. “I absolutely adore bravado.”
Taras whirled, claws at the ready, his pack dropped to the floor without a thought. He crouched low as he spun, making himself a smaller target for the vampire he knew must be swinging at him even now.
But the only other Bachiyr in the room stood ten feet away, leaning against the doorframe and wearing a smile that revealed the two bright, sharp points of her canines. Taras stood slowly, keeping his claws out and ready to fight.
“Put those away,” she said, nodding toward his hands. “You will not need them, and they would do you no good, in any case.”
Taras scoffed, and the woman sighed. She waved her fingers at him and whispered a few words in a language he did not understand. A strange tingle ran through his arms, and then his claws retreated back into his fists on their own. Taras stared at his vanishing weapons, willing them to slow or stop, but they didn’t. In only a few seconds his hands were normal again.
He looked up at the woman in his doorway. She winked, then yawned, revealing her fangs in gleaming white detail. “Now we can talk,” she said.
“Talk?” Taras asked, backing toward the window. Several wooden boards blocked it—Taras had added them to shield the place from sunlight—but he could break through them if he had to. “About what?”
“Something we both want, Taras. And stop moving toward the window. I could kill you before you broke the first board if I wanted. I’m not here for that.”
He couldn’t hide his surprise. How the hell did she know who he was?
She stepped into the room with a silky, lethal grace, giving Taras his first good look at her. Her long black hair spilled in waves over her shoulders. Aristocratic, sharp features dominated her lovely face. Her black eyes glittered with amusement, and a faint trace of a smile tugged at the corners of her deep red lips. Her clothing clung to her like a second skin, leaving very little to the imagination. He found his eyes drawn to the shapely swell of her breasts. Had he still had need of breath, she would have taken it away. As it was, he could not help but stare at her dangerous beauty.
More than her beauty, he felt the power of her lithe body in his skin. It tickled his nerves, sending an icy shiver through him that he couldn’t hide. Her wide, confident smile burned a hole through him and cauterized the wound. The woman’s power sizzled and popped, radiating from her body like heat from the sun. Taras realized he would have no chance if it came to blows. He had no doubt that she could, indeed, kill him any time she wished, just as she claimed.
He moved to the edge of his bed and sat down. She
Mary.
He hadn’t thought about her for months. He almost wanted to think he was forgetting about her, which would make things easier for his heavy heart, but that would be a lie. If he lived another thousand years he would never forget Mary’s face. She had been everything to him. Taras had even ended his service to Rome just to be with her, yet she died that same night. He’d loved her and Rome more than his own life, and both had been stolen from him by a Bachiyr who’d used him to frame an innocent man.
His career in Rome and Mary were both gone, and his life, such as it was, remained intact. He was no longer a Legionary, or anyone’s lover, or even human. All that remained of the life he’d lost was the small patch of blue cloth in his hand, which he still carried everywhere he went. Theron had taken those things from him. He’d stolen them as sure as he’d stolen Mary’s ring from her finger as she lay dying in the alley. Taras had bought her that ring, a symbol of their forbidden love.
“I will find you someday, Theron,” Taras whispered to the empty room. He folded the strip of cloth and tucked it into his bag. “When I do, you will not get away again.”
“Marvelous,” said a female voice behind him. “I absolutely adore bravado.”
Taras whirled, claws at the ready, his pack dropped to the floor without a thought. He crouched low as he spun, making himself a smaller target for the vampire he knew must be swinging at him even now.
But the only other Bachiyr in the room stood ten feet away, leaning against the doorframe and wearing a smile that revealed the two bright, sharp points of her canines. Taras stood slowly, keeping his claws out and ready to fight.
“Put those away,” she said, nodding toward his hands. “You will not need them, and they would do you no good, in any case.”
Taras scoffed, and the woman sighed. She waved her fingers at him and whispered a few words in a language he did not understand. A strange tingle ran through his arms, and then his claws retreated back into his fists on their own. Taras stared at his vanishing weapons, willing them to slow or stop, but they didn’t. In only a few seconds his hands were normal again.
He looked up at the woman in his doorway. She winked, then yawned, revealing her fangs in gleaming white detail. “Now we can talk,” she said.
“Talk?” Taras asked, backing toward the window. Several wooden boards blocked it—Taras had added them to shield the place from sunlight—but he could break through them if he had to. “About what?”
“Something we both want, Taras. And stop moving toward the window. I could kill you before you broke the first board if I wanted. I’m not here for that.”
He couldn’t hide his surprise. How the hell did she know who he was?
She stepped into the room with a silky, lethal grace, giving Taras his first good look at her. Her long black hair spilled in waves over her shoulders. Aristocratic, sharp features dominated her lovely face. Her black eyes glittered with amusement, and a faint trace of a smile tugged at the corners of her deep red lips. Her clothing clung to her like a second skin, leaving very little to the imagination. He found his eyes drawn to the shapely swell of her breasts. Had he still had need of breath, she would have taken it away. As it was, he could not help but stare at her dangerous beauty.
More than her beauty, he felt the power of her lithe body in his skin. It tickled his nerves, sending an icy shiver through him that he couldn’t hide. Her wide, confident smile burned a hole through him and cauterized the wound. The woman’s power sizzled and popped, radiating from her body like heat from the sun. Taras realized he would have no chance if it came to blows. He had no doubt that she could, indeed, kill him any time she wished, just as she claimed.
He moved to the edge of his bed and sat down. She
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