Assassin's Heart (39 page)

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Authors: Monica Burns

BOOK: Assassin's Heart
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Beside her, Pasquale drew in a sharp breath of pain as Ares hit a bump on their way back to the safe house. Deus, she’d been so wrapped up in her own misery, she’d forgotten that Luciano and Ares were both injured. Her brother had minor cuts and bruises that Violetta or the Vi
gilavi
doctor could heal.
But she remembered how Luciano had been forced to lean on Ares to make it back to the car. Lysander had been hurt, too. In the moonlight, she’d seen his shirt splayed open to reveal a chest wound, and his shoulder had been wet and glistening with blood, but she’d known his injuries were minor. He hadn’t been hurt badly, and she’d found herself offering up a small prayer of gratitude that he’d survived. Even despite learning his terrible secret, she’d been relieved he would be okay.
She turned toward the man next to her at the same time Emma turned around in her seat. The fact that her sister-in-law had escaped their encounter with the Praetorians without a scrape was a small miracle. But it wouldn’t stop Ares from giving them hell for quite some time to come.
“Are you all right, Luciano?” Emma’s voice held a breathless note that indicated her heightened state of adrenaline as a result of the battle they’d all survived. It was Emma’s first, and if Ares had any say in the matter, Phaedra was sure her sister-in-law wouldn’t be seeing action any time in the near future.
“I’ll be fine,” Luciano said through clenched teeth. “Just a slight twinge over that last bump.”
“Let me see,” Phaedra said in a calm voice.
She scooted across the middle of the seat, ignoring the pain in her leg. The Praetorian
bastardo
she’d taken out had managed to leave a long, nasty cut from her hip to midthigh. It would be at least another hour before it healed properly. Unlike those she healed, it took her body a lot longer to recuperate from any injuries. And if she healed anyone while she was injured, it took even longer for her own wounds to heal.

When she was close enough to examine Luciano’s wound, she pulled her penlight out of her pocket and illuminated his thigh. She bit back a gasp. The cut was almost to the bone. He was lucky. Any closer and the blade would have severed a main artery, causing him to bleed out on the field. He was fortunate in more ways than one, because she’d never healed anyone bleeding from a primary arterial vein, and she wasn’t sure whether she could. Still this cut was almost as bad, and it needed healing now. Without hesitating, she extended her hands to him.

“With your permission, I must touch you to heal you.”

In the front seat, Ares released a harsh curse. “Damn it, Phaedra, wait until we get to the safe house. I’ve already called to have a doctor meet us at the house.”

“Whether I do it here or at the safe house is a moot point. Violetta doesn’t have the ability to heal a wound like this. I don’t even know if she’ll be able to heal your cuts. And then there’s Cleo and …”
She didn’t dare say Lysander’s name. Not yet, the pain of his betrayal was still too raw. With every beat of her heart, the physical sensation of his lie sent a throbbing pain into every part of her. It was an ache she didn’t think she would ever recover from. She forced herself to focus on Luciano and repeated the traditional saying of the
Curavi.

“I can wait, c
arissima
.”

“
Christus
, will you just accept the damn
Curavi
,” she exclaimed.

Luciano studied her carefully for a moment then gave her an abrupt nod as he placed his hands in hers. She immediately closed her eyes and as always the familiar warmth of healing rushed through her body into her hands. The pain when it came was agonizing. She shuddered as she felt the deep cut on Luciano’s leg form on her own leg. She was grateful his wound wasn’t on the same leg as her own injury. It would have hurt far worse.
For several long minutes, she clung to Luciano’s hands, accepting the pain he’d endured as penance for loving a Praetorian. The enemy. The
bastardi
responsible for the death of her parents and countless others. The pain in her leg slowly eased, and she released her grip on Luciano’s hands before she leaned back against the car seat. Drained, she kept her eyes closed, wanting to do nothing but curl up in her bed and go to sleep. The sleep of the dead where she didn’t have to feel anything.
She must have dozed off, because the sound of a car door opening made her jerk upright. Still groggy as a result of healing Luciano, she clung to the car door as she got out of the vehicle. The second Land Rover wheeled into the parking space beside them, and she averted her gaze as Lysander and Cleo got out of the vehicle.
Her hand pressed into the side of the car, she shuffled forward. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lysander stepping into plain view, while Cleo joined him. How could her friend have anything to do with him? He’d betrayed Cleo, too. Unable to stop herself, she turned her head toward Lysander. His face was like a marble statue, pale and without expression.

A sudden urge to go to him swept through her. She wanted answers. Wanted to understand why he hadn’t told her. She swayed slightly as she braced herself on the car’s tailgate. She saw Lysander take a step forward as a strong pair of arms lifted her up off her feet. Startled, she looked up at Luciano’s grim profile and immediately found herself longing for Lysander. Her gaze drifted back to Lysander, and she saw his stoic expression dissolve into one of fury as Luciano sent him a cold glare.

Cleo grasped Lysander’s arm and held him back as Luciano carried her into the house. Drained of energy and emotion, all Phaedra wanted was to crawl into her bed and sleep. In sleep, she could forget everything. The moment they were inside, there was a flurry of activity. The Vi
gilavi
who worked in the house were already prepared to tend to the wounded who couldn’t receive the
Curavi
. As Luciano carried her through the hall toward the main stairs, Atia met them coming down the steps. Clearly surprised, a flash of fear swept across her features.

“Lysander?”

“The Praetorian is with Cleo,” Luciano said with outraged disgust.

“Deus. How many know?” Atia’s question made Phaedra stiffen in Luciano’s arms as she stared at the woman in horror.

“You knew?”

“I’ve known since he was a baby that he’s half-Praetorian. Lysander didn’t find out until Nicostratus tortured him. He’s struggled with the knowledge ever since.”
Atia’s words made her sick. Lysander hadn’t just talked with the Prim
a Consul
about his torture session. He’d shared who he was with Atia. Not her. She moaned softly. How could he possibly love her if he didn’t trust her to tell her the truth? Closing her eyes, she sagged against Luciano’s shoulder.
“I want to go to my room.
Now.
” At her command, Luciano moved up the staircase, and in less than a minute, they were at the door of her small suite. “I can make it from here.”
“Are you sure?” he asked as he set her on her feet.
“Yes, thank you.” She opened the door of her apartment and paused as Luciano touched her shoulder.
“If you need anything, c
arissima
, you know where to find me.”
“Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”

She pushed the door open, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of movement. Turning her head, her heart crashed into her chest at the sight of Lysander coming down the hall. She had no stomach for a confrontation with him now or later. Quickly entering her suite, she slammed the door closed. Her fingers brushed over the lock without

flipping the bolt.

If he really wanted in, all he had to do was pick the lock with his thoughts. Still feeling sluggish, she made her way into her bedroom and tumbled onto the mattress. Curled up on top of the sheets, she dragged a pillow into her chest and clung to it as if it were a lifeline. One by one, the tears came. They soaked the pillow as she sobbed herself to sleep.

“MAXIMUS.”

She shot upright off the bed in the room where Octavian’s slaves had imprisoned her. It
was just a dream. She lay down again and stared up at the ceiling. This morning when
Octavian had stormed into the house, she’d never imagined that the man would take her
prisoner. When Maximus returned home, he wouldn’t know where to find her. The sound
of the bedroom door opening made her sit up.
The manner in which Octavian entered the room, as if he had the right to, angered her.
She was the daughter of Gaius Quinctilia Atellus, not some whore he could walk in on
when it suited him. The glare she sent in his direction didn’t seem to faze him, or if it did,
he ignored it. In fact, he arched his eyebrows as if he knew exactly what she was
thinking. As she’d done earlier, she shielded her thoughts as Maximus had taught her.
She’d become quite good at it, and Maximus had been convinced he’d transferred some of
his ability to her as the result of their blood bond. Her stomach lurched as Octavian sat
down on the edge of the bed.
“Beautiful,” he murmured as his hand stretched out to brush across her cheek. She
shrank away from him, and the feral smile on his handsome features sent a shiver down
her spine. “I have news.”
Fear coated her skin in ice, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d
made her think the worst. Instead, she arched her eyebrow at him in contempt. His mouth
thinned with anger.
“Your husband is dead.” Octavian’s words hit her like a thunderbolt. She shook her head
in denial.
“Liar. If Maximus were dead, it would please you to show me his head.” The thought of
such a thing horrified her, but she knew it was true.
“My dear Cassiopeia, I am not a cruel man. I would never force you to endure such a
thing.” Octavian’s words were smooth and oily. “You’ll see him soon enough when you’re
found guilty of heresy.”

“Not even you would dare to execute the daughter of Gaius Quinctilia Atellus.
Constantine would ban you from his court.”

“Ahh, but I have no intention of executing you,
mea dulcis
. I will simply explain that I
was too late to prevent the mob from extracting their misguided justice.” His words made
her cheeks grow cold as the blood drained from her face, and he chuckled.
She turned her head away as a wave of hopelessness washed over her. If Maximus were
alive—no, he was alive. She could feel it. And when he learned where she was, he’d risk
his life to rescue her. The knowledge made her heart skip a beat. If he tried to do that,
he’d certainly die. No, she had to find a way to escape and reach him first.

“You’re far too quiet,
mea mellis
. What are you planning in that pretty head of yours?”

“Nothing,” she said as a whisper of a thought not her own brushed through her head. She
met his gaze with a surreal sense of calm.

“If you’re thinking you can escape, Cassiopeia, don’t. The Praetorians guarding the
house are loyal to me, and the household slaves know the harsh consequences of
betrayal.”

“Would you be any less suspicious if I were to calmly accept you as my jailor?”

“No.” He smiled. It frightened her because his gaze remained flat as a reptile’s gaze. “At
least you’ve not lost your spirit. It’s one of the things that always excited me about you.”

“And you disgust me.” She met his gaze with a look of scorn. Her reward for her defiance
was the anger that flashed across his face before he leaned toward her.
“At least you understand it’s impossible to elude the hand of justice.” Octavian’s mouth
was so close she couldn’t help but turn her head away from him. His fingers captured her
chin, forcing her to look at him. “You’re a heretic, Cassiopeia. And you will be punished,
just like your husband and the boy.”
Her heart stopped at his words.
Care Deus
, if he found Demetri—no, she refused to
believe that Posca would fail her and Maximus. He would keep Demetri safe. A flutter of
movement inside her belly heightened her fear. The baby. If Octavian discovered she was
pregnant with Maximus’s child—he would kill her immediately. He wouldn’t risk her
escaping and bearing a child that might one day be his downfall. Again, the whisper
echoed in her head. This time it was stronger, deeper. It convinced her that Octavian was
attempting to read her mind. She immediately forced herself to block off her thoughts
with images of Maximus finding her. They gave her courage. She would find a way to
escape.
A look of fascination on his face, Octavian’s thumb brushed over her mouth. “What was it
you saw in Maximus that you never saw in me? I could have given you everything he
gave you and more.”

“I didn’t love you.”

“Instead you loved a traitor.”

“Maximus isn’t a traitor. You’re the one who’s betrayed the oath of the Praetorian Guard.
You’re the one who wants the
Tyet of Isis to
further your own ambitions, not to protect
it.”

“And I was not so weak that I shared all of its secrets with a woman.”

“Maximus has never been weak.”

“No? You bent him to your will.” Octavian’s hand caressed the side of her neck, and she
shivered at the vile touch. “He betrayed his oath to the Guard by telling you about the
Tyet of Isis
.”

“That’s not true. I learned of the box when I blood bonded with Maximus,” she
exclaimed.

The moment she spoke, Octavian stiffened and slowly pulled away from her. The look on
his face said she’d made a mistake. Many in the Guard frowned upon the blood bond. It
meant the woman might acquire a special power, and in Rome, a woman with power was
a threat. Especially if she acquired all the powers of the man she blood bonded with.
Octavian grabbed her hands and turned them palms up. She winced at the way his
fingers bit into her hands as he stared at the long scar on her left palm.

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