Assassin's Honor (25 page)

           
Now as she studied the gathering, she felt completely out of place. Almost everyone present was dressed in solid black pants and knit shirts. It was like being in the midst of a military ops exercise with one exception. The only other place she'd ever seen so many swords was on television or the big screen. Some wore their weapons in scabbards on their back, while others wore them at their side. She even saw several of the circular blades called chakrams hanging from the belts of several men and women.

           
She wondered how many of them had actually killed someone,
then
she immediately shut out the thought. It was easier to pretend she was at some sci-fi convention. With a soft sigh, she bowed her head. Perhaps she was dead and this was nothing more than a dream. But if that was the case, why did every one of her nerve endings quiver in response to Ares's presence? She darted a glance in his direction.

           
Dressed in black like the others, he was a feast for the female eye. Tall, muscular, and powerfully male, he stood with arms folded across his chest, watching the room like a sentinel from the ancient past. The sword he wore on his back only enhanced the edgy danger emanating off him. As if sensing her gaze on him, he looked down at her.

           
He didn't say anything, but the flash of desire in
those lake
blue eyes of his made her cheeks burn. With a gulp, she jerked her gaze away from his, and a fire coiled inside her belly as she heard him breathe a sound that could have passed for a low growl. The primal, quiet rumble slid across her skin, making her hair stand on end. It was the sound of a powerful predator eyeing his dessert. Afraid to look Ares in the eye, she turned her attention to Lysander.

           
The disfigured warrior was dressed like everyone else in standard black with a sword on his back. Like Ares and one or two other fighters, Lysander wore leather bracers on his forearms. She hadn't asked what they signified, but an educated guess told her they represented a rank of some sort. Her gaze drifted across the room to where a group of people had gathered around an older woman seated away from the bereaved family.

           
Ares had approached the woman immediately after speaking with Julian's family. It had been apparent they were at odds with one another. His stiff posture had radiated defiance and the woman's expression had wavered between amused exasperation and unyielding resolve. Now, as she watched the deference each fighter showed the silver-haired woman, Emma wondered who she was. She supposed she could ask Ares, but thought better of it. Just the sound of his voice sent her heart pounding.

           
Instead, she turned her attention to the visitors gathered around Julian's grieving parents. Behind them on a table was a picture of a handsome young man. Remembering the photo Ares had shown her earlier, she hoped they hadn't seen their son's mutilated body. She knew how traumatizing it was to see a loved one disfigured.

           
The sudden, sharp hiss of breath coming from the tall, solidly built fighter beside her captured her
attention,
and she looked up at Lysander. His disfigurement made it difficult to tell what he was looking at, but the muscles lying beneath the scars were taut with tension. She turned her head and saw Phae hugging Julian's mother.

           
Dressed in a white toga, Ares's sister nodded as the older woman gently wiped away the tears on Phae's cheeks. Emma looked back at Lysander, who remained rigid with restrained emotion. Did he care for Ares's sister? The sudden way he relaxed made her search the room for Phae, but the other woman had disappeared.

           
She returned her gaze to Lysander and found herself looking straight into his hard one-eyed stare. The green in his eye darkened as he narrowed his gaze at her. It was a warning, pure and simple. Mind
her own
business. She forced a weak smile to her mouth before turning away.

           
Uncomfortable under the fighter's stern expression, she shifted her attention to a group of young men huddled around a bar in the far corner of the room. They'd all been drinking heavily, but seemed capable of holding their liquor. At least she hoped they were. It still made her nervous to see men, weapons, and drink mixed together. It seemed like an accidental slaying waiting to happen. Just as unnerving was the fact that one of them had been studying her the entire evening.
And not with lust.

           
"I can get you another napkin if you like," Ares said in a soft voice.

           
The quiet statement made her look at the shredded napkin she held before she jerked her head up to meet his reassuring gaze. She wadded the napkin into a ball and dropped it into the empty beverage cup she'd set down on the bookcase behind them a little while ago.

           
"No thank you."

           
"Relax. No one is going to eat you."

           
"I'm glad you think so," she said through clenched teeth. "Based on some of the looks I've been getting, I'm giving five to one odds you're wrong."

           
Before he could respond, the sound of a drum with a slow persistent beat drifted into the room from the covered patio abutting a bank of French doors. Silence immediately engulfed the room as the young man from the bar and a companion quietly ushered the older couple out into the night. The sudden brush of a warm mouth against her ear sent a rush of heat through her.

           
"Lysander and I have to lead the procession. Follow the children when they go outside then stand behind them."

           
His knuckles barely grazed her cheek as he and Lysander moved forward to head up two columns of fighters at the open doorway. The touch left her feeling safe and protected. It was a disconcerting sensation. How could this man she'd known not more than a day affect her in ways that no other man had before? Even more unbelievable was the fact that she was finding this world he lived in almost normal. She closed her eyes for a brief moment as she questioned her sanity.

           
Slowly, the warriors filed out into the darkness to the steady beat of the drum followed by the rest of the guests. When the last guest had disappeared through the French doors, a group of children entered the living room from the main hall. Led by a young woman, they somberly filed through the door, the lit candles they carried flickering as they moved. Remembering Ares's instructions, Emma followed the last child out the door onto the patio.

           
Small pebbles rustled quietly beneath the feet of the cortege as it wound its way down into the trees surrounding the mansion. If not for the votive candles lining the path, the darkness would have been absolute the moment they entered the forest. After a minute or so the procession emerged into a large glade.

           
Emma stared at the huge pyre surrounded by a circle of stone blocks, which sat in the middle of the glade. Torches bordered the wooden structure, their flames illuminating the body engulfed in white funereal wrappings on top of the platform.
Unbelievable.
If someone had told her yesterday she was going to witness an actual Sicari funeral ceremony, she would have thought them insane. Now she was struggling to reassure herself this wasn't insanity.

           
She closed her eyes in the hope she was just dreaming. The persistent beat of the drum told her differently. She was still in Michigan with an ancient order of assassins.
Fighters who had telekinetic powers.
She winced and focused her attention on the scene before her. Not even her father could have envisioned this type of ritualistic behavior from the scant findings he'd recorded over his lifetime.

           
What she was seeing now wasn't written down anywhere. She was certain of it. If it had been, her father would have had a field day talking about this. And this she would have remembered. With a slight shake of her head, she studied the procession of fighters.

           
Ares and Lysander parted ways at the foot of the pyre, each of them leading their column of fighters along either side of the massive death bed. When the procession had formed a large semicircle around the pyre, the drumbeat faded into silence. It was the quiet that tugged at her heart.

           
The unspoken grief was visible in the stoic expressions of the men and women around the pyre. The emotion vibrated off them until it was almost tangible. Nothing broke the silence for a long moment, until out of the darkness a female voice began singing a haunting melody. The heartfelt grief in the singer's voice made her swallow hard.

           
The raw pain in the woman's voice was an emotion Emma could identify with far too easily. She blinked back tears at the thought of her parents. Charlie.
The young man who'd been tortured to death.
The woman's song grew louder as the singer emerged from the trees and walked toward the funeral pyre. The fact that it was Phae didn't surprise her. Ares's sister halted at the head of the wooden funereal structure. When she'd finished her song, she lowered her head and her body folded inward in a clear display of sorrow.

           
Emma saw Ares watching his sister with a look of concern. He even took a step toward her, but Phae suddenly straightened and started to speak. Over the next ten minutes, Ares's sister shared memories of her friend in a moving eulogy. When she'd finished, she threw back her head and shouted out in Latin the words, 'he lives twice who dies well.' At her raw cry, the fighters around the funeral pyre drew their swords and repeated her shout.

           
"Bis vivit qui bene moritur." It was a roar of pain, grief, and defiance all in one.

           
Phae retrieved an unlit torch off the ground and set it on fire with a nearby flame. In a singular move the fighters sheathed their swords and picked up unlit torches off the ground in front of them. Phae lit Ares's torch and then Lysander's before thrusting hers into the head of the funeral pyre. The flame from Phae's torch passed its way down the two lines of Sicari fighters. One by one they thrust their torches into the pyre. In less than a minute, the wooden structure erupted with a roar as the fire engulfed it.

           
The heat from the flames forced everyone back except for Phae. The expression on her face echoed with more than just sorrow. There was guilt there as well. Lysander took two steps toward her, but she must have seen him move because her head jerked in his direction. Pointing to the fire, she shook her head and said something softly to him.

           
The Sicari warrior went rigid, his angelic, demonic face a twisted mask of guilt. Without a word, he turned away and retreated to the edge of the circle, his tall frame a shadowy figure against the dense forest surrounding them. Ares frowned with puzzlement and moved toward his sister.

           
With a violent shove, she threw off his touch of comfort and retreated a short distance to turn and watch the funereal flames shoot high into the air. There was a forlorn look about her that made Emma's heart ache for her, but she understood the other woman's need to be alone in her grief.

           
As the flames roared high into the sky, four Sicari fighters moved to stand guard at each corner of the pyre. This final act seemed to signal the end of the ritual, and the gathering slowly dispersed.
More than ever, Emma felt every bit the aliena, and she retreated a small distance into the shadows.
As the mourners moved along the path back to the mansion, she remained as still as possible to avoid drawing attention to herself.

           
Although several people glanced her way, no one spoke to her. For that she was grateful. Her luck didn't hold. The young man who'd been studying her so closely inside the house headed up the path. He'd almost passed her before he seemed to sense her presence. Anger filled the man's stride as he drew his sword and headed toward her. She flinched. Oh God, not again.

           
"Go back to your Praetorian masters, aliena, or I'll kill you myself."

           
The vicious hostility emanating from the fighter sent Emma's heart plummeting down to her stomach. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ares running toward her, while Lysander approached from the opposite direction. Before Ares could reach her, the Sicari angrily thrust his sword arm up into the air with a shout of rage. Fear left her as she resigned herself to the fate she was certain to come. With another loud roar, the young man abruptly whirled around and dropped his sword arm to point his weapon at Ares in a defiant gesture.

           
"Ares DeLuca, I call Dux Provocare."

           
The moment the fighter's words reverberated through the glade, the entire gathering turned toward the new drama taking place. His expression cold, Ares shook his head.

           
"If you wish to challenge me, fine.
But not here, Maximus.
It's an insult to Julian's memory."

           
"You bring an aliena into our guild the same night my brother is murdered by those Praetorian bastards, and you dare to suggest I'm insulting Julian?" Maximus sent her a sharp glare before returning his gaze back to Ares. "Her presence here shows you've lost your edge. It's my right to call Dux Provocare. Here and now if I so choose."