Byzantine Heartbreak (6 page)

“It’s a story that covers at least three thousand years, Cáel,” Nayara said. “He will have to be very selective.”

“Is he very good?” Ryan demanded.

“I think so. He pulled together the facts about you two. I have hopes.”

“Facts are one thing. What you’re asking for now...that’s something else entirely,” Ryan said. He pulled in another breath, one that lifted his shoulders and settled them. “I will make a deal with you, Cáel. We will do this, Nayara and I, with some provisos.”

Cáel rubbed at his jaw, considering. Nayara watched his pitch black eyes glittering in the low candlelight, the thick bordering lashes surrounding them, as he considered the matter. He really was an extraordinarily attractive man...for a human.

“State your terms,” he told Ryan.

“The book only covers the time from when Nayara and I met. Nothing about our lives before then. Nothing about her slavery. Or my life in Ireland.”

Cáel looked like he might protest, but then he nodded. “If we’re to have a book that comes in under one thousand pages, that seems like a good place to start it. Alright.”

Nayara carefully let out her breath to hide her shakiness as relief left her trembling. She didn’t know if Ryan had done it deliberately, but he had allowed her to avoid revealing just how old she really was and just how long she had lived in Constantinople before she had met either Ryan or Salathiel.

But Cáel must know. If Lyle Bean had done his research, as clearly he had done, then the only way he could have learned of her slavery was if he had spoken to her maker. That her maker still survived was a pleasant surprise to her. He was still passing as human, for he was not amongst the Agency personnel.

Cáel had read the research. Cáel knew.

Nayara wasn’t sure if she liked that or not.

“My second proviso,” Ryan continued.

Cáel grinned. “Go.”

“I’m presuming this Lyle Bean is intending to do some sort of interview process? We spill our life stories and he tidies up the narrative?”

“Something like that,” Cáel confirmed.

Nayara could feel herself tightening up just at the idea.

Ryan shook his head. “Not going to happen.”

“Why not?” Cáel asked, his tone reasonable.

“That kid is way too young and he’s too nervous around us. He doesn’t know vampires. He’s not used to us. He’s not comfortable. How are we supposed to open up and talk about stuff we haven’t spoken about for centuries to a kid who jumps whenever we raise our voices?”

Cáel smiled a little. “But you have an alternative proposal.”

Ryan nodded. “The kid can give you his recording equipment and his questions. We tell
you
our stories. And you get to listen. To every boring hour of it.” Ryan grinned.

Cáel opened his mouth.

“That’s my terms, Cáel. That last one is non-negotiable. Clear your calendar, cancel your appointments, tell ‘em you have an incurable disease. I don’t care.”

Cáel grinned. “Fine. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to ask Ms. Nayara for this waltz.” He stood up and offered her his hand. “Would you do me the honour?”

Nayara glanced at Ryan, who shrugged. She rose and let Cáel lead her onto the dance floor. He moved her gently into the Viennese waltz. He was a very good dancer. Nayara relaxed and let herself enjoy the beautiful dance without danger to her toes or the hem of her dress.

“I know how to keep secrets,” Cáel said.

She looked up at him, startled. Up into his black eyes. They weren’t twinkling now. They were solemn.

“You were worried,” he added.

“Especially when you told Ryan I had been a slave,” she replied. “Very discreet of you.”

“The muckrakers would have found that out for themselves. Ryan deserved to know that much,” Cáel replied. “Do you not realize how admirable that makes you? It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

She could find no answer for that.

“It’s the fact that you were brought to Constantinople in three hundred and fifteen, only ten years after Constantine founded the city, that you want to hide from Ryan, isn’t it? Ryan didn’t arrive in the city until ten years before the walls fell, in fourteen fifty three.”

Nayara bit her lip. “Ryan is much older than that. He spent years in Ireland—”

“I know,” Cáel said softly. “I know, Nayara. I read all the research, not just yours.” He spun her out of the way of slower dancers. “I like the ruby necklace you’re wearing, by the way. I thought redheads couldn’t wear rubies, but you seem to be able to.”

Nayara gave him a smile. Small talk. He was reverting to small talk. Why? Did he think she was angry? That he had probed too deep?

“I notice that you’re still wearing that Celtic medallion as well. You never take it off, do you?”

Her heart jumped and started to beat. “I...no. I don’t.” She couldn’t look him in the eye. It was bad enough that they were dancing, basically hip-to-hip and that he could probably feel the fright that had just tripped through her.

“Is it Ryan’s, Nayara?” Cáel asked.

Her breath was coming faster. These were perfectly simple and polite questions he was asking. Small talk. She didn’t know how to make him stop.

Just tell him to shut up!

“Yes, it’s Ryan’s
,
” she said, her lips feeling thick and uncooperative.

She could feel the warmth of the chain under her fingers. It was a sense-memory. The chain warmed by a human body. The pressure on the chain as she yanked it. The tiny rattle of silver as it came away from his neck.

“When did he give it to you?” Cáel asked. His tone was polite, pleasantly enquiring.

Nayara stopped dancing. “He didn’t,” she said. Her voice came out high. Choked. “Excuse me.” She hurried for the ladies’ washroom, the one place to where Cáel couldn’t follow her.

Or Ryan.

Chapter Six

“There’s a big photo opportunity at eleven, when they hand over the donation money. We have to stay for that at least,” Cáel said wearily, leaning his elbow on the table and his head on his hand.

Ryan shoved his hand in his pocket and stared out at the dance floor. “Brenden is the only one who seems to be having a good time tonight. And we were expecting him to have the hardest time of it, because of the feeding clip.”

“Spread enough money around and you’re guaranteed a good time,” Cáel replied. Guilt tore through him. “Perhaps I should go check on her.”

“And get arrested for molesting women in a public lavatory?” Ryan grimaced. “That would really round the night out perfectly. Leave it, Cáel. Nayara will be back in a while.”

“You could have warned me about the bloody medallion,” Cáel complained.

Ryan turned his chair around and sat on it properly. “How was I to know you’d ask her about it?”

“She wears it every bloody day!” Cáel pointed out. “Of course I was going to ask about it. Who wouldn’t?”

Ryan drew back a little, surprised at Cáel’s vehemence. “I suppose we’re not used to strangers amongst us on a regular basis. It hadn’t occurred to me you might be curious about it.”

“Aren’t other vampires curious?”

“Other vampires know not to ask. We volunteer information about ourselves when we’re ready. It’s the way of things.”

“So Brenden may not know anything about you and he’ll never ask? Even if he’s been at the station for fifty years?”

“He has been at the station at least that long, as it happens.”

Cáel tried to encompass that sort of personal privacy. “Well, it’s a different way of looking at things. It explains why you both bucked so hard over the book.”

Ryan lifted a brow. “We’re trying, Cáel. We’re trying. It’s a steep adaptation for us, especially after so long.”

“I’m beginning to appreciate that.”

“Please excuse my rudeness on the dance floor, Cáel,” Nayara said, from behind him.

Cáel stood and turned. She was hovering just behind him, looking glorious and pristine in her dark green velvet and sequins, with not a hair out of place. Her flesh seemed to glow. So did her eyes.

“Nothing to forgive,” he said. “Ryan was just explaining why I was an insensitive asshole. I think I’m the one that should be apologizing.”

Nayara shook her head. “Ryan and I need to become accustomed to questions. To...probing. It will happen more often now.” She motioned to Cáel’s chair. “Sit. Please. I thought I would try to make up for my lapse right away.” She gracefully lowered herself onto the chair next to him.

“How?” Cáel asked curiously.

“I thought I would tell you about how Ryan and I met.” She lifted the champagne bottle and topped up Cáel’s glass. “Would you like to hear that story, Cáel?”

“More than life itself,” Cáel said truthfully.

Ryan settled himself on his chair. “I can help,” he added, his fingers resting briefly on her wrist.

Nayara smiled at him. Her smile, Cáel noticed, trembled. This wasn’t easy for either of them.

Nayara frowned down at the tablecloth. “I don’t know where to start,” she confessed.

“What year did you meet?” Cáel asked, although he already knew the answer.

“Fourteen forty-two,” Ryan replied instantly.

“Was it an accidental meeting?” Cáel asked curiously. “Nayara, you were passing as a noble woman. And Ryan, you had just arrived in the city. You were a stranger. Meeting and socializing with one of the city’s high born women would have been unusual.”

Ryan nodded. “Unless you had business dealings with her husband...or the man who was generally acknowledged as her de facto husband at that time.”

Cáel forced himself to speak the name that he knew was painful for both of them. “Salathiel.”

Nayara’s full lips pressed together.

Ryan glanced at her. “Do you want me to do this, Nia?” he asked softly.

She started at the name.
Nia
.

Cáel wished he could spare them this pain, but he had spoken nothing but the truth. This was the best way to get the public to open their hearts to them both and to vampires in general. To know them
was
to accept them, even love them a little.

Nayara shook her head. “I can do this. I will do this.” She sat up straighter. “Fourteen forty-two...

* * * * *

Constantinople. 1442 A.D. Mid-summer.

“Nia!”

Salathiel’s booming voice echoed through the house, making Nayara smile. She picked up the hem of her tunic and hurried into the public hall. Despite the incredible heat of the day, the high vaulted roof and tiled floors kept the rooms at a tolerable level of heat until the late afternoon, when the slaves threw all the windows open to catch any cooling breezes.

Salathiel stood impatiently moving from foot to foot in the foyer, his hands on his hips, watching the slaves unpack crates right onto the tiles.

“Heavens, not onto the tiles, Lathe!” Nayara cried. “They’ll scratch them all!”

“Nia!” He threw his arms around her and squeezed, his hands roaming up and down her body, feeling her flesh through the thin tunic. “Lord how I’ve missed you! Egypt was so hot I thought I was going to go up in flames. But I brought back treasures you’ll adore, love of my heart.” His lips caught hers in a kiss that took her breath away and immediately made her think of the lonely bed she had been enduring for months while Salathiel had been away on this voyage to Egypt.

She tugged at his cloak. “Come,” she whispered. “Now.”

Salathiel stroked her cheek, his blue eyes gazing into hers. “Soon,” he murmured. The heat in his eyes and the rigid heat in his body, pressed against hers, was promise enough. His hands were restless against her back and ass. “Soon,” he repeated. “But I want you to meet the man I brought back with me from Egypt. Another one of your kind.”

Her heart jumped. “My...kind?”

“Vampire,” he said softly, so the servants wouldn’t hear.

There was the sound of more horses out the front of the house. More crates being unloaded and the sound of voices being lifted. One voice was lifting above them all. Giving orders. A strong voice, used to command.

The voice was coming closer.

Nayara extended her hearing.

“...that crate there. Yes. That one. That is for the lady of the house. Be careful! It came all the way from a land beyond Egypt...Yes, you can bring that one into the house. Where is your master?...Thank you.” The man had a strange accent. Soft, lilting, like music to the ear.

Then the sound of soft steps on the tiles. “Salathiel?” the voice called. “I’ve brought the second load, but there’s a third still at the dock.” The man came into view, moving around the pillars at the end of the foyer. He was dressed like an upper class merchant and was carrying a sack of his possession over one shoulder. He was clean shaven, like Salathiel. He had a refined chin and astonishingly pale skin, despite his black hair.

But it was his eyes that captured Nayara’s attention. Like Salathiel’s, they were different from the endless dark and black eyes she saw most of in Constantinople. As the man drew closer, she saw they were a very light brown.

And that he was staring at her.

Salathiel let her go and held out his arm. “Ryan of Eire...I will not attempt to say your names one more time. I will embarrass myself. Meet the woman that is my life, my heart and my soul. This is the lady Nayara.”

“Lady Nayara.” Ryan of Eire bent in a deep bow. “Salathiel has spoken so highly of you, these last few weeks, I scarcely thought the reality of you could do his praise justice. I see I was wrong.”

Salathiel slapped Ryan’s shoulder. “He’s a fine one, isn’t he, Nia? He talks like that all the time. They’re all poets in his Eire, according to him.”

“It is in the blood, some say,” Ryan agreed. But he was staring at her again. His eyes seemed depthless, like clear pools of water.

Nayara shivered. “You must stay with us, Ryan of Eire,” she said.

“This is your home, too?” Ryan said. He glanced at Salathiel. “I mean...forgive my curiosity. I thought...you said you were not married, Lathe.”

“I am not,” Salathiel replied calmly. He clapped his hands sharply, then waved to dismiss the servants. They lowered the crates and moved out of the room, leaving the three of them alone.

Nayara moved closer to Salathiel’s side once more. But she could not help staring at the newcomer. It had been many years since she had seen another vampire and never one so young-looking. Her own maker had looked older. This Ryan looked like he had been caught in the prime of his youth when he was made. There was vitality and energy about him. How old was he? How long had he been a vampire?

Salathiel gave one of his big, warm smiles. “I did not mislead you, Ryan. I am not married. Neither is the Lady Nayara. By great good fortune, she chooses to stay with me, out of all the men she could chose for companionship in this wonderful city. Until she chooses otherwise, I consider myself blessed.”

Ryan’s brow lifted. “I see,” he said carefully. He looked around. “And this beautiful house?”

“This house is mine,” Nayara replied. “It happens to be closer to the palace than Salathiel’s and it has a larger bath. In winter, we use Salathiel’s house, which has a larger fire pit.”

Ryan considered the matter. “It seems a sensible arrangement,” he said.

“I’m glad you agree,” Salathiel replied, flinging his arm around Ryan’s shoulders and turning him back to the crates. “Now, where was that small one from Nubia? I want to give it to Nayara straight away.” They moved off toward the front of the house, returning to business. But Ryan’s honey-coloured gaze flickered towards her as they turned the corner and Nayara knew that there was business to settle between her and Salathiel’s new partner, too.

She shivered again, despite the heat.

* * * * *

Vienna, 2263 A.D.

Cáel smoothed the tablecloth with his fingers, not quite able to meet Nayara’s gaze. “I don’t think you have to go into quite so much...detail,” he said gently.

“Be careful what you ask for,” Ryan murmured.

Cáel glanced at him. The vampire was sitting in the shadows cast by the drapes and bowers of chiffon and lace strung about the tables, but his eyes were glittering. Is that what Nayara had noticed the first time she had met him?

Cáel shook his head. “You really want this sort of detail in the biography? You want Lyle Bean listening to it?”

“You wanted to know about our lives, about us,” Nayara replied. “You used leverage to open that door. You cannot protest now that you want it shut.”

Cáel spread both hands on the table. “It does not bother you to tell me this?”

“Of course it does!” she hissed. “Ryan told you it would. I told you it would. But you insisted.”

“I mean...the intimate details,” Cáel amended.

Nayara blinked. She looked puzzled. Then she glanced helplessly at Ryan.

Ryan leaned forward so that the lights from the dance floor fell on his face. “There’s no difference for us, Cáel. It’s all intimate details we’re sharing. There’s no degree of difference. Not the way you humans divide things up.”

Cáel sighed as the enormity of what he was asking them to do fell into place. “Sweet Jesus,” he breathed. “No wonder you wouldn’t talk to Lyle. Christ. It’s
all
bedroom secrets for you.”

“I suppose that’s a way to look at it,” Ryan said. He rubbed his temple. “But we both agree with your reasoning about the book. We need to let humans know about us. So...as painful as this might be for us, we need to do it. Talking to you, Cáel, is a compromise we think will work.”

“Why me?” Cáel asked.

Ryan shrugged. “We like you.”

Cáel realized he was staring stupidly at Ryan as he processed the implications behind that simple statement. “Well, thank you,” he said at last. He made himself act casually, even though he was enormously, stupidly pleased by the compliment. Warmed by it. More, truth be told. His body was tightening and thrumming in reaction.

He cleared his throat. “So you met Salathiel and Nayara in fourteen forty-two,” he said to Ryan. “And shortly after that, you became their lovers.”

Ryan smiled. “Are you a voyeur, too, Cáel? Do you want that tale as well?”

Cáel grinned. “It’s up to you. Although...” He shrugged. “I am curious. Salathiel was human.”

Ryan’s smile faded and a faint note of puzzlement replaced it. “He was,” he said evenly. “At first.”

Cáel glanced at Nayara, to see that she was watching and listening carefully. She was motionless, as if she were on high alert. Well, that was understandable, if simply talking about this was embarrassing for them. The subject matter was painful, too.

Tragedy was always painful to speak about.

Cáel leaned back in his chair, to remove any notion of threat or intimidation. “You’ve both impressed on me any number of times the fact that you consider me to be inferior. Merely human. Yet you took a mere human as a lover, once. I admit I’m curious as to how that happened.”