Byzantine Heartbreak (8 page)

“Maybe we have simply changed since then and that is why we don’t take human lovers anymore,” Nayara replied.

Cáel shook his head. “Vampires don’t change. You keep telling me that. Memories stay the same. You stay the same. Emotions go on endlessly.”

“Perhaps we just made a mistake with Salathiel,” Ryan said quietly. There was pain in his tone. It was raw and bruised. “A mistake we will never make again.”

Chapter Seven

Cáel glanced over to the dance floor. “The ball is ending, but you still owe me your half of the story, Ryan. Perhaps...on the way back in the carriage?”

Ryan frowned. “Why bother with the carriage?”

Nayara was standing up, pulling her train in around her. Picking up her tiny evening clutch.

Ryan meant jumping back to the station. Cáel’s pulse spiked. Did that mean they were offering to take him with them? Or were they ending the evening right now? Would he not hear Ryan’s story after all? He didn’t want to ask. He felt he had achieved far more this evening than he had ever dreamed or fairly expected to. To end the evening with the added bonus of the privilege of being jumped back to the station with them seemed far beyond expectations.

Cáel stood up and pushed the small recorder into his pocket. “I can have your coat returned to you, Nayara. It will still be in the carriage.” He glanced out on the dance floor. “I have a feeling Brenden may not be returning to the station tonight.”

Ryan grinned. “I think that one is a given. Brenden has discovered a new hunting ground. He’ll be months depleting this stock.”

Cáel snorted. “I’ve spent decades fighting off charity wives, Ryan. I know what he’s up against. He may never run out of fresh meat.”

Nayara was suddenly at Cáel’s side, a soft rustle of chiffon and sequins. “I can’t jump in this and take a companion, too,” she told Ryan. “The train doesn’t behave.”

Ryan nodded. “I’ll take him.” He stepped around the table toward them and Cáel realized that he was going to get Ryan’s story after all.

Nayara glanced over Ryan’s shoulder. Looking for observers, Cáel realized. Then she smiled at Cáel. “See you there,” she said. She turned, leaning forward, as if she were falling. Then, abruptly, she was simply not there.

Cáel caught his breath. He had only been taken on a jump a handful of times and he had never seen anyone else jump in front of him before.

“It’s fascinating, until you get used to it,” Ryan told him. He threaded his arm under Cáel’s and drew him against his body. “Especially the way Nayara falls into it. I prefer to jump. On three. One. Two. Three.”

Cáel jumped with Ryan and felt the rough plucking of forces tearing at him and putting him back together again. It was very brief this time. When he had travelled into the past, the complete lack of sensation and the sense of disintegration had lasted longer.

Then he blinked and found he was standing in Ryan’s office.

“Not an arrival chamber?” he queried.

“Our offices
are
arrival chambers,” Ryan said. “They’re keyed for arrivals and won’t let anyone in until we have returned, if we set them up that way, which we do whenever we leave the station. It gives us a quick way to return home if we need it.”

The door that connected Ryan’s office to Nayara’s made a chiming sound.

“We’re here!” Ryan called.

The door opened and Nayara glided in, the ball gown train drifting elegantly behind her. She was carrying a tray, which she placed on the table in front of Ryan’s sofa. “Espresso and baklava. Sit down, Cáel and make yourself comfortable.”

His mouth watered. “I presume it is only the best baklava money could buy. You two spoil me utterly.”

“How else will we ensure you keep visiting, if we don’t ply you with the best?” Ryan replied. “But I think this baklava was quite cheap. A little merchant stall in Istanbul’s market. It’s handmade and I watched him make it myself.”

“You don’t have that sort of time,” Cáel challenged.

“I did when I went back to 1883 yesterday. I spent a week there.”

Cáel sat and picked up the demi-cup of piping hot coffee. “I keep forgetting the advantages of time travel.”

“There are drawbacks,” Nayara replied, settling into a chair opposite him. “Dangers we deal with every day. The perks don’t come close to compensating.”

Cáel sipped. The coffee, of course, was perfect. “So now that you have me here, tell me the rest of the story, Ryan.”

“I will, but first, Nayara must finish her part in it.”

Cáel glanced at Nayara. She sat, a glowing picture of elegance, but there was a tiny furrow etched between her brows.

“There is more to add to yours?” Cáel asked delicately.

She sighed. “I don’t like this part. I feel so foolish. Even now.”

Ryan touched her shoulder. Cáel had never seen him voluntarily touch her before. She looked up at him.

“It wasn’t done to make you look foolish.”

“I know.” She gave Cáel a small smile. “They did it because they were afraid of me. Afraid of what I would do.” Her smile turned into a grimace. “I am so terrifying, no?”

Cáel gave a small shrug. “I find you are, sometimes.” He smiled at her to take the sting out of it.

Nayara laughed. “I should not have asked.”

Ryan gave a low chuckle. “And you’re dodging the tale, too.”

“Yes, yes. I know. “ Nayara folded her hands and put them in her lap, then looked at Cáel. “Can you guess what happened next, Cáel?”

“I would, if I could spare you the tale,” Cáel said honestly. “But I don’t think like story-tellers, so even your hints are not enough for me to guess. I’m sorry.”

“Ah well.” She sighed. “It was quite obvious, in hindsight.”

* * * * *

Constantinople. 1443 A.D.

Although they did not sleep and had no need for beds for the normal human reasons, both Nayara and Ryan had bedchambers each in the big house, where they kept their personal possessions, changed clothes and tended to their appearance. They had beds in those chambers, too, to maintain the illusion of humanity for the sake of the odd stranger and for the servants who had access to their rooms.

After making love all night on the divan, Nayara reluctantly sent Ryan away from her as the sun lifted above the ledge of the terrace. She was aware that Salathiel would return very soon and she needed time to gather her composure and to figure out how to face him.

Ryan was as unwilling to pull himself away from her as she was to have him leave, especially as Nayara refused to speak of any sort of future between them. She would not entertain the idea. “I love Salathiel,” she reiterated many times. “I will not hurt him any more than this one night will cost him. You have your gift, Ryan. Take it and be grateful.”

But when the servants stirred and began to move about the house, Ryan gave her his tunic to cover her body, for her own was in ruins. It forced him to return to his own room and he left, his body tight with tension and pain.

Nayara fled to the sanctuary of her chamber and swiftly donned more suitable day clothing, her heart hammering hard, her body trembling. She knew she had to repair the damage she had just caused. An apology, or an explanation. Something. She could not leave hurt feelings between them, or Ryan might well leave after all and for that, Salathiel would never forgive her.

Once she was dressed appropriately for a lady of her rank and station, she hurried through the house to the north side, which was cooler and shadier. She was so intent on forming the words she would speak and rehearsing them in her head, that she was inside the vestibule that led into Ryan’s chamber before she realized he had company. Someone else was in there with him. He was talking to them, his voice low and harsh.

Nayara caught her hand to her chest, because Ryan was talking about her.

“...you don’t tell her, I will. It can’t go on like this anymore. I love her too much to hurt her this way.”

Nayara could barely breathe. She was waiting for the response. She already knew, in her heart, who would answer, but she needed to hear the answer. She needed to know for sure. She wanted the confirmation of exactly how blind and trusting she had been.

There was the sound of a heavy sigh. A long silence.

“I never meant it to be like this,” Salathiel replied. “I was simply...”

Silence.

“You wanted her to stay,” Ryan finished. “So did I.”

Nayara’s heart actually hurt. She squeezed, trying to stop the pain, but it didn’t help. Finally, she knew she could not hover in the vestibule like a thief for another moment. She couldn’t stand it.

So she pushed open the shutter than was shielding her and stepped into the room.

Ryan sat on the edge of the low bed, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. He was still naked.

And Salathiel sat on the bed next to him. Just as naked. It was clear from the tangled coverlet and cushions that Salathiel had used the bed for the night. He had been nowhere near the docks.

Salathiel’s hand was on Ryan’s shoulder. Comforting. Caressing.

Confirming Nayara’s conclusions.

The pair of them looked up at her. To her relief, neither of them jumped up or tried to cover up. They simply looked...defeated. There was so little surprise in their faces that Nayara felt almost indignant.

“How long?” she demanded.

“How long?” Ryan repeated, sounding puzzled. “What do you mean? I don’t understand.” His voice was low.

“How long have the two of you been lovers?” Nia demanded.

Ryan glanced at Salathiel. Salathiel’s mouth opened, shock slithering over his features. Ryan turned to her, rising to his feet. “Is that what you think, Nia? That we have been...cheating, behind your back?”

“Lathe had his hand on you. He’s naked in your bed. You spoke of telling me the truth...what else am I to think?” Nayara demanded.

“And what of last night?” Ryan asked. “Where would that fit in, if Salathiel and I had been lovers all along?”

Nayara could feel her thoughts starting to slither and disintegrate. Emotion was overwhelming her. “I don’t
know
!” she cried. “All I know is that right now, you both are hiding something from me! I feel like my life might shatter and change completely once I know and
you won’t tell me
!”

Ryan’s arms came around her, instantly comforting and strong. He kissed her forehead, then turned to look at Salathiel. “The damage is already done, Lathe. There’s no point in not telling her.”

Salathiel nodded. He gave a great gusty sigh. “Nia, know that I love you.” He hesitated. “And for some time now, I have loved Ryan, too. But we have done nothing you would hate us for.”

Nia started and Ryan’s arm’s tightened around her. “Shhh...” he murmured. “Listen.”

“We have struggled with this, Nia. I didn’t want to lose you...and Ryan wanted you, too. Last night...well, last night was an attempt to resolve the dilemma.” Salathiel shrugged. “It didn’t work. You are too principled, it seems. You sent Ryan away again.”

Nayara could feel disbelief and a growing sense of wonder dawning in her. There was also anger there, for the pain that had needlessly been suffered, but she quenched the impulse to lash out.

“Ryan, would you leave me and Lathe, for a moment? I want to speak to him alone.”

Ryan looked down at her. “Are you sure?”

“Salathiel can’t harm me, even if he wanted to. I’m sure.” She gave him a smile. “I have some things to say that I’d rather you not hear...for now, anyway.”

Ryan hesitated.

“I’ll speak to you in a minute,” Nayara promised.

“Very well,” Ryan agreed. He picked up another tunic, a clean one, from the press against the wall and threw it on as he left the room.

Salathiel was watching her, his blue eyes wary. His unruly hair looked almost copper in the early sunlight blazing through the lattice screens.

Nayara picked up his big hand and threaded her fingers between his. She could only push her fingers down to his first knuckles, for his hands were so big, it spread her own fingers too wide. “Do you believe I love you, love of my life?”

He jumped, like he had been deeply startled. “Yes,” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. He turned to her. “Nayara...”

“Do you trust me?” she insisted.

“Oh god,” he said, in pain-filled voice.

“Shh...” She touched her fingers to his lips. “I have many errands to do at the markets today. I plan to be away all day.”

He was trembling. “Nia, don’t do this just because—”

She kissed him to silence him and he returned the kiss with a ferocity that would have normally overwhelmed her with feelings of passion and need, except that her mind was occupied with plans and schemes. Anticipation.

Salathiel caught her face in his hands. “You will be back?” he asked her. “Promise me you will return.” There was a desperate quality in the question that reassured her far more than any ardent promises of love he might have made.

“I will be back,” she said and she was able to smile at him as she got to her feet. “But it will be later this evening, when the lamps are lit.”

“Nia, I love you,” Salathiel said simply, as she turned away.

She believed him.

* * * * *

The Agency satellite station. 2263 A.D.

Cáel stretched and rolled over, then sat up as he realized he was not in his own bed.