Edge of Oblivion (36 page)

She was sighing in anticipation when her father walked into the flickering light of her large, white-on-white, candlelit bedroom.

“Eliana,” he said, and she jumped, guilty.

“Father!” She leapt from the overstuffed chair near her four-poster bed and snapped shut the book she’d been devouring: Lonely Planet’s
Guide to Rome
. “I didn’t expect to see you this early.

Good morning!”

Though there were no clocks in the catacombs, she knew it was morning. Dawn and dusk were felt keen as hunger pangs even far belowground. Regardless, clocks were entirely unnecessary: the
Ikati
of the catacombs had nowhere else to be.

“Good morning to you.” A small, secret smile flitted across her father’s lips, and he crossed to her quickly over the stone floor strewn with plush rugs and embraced her. “I’m going to be occupied all day, but I wanted to see you before the last
Purgare
tonight,” he said, low, into her hair.

Eliana pulled back and frowned at him, studying his handsome face, his burning, coal-black eyes, so like her own. “I don’t understand. What do you mean, the last
Purgare
? We’ll have another one next month. And the month after that.”

He took her chin in hand and gazed down at her, those dark eyes alight with a wild, feverish victory that took her breath away with its strange edge. She’d never seen him so wired. In truth, he looked a little...unhinged.

“I have an announcement to make, something that concerns all of us,” he murmured, holding her face in a way that made her nervous. It was possessive, more like a jealous lover than a father, and she stepped back, out of his embrace. He noticed her discomfort and his eyes flared. “Something that concerns you, too, daughter of mine,” he drawled, a new hardness in his tone.

Eliana had been in the middle of another step back, but she froze instantly and so did the blood circulating in her veins. “Me?” she whispered, thinking only of D. Her heart became a stampede of wild stallions in her chest.

How could he know of their plans?

His small smile grew wider, revealing his perfect, ultra-white teeth. Dressed elegantly and with care in his usual impeccable white that set off his burnished skin and tousled black hair to model-like perfection yet exuding the kind of raw menace usually found only in violent criminals, he looked like the love child of Cary Grant and Blackbeard the pirate. He stepped nearer, closing the distance between them, that undercurrent of menace chilling the air in her already cool bedchamber.

“You are my life, you know that,” he said, taking her shoulders in his hands. His voice was very low, controlled, giving nothing away. His eyes burned. “And your happiness is my only concern, beautiful Eliana. It’s what I’ve worked so hard for, all these long years.”

His fingers curled into her skin, and once again she fought the urge to step back. She’d never been afraid of him before, but there was something in his eyes...something so very dark.

“Father,” she managed, swallowing the panic that was clawing at her throat, “what are you talking about?”

He lifted his hand and leisurely brushed back a strand of hair from her suddenly perspiring forehead.

“I’m talking about destiny,” he whispered. “Yours and mine. Ours.” He made a sweeping gesture with one hand, indicating, she thought, all her kin who lived together in darkness beyond the rounded walls and burnished light of her room. “We were gods once, Ana, so long ago, before our destiny was stolen from us. But now we can take our destiny back and be gods once again.
I’ve finally done it.
”

Relief flooded her, and she almost sagged into his arms, her heartbeat thrumming like a hummingbird’s. “Your project,” she breathed, trying to gather her wits. He couldn’t read her mind, but he was exceptionally good at reading her face. “Oh, Father, that’s wonderful...”

She trailed off because she really hadn’t the slightest idea if it was wonderful or not. No one could be secretive the way her father could, and for all the years she’d been alive she was aware of his work in the lab, aware of some grand scheme involving the fates of all her underworld kin, but he revealed almost nothing except to a very few of his closest confidants, and she wasn’t among them.

Her father took her face in both his hands and vehemently whispered, “My beautiful daughter.

Your young will rule the earth.”

Eliana’s heartbeat grew faint. First because her father seemed entirely beyond reason and second because she did not want
young
, and never had. But...did she have a choice? She was about to open her mouth to ask, but her mercurial father released her and smiled in a way that made all the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

“You will be at the convergence room at dawn tomorrow,” he commanded, “to stand by my side when I make the announcement. In the meantime, get some sleep.” His voice grew softer. “You look a bit...frazzled, my dear.”

Oh, he really had no idea. She sank back down into the overstuffed chair, trying to control her breathing, when a burst of inspiration hit. She cleared her throat and gazed up at him through her lashes. “I am frazzled. I haven’t been sleeping well, lately, Father.”

His brows shot up. “Oh?”

She nodded, then cast her gaze to the floor at his feet. “The new guard you assigned as my escort...”

“Yes?” he said sharply, instantly tense.

“Well, he...makes me uncomfortable.” This was absolutely true. The new guard watched her every move like a hawk. She didn’t know what had happened to the old—friendlier—one and didn’t dare ask; her father’s decisions were never questioned.

“Uncomfortable,” Dominus repeated, deadly soft.

Eliana glanced up at him. “It’s just...it’s just the way he looks at me.”

Dominus drew in a sharp breath. His head whipped around to the entrance of her bedchamber, where the guard stood vigilant outside, just his elbow and booted right foot visible beyond the heavy swagged drape that partially covered the rounded doorway.

“He hasn’t done anything inappropriate, Father,” she rushed to assure him, knowing it might save the guard’s life, “but still I would feel better if you could assign me someone else. Perhaps tomorrow, after the announcement? I’d be fine for just one day without a guard, I’m sure.”

He turned to look at her with narrowed eyes, and her heartbeat skyrocketed again. Terrified he sensed her little deception, she pleaded, “I’ll sleep better tonight without someone new watching me.

I’ll be fine, just for one day. One night. I really don’t think I can sleep knowing he’s there.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” he hissed, stepping closer to loom over her. “I would have dealt with him—”

“I don’t want you to
deal
with him, Father, please! Just—just let me have another guard.

Tomorrow.”

He considered her in silence for several long, tense moments. Then his face softened and he said, “As you wish.”

Really?
She couldn’t believe that had worked. She put a shaking hand to her face, adrenaline wreaking havoc on her nerves. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He bent and planted a kiss on the top of her head, then abruptly turned on his heel and walked toward the door. He paused just before passing over the threshold and said over his shoulder, “By the way, a very special guest will be arriving this morning. Someone who’ll be staying with us from now on, who I hope you’ll...like...as much as I do.”

His voice, low and husky, throbbed with emotion. Her ears pricked. “A guest?”

He turned slightly and met her curious gaze. That menacing smile of his made another appearance. “Yes. I’ll introduce you tomorrow morning, after the announcement.”

“Why not today?”

His face grew flushed, his eyes hot. “Because today we’ll be spending some time together, getting to know one another better.”

Eliana stared at him, confused. Was this why he was in such a state?

“Who is this guest?”

A gleam came into his eyes, one that made her scalp prickle with dread.

“Your new mother,” he answered. Then he turned and disappeared beyond the door, leaving Eliana gaping after him in shock.

By the time Morgan arrived at the Vatican, the morning sun had risen over the rooftop of St. Peter’s and bathed the vast cobblestone square in warm, golden light. It was too early for the tourists, but the Swiss Guard was ever present, and she made her way across the sun-washed square to a lone guard posted at the top of the stairs on the left side of the entrance to the basilica, hoping to draft him into her plan.

He was a large man, physically imposing even in that silly, striped Renaissance uniform with boot covers, white gloves, and white ruff around his throat. The rapier at his hip, however, looked more ominous than silly, as did the sidearm strapped to his other hip, and she approached with caution. When she finally stood directly in front of him, he made no indication he was aware of her presence except for a slight inhalation of breath. Looking up into his pale blue eyes—affixed on some point above her head—she saw his irises dilate.

Just as Xander’s had when he’d stared down at her as he pushed himself inside—

Stop!
Morgan screamed at herself and bit her tongue hard to banish the thought. With her hands now trembling and her heart thrumming, she turned her attention back to the guard.

“Excuse me,” she said. He completely ignored her.

Hmmm.

She lifted both hands to pull her hair back from her face as if she were going to make a ponytail. It forced her rib cage to lift, and her breasts—unfettered by a bra—pressed against the clinging fabric of her dress. “Excuse me,
signore
? I think I’m a little lost. I’m looking for the tour that goes below the Vatican? The necropolis tour, I think?”

She’d heard of this from the cab driver on the way over. There was some guided tour of the rarely seen areas beneath the Vatican, ancient grottoes and catacombs with tombs of long-dead saints, including the tomb of St. Peter around which the entire church had been built. It sounded like the perfect place to start her search.

A muscle in the guard’s jaw twitched, but he still didn’t respond. Obviously he was well trained to ignore all manner of foolishness from the tourists. Or just stubborn as hell.

Either way he was dust, because now this was personal.

Morgan dropped her arms and shook her hair back, then slid both hands slowly down the front of her dress, over her waist and hips, smoothing imaginary wrinkles. She shifted her weight to one foot and thrust out her hip, then jauntily rested her hand on it, gazing at him with an intensity she knew he felt, because the faintest hint of color flushed his cheeks.

Thank God for peripheral vision.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed in a conspiratorial tone, stepping closer, making sure to exaggerate the roll of her hips, “I know you’re probably not supposed to talk and I don’t want to disturb you, but if you could just give me an idea? Maybe”—she coyly twirled a lock of her hair between her fingers

—“point me in the general direction?”

He swallowed but said nothing.

Mulish bastard. She pursed her lips. Leisurely, she lifted the lock of hair to her mouth and dragged it back and forth across her parted lips. “
Per favore?
” she said, very throaty.

His gaze flickered down to her mouth, and his nostrils flared. “
Ufficio Scavi
,” he blurted, brusque. She didn’t understand and her brows lifted.

His gaze darted right to a small black door recessed in the stone wall perhaps a hundred yards away, beneath a huge statue of a robed woman in traditional habit. Another damn nun.

“
Ufficio Scavi
,” the guard said again, more forcefully, now staring at her mouth.

“Oh,” she said, understanding.
Ufficio
—office. Office of the...
Scavi
? She jumped when the guard answered her in heavily accented English, his voice low.

“I’ll take you.”

Was it her imagination or was there a double entendre there? “Why, I’d just love that,” she purred, gazing up at him through her lashes. She was gratified to see his flush deepen.

He took her by the arm and quickly led her down the wide marble steps and over the worn cobblestones to the Plaza of Protomartyrs around the side of the basilica. They passed beneath an arched corner and went through the squeaking black door of the
Ufficio Scavi
, which swung shut with an echoing
thud
behind them. They were in a small stone antechamber, totally unadorned, cool and quiet as a tomb. An arched doorway directly in front of them had steps leading down into a tunnel swallowed in gloom. They were alone.

“Wait,” the guard said, releasing her arm, and pointed to the floor. “Here. First tour at nine.”

“You’ve been so helpful! Thank you so much.
Grazie
,” Morgan breathed, doing her best impression of a damsel in distress. A damsel whose heart hadn’t recently been ripped—beating and bloody—from her chest. Sweetly smiling, she trailed a finger down the soft folds of the collar of her sweater dress, exposing as if by accident the top swell of her breasts, the cleft between. “May I show you something, since you’ve been so nice?”

The guard blanched. His gaze flickered to the closed door; then he stepped forward and licked his lips as if she were a trussed and roasted Thanksgiving turkey and he hadn’t eaten in years. He lifted his hand to her face, but before he could touch her she had him by the wrist.

Quietly, she said, “Stop.”

Obediently, he froze midstep. His face wiped blank.

“You’re going to answer a few questions, then you will leave this room and forget you ever saw me. Understood?”

The guard stared at her, his blue, blue eyes utterly blank.

“
Capisce?
” she insisted.