Stone of Thieves (Robbin' Hearts Series Book 2) (20 page)

My face flushes. I don’t have my fortune anymore either, even if we did finally make it to Switzerland. I sigh and stare him straight in the eyes to tell him the truth. “D-De Bargona cleaned out my account,” I confess. “He took everything, Creek.”

Guess thieving comes pretty naturally on both sides of the family.

Creek’s teeth clench, and I can see the muscles in his jaw begin to twist. The way his knuckles crease white on the steering wheel tell me exactly what he’d like to do to Vittorio de Bargona right now. Turning to me, he takes a deep breath and searches the cracks in the seat between us before he lifts his gaze. His eyes are so cold now in the center that they look like fractured ice.

And it’s as if someone flipped a switch on his soul.

This is the Creek I don’t know. That I’ll never know.

Someone who grew up in the shadows of abuse and crime, who knows precisely how to do whatever it takes to survive. And who’s ready to do just that at a moment’s notice.

“I can
handle
the money part,” he seethes, not needing to say another word.

We both know what he means.

Swallowing hard, I glance nervously around us. There are plenty of small shops and banks in this district that Creek could take in a heartbeat. And knowing Creek, he might grab de Bargona hostage and hold the asshole for ransom, if he doesn’t kill him first.

Boldly, I swipe a lick of my mother’s blood before I lose my nerve.

“Keep driving,” I blurt, but I’m not actually sure those words left my mouth—

Because the moment I tasted Alessia’s blood on my tongue, my soul escaped my body in a thin white cloud.

And all I can see around me now is a red, kaleidoscope of leaves, as if I’m high up on a tree limb somewhere, gazing through cracked, rose-colored glasses. Astonished, I reach out my hand, but it strikes what appears to be a wall. I touch another facet and then another, pounding on them in panic, but they’re all as hard as diamonds, preventing me from going any farther. Frustrated, I turn around, only to see a scarlet flame erupt right in front of me that slowly settles into form.

It’s Martiya—

She folds her arms and smiles, letting out a broad, deep-throated laugh.

“You can’t have her,
carissima
,” Martiya glares, her voice a hiss of Italian that I somehow understand in English. “Until you
kill him
.”

My mother is at her feet, curled into a fetal ball. Her eyes are open but glassy as obsidian, and she doesn’t register I’m here.

Where
is
here?

A quick scan tells me we’re in a bright red chamber. Above us, I can see a bleeding sky dotted with clouds washed in jewel-toned reds, as if I’m peering through crimson glass.

The ruby heart—

Can it be?

When I try to clasp my hands, my fingers pass right through each other.

I-I am spirit. A soul without a body, at least not the usual physical one. I’m vapor struggling for form. Yet the outline of my clothes clings to me like echoes.

“What have you done?” I demand.

Martiya throws her head back, scoffing at me. “
You
did it. You tasted another
Thagarni’s
blood, trapping you here—where she is. After all, this is the Stone of Thieves, Rubina. Taking souls is what we do best.”

“W-What are you talking about,” I blurt, dumfounded. “Why?”

“Because he must die. It’s our destiny to defeat them all and return the power to the gypsies.”

Martiya points at her feet. She’s wearing those odd Renaissance embroidered shoes with wooden platforms underneath them that make her loom tall above me, even though we’re the same stature. Blinking, I realize it’s not her shoes she wants me to notice, but a secluded, dark path on the ground beneath us, several feet down. It’s then that I recognize why I’ve seen leaves everywhere. Zuhna’s falcon has brought the stone to a tree branch near the gypsy trail.

Shaking my head, I try to sort out Martiya’s skewed logic. “But your people travel in secret on this path all the time. One of them could easily spot the ruby heart and return it to their camp.”

Martiya’s lips slide into a smile. “Not if I don’t reveal where we are. I can turn this crimson into our cloak, like the capes men used to cast over puddles for my delicate feet to cross. We are in no human being’s hands anymore, Rubina. I will not let the falcon whisper our hiding place until de Bargona is dead—or I’ll trap that bird’s soul in my stone the minute it dies for a thousand years. You see, everything reveres our power. And no one’s going to possess this ruby heart till we’re free of the de Bargonas.”

“Free? You want to be
free?
” I retort, flabbergasted. “Look at her! Look at yourself! You’ve been imprisoned here for over five hundred years, and you’ve kept her for eighteen. You don’t want freedom—you’re just like him! You only want power and revenge.”

The scar on Martiya’s neck from where her husband sliced her with a sword pulses as scarlet as her dress, seething in fury. Her eyes narrow at me. “Haven’t you learned yet that love is for fools? Only power lasts,
carissima
. Ah yes, I forget you are young.” Her ghostly finger lifts my chin, sizzling hot from the sheer force of her personality. “I have centuries of wisdom on you. Go ahead—choose love and try to walk free of this stone. But only
after
you make your lover kill him.

“My-my lover? What do you mean?” I reply, jerking my head away. I want to clench my fist and deliver a right hook to her chin, but I haven’t figured out how to be as strong as she is in this form yet.

“You don’t know? You can control him now—your pretty blonde lover.” She brushes her fingers along my temple, where they burn so hot I have to turn my cheek. Then she sweeps her hand to Alessia at her feet. “Three
Thagarnis
in this stone have never occurred before in the history of the gypsies, and it brings a rare power. He has tasted your blood. Now you can make him do your bidding. It’s our destiny, Rubina. Just think, he has no choice but to love you—and kill for you—whenever you like.”

I recoil from her in horror. How could she dream such a thing, to treat Creek—or any other human being—like a puppet?

All at once, I realize what a fool I’ve been. Trembling, I recall Granny’s mysterious words written on the note inside the blue bird she’d whittled for me:
Beware of threes
.

I lean down to stroke Alessia’s head, her hair still bound in the nun’s coif, unlike the way she appears in the physical realm. But her form is as hazy as mist, her life force so weakened by Martiya’s dominance that she’s become little more than ether. “That’s why you kept her all this time, in your ruby prison,” I mutter, shuddering at Martiya’s evil now. “Because you knew I’d come looking for her, and we’d make three
Thagarnis
for your plan.”

I rise to face her, fists tight, in the same manner that I brazenly stood up to de Bargona. How ironic, the way they’ve become two sides of the same coin—both power hungry and wretched. But I’m not about to let this bitch rule my life the way he tried to. “What if I
refuse
to control Creek?”

“Then I suggest you get very comfortable with your new home,” replies Martiya, folding her arms. “Believe me, Rubina—true hatred knows how to wait.”

My cheeks flush hot, and I wonder if my soul has become as crimson as hers. No! I war inside myself. I recall Zuhna’s warning in the meadow near the gypsy camp:
Will you lead the stone or will it lead you?
Now I know what she was talking about. But this is
my
life, my destiny, not Martiya’s. And I can’t let her destroy us all in her twisted bitterness.

“C’mon, Mama!” I cry. Impulsively, I bend down and try to scoop up Alessia in my arms, amazed that my spirit has formed enough strength in my desperation to cradle her against my chest, though she’s thin as a wisp. “All you have to do is decide to go,” I whisper into her ear. “Doyle’s waiting for you. Everyone at Turtle Shores wants you
home
. This place is a lie! Martiya never protected you from your father; she imprisoned you for her own use! C’mon, Mama, we can be free—”

Jiggling her hysterically, I realize that the more emotion I muster, the stronger I get. Yet it’s no use. Alessia lies motionless in my arms, her fragile limbs limp as a dead bird’s. Undaunted, I set her down carefully and spin away from Martiya, determined to leave this stone and come back for my mother somehow if I have to. Drumming up all the life force I have in me, I feel my spirit swell into a ball of fury as I hurl myself like a comet against the stone’s wall.

Sparks fly, and I’m knocked nearly senseless back down as the ruby heart flares crimson, as if its walls get stronger from my own rage. I swivel to Martiya, who’s become all flame again, ablaze with power. She speaks to me through tongues of fire.

“Ah,
mia piccola
,” she trills in an odd, musical tone, “who’s the puppet now? You tasted your mother’s blood,
principessa
. She became a
Thagarni
long before you. You can only do her bidding—and clearly, she does not want to leave.”

Martiya’s flame surrounds me in a sinister warmth that I fight against, even though my spirit is exhausted. She rocks me back and forth like I did with Alessia and purrs seductively in my ear. “Just one word from you to your lover,” she whispers, “and I’m sure he will handle de Bargona quite effectively. I’ve been watching him for a long time, you know. Such a good little criminal. How hard is it,
ciliega
? Don’t think of it as a violation. Think of it as a fulfillment of your purpose on this earth.”

“No!” I shriek, I’ll never turn Creek into one of her slaves, but she has me bound in her fiery grip as tight as a boa constrictor. “Mama, c’mon—you have free will!” I push at her wildly with my boot. “All you have to do is decide to go! We can leave!”

“
Ninna nanna, ninna oh, questo bimba a chi lo do,
” my mother begins to sing. In a strange, floating motion, she rises up and manages to sit, wrapping her ghostly arms around her knees. Slowly, she starts to rock. “
Se lo do a lupo bianco, se lo tiene tanto tanto, egli tornare anche lei. Mi hai rubato il cuore, mia gioella.
”
As she sways back and forth, steady as a heartbeat, she hears nothing—sees no one—and remains absorbed in her own world.

But rather than sounding like a sweet lullaby, her song only sickens me to the core.

Because no matter how gentle Alessia’s voice or lyrics might seem, it’s now become the background music for our eternity in hell.

I sink to my knees and wrap my arms around my mother to sing along with her, copying her soft Italian syllables and letting them roll off my tongue.

I’m not sure, but I think tears are falling from my eyes, because I see a crimson puddle reflecting my own face back at me. A face of devastation.

Shaking my head, I swallow down a sob. I know fighting against Martiya does no good, as much as I hate her. Her rage has outlasted many weaker beings for centuries, and there’s no one in spirit or on earth who can compare to her willpower. But I do have one hope left in my heart that Martiya can’t sear with flames from my chest. If Alessia’s prayers in the form of her lullaby all these years brought Creek to protect her baby—to protect
me
—then maybe her song can call him to me now.

Lupo bianco,
the white wolf—

All at once, I remember the blue feather that was in Alessia’s pocket. It’s the same feather she used to pray with, and I snuggle my hand inside her habit to feel for its soft fronds, then hold it up.

“Creek,” I whisper. “Where are you? We’re
here
, in a tree along the gypsy trail.”

The second those words leave my lips, I realize how foolish that sounds. There are probably thousands of trees on secret gypsy trails that weave throughout Italy. Yet I can’t help singing with hope in my heart and drumming against the side of the stone, the same way Creek pounded the door to de Bargona’s dungeon to find me.

“No!” Martiya rages. She ignites and surrounds us in a red storm of flames. Although I cry out in terror, as spirits we’re not burned. It’s like a bright red sun trying to overtake clouds—I merely see her glow all around us without consuming us.

And then an idea strikes. If we give her power as a threesome, then perhaps her energy gives
us
power, too.

In a crazy, reckless move—what’ve I got to lose?—I hold out my tongue to swipe a lick of her fuming spirit. Immediately, I see my skin grow rich with color, taking on three dimensionality, as if the force of her spirit makes my molecules combine into fleshier contours once again inside the stone. Quickly, I weigh the risks—by becoming skin and bone here, she might be able to burn me—but that’s a chance I’m willing to take. I boldly swipe another lick and watch Martiya’s image become hazier as her taste lingers in my mouth, scalding my lips and making my blood bubble up from a blister. The moment it does, rather than yelp, I sing louder, at the top of my lungs—and the sound reverberates through the ruby heart. All the while, I keep drumming on the sides of the stone for all I’m worth.

Furious, Martiya tears at me. Yet to my surprise, I’m as vibrant as she is now! Full flesh, and I refuse to let her life force bowl me over anymore.
It takes a woman to find a woman,
Zuhna once told me, and with that knowledge I stand up taller to Martiya, ignoring her scalds. She may have marked me for a scared little girl, but that was her mistake. I’m all woman now. And I’ve decided there’s only one
Thagarni
who’s going to rule inside this ruby heart—and that’s
me
.

“Back off, bitch,” I warn her, “unless you want to do
my
bidding! You thought I was too frightened to take you on? Watch me shove my own blood down your throat. Yeah, that’s right, Martiya—because I’m still alive and you’re
not
.” I glance down at my arm, which is growing fleshier in my rage by the second. “What happens if I knick my skin and make it bleed, Martiya? Huh? And force
you
to taste it? Real human blood?”