Tentyrian Legacy (25 page)

“What is she like?” he asks in a strained
voice. “She despises me and she refused the job.”

“Shit, Maximos!” Aristos says in frustration.
He switches into strategy mode. “It’s time we change tactics.
You’ve done everything to ease her into this—but time is running
out. The choice is no longer hers. The Dark Coven is going to find
her unless we extract her. And pretty soon, she’s going to be
completely helpless.”

“You’re right. I thought I could earn her
trust if she joined us voluntarily. What does Evander think?”

“If I can pull him out of the lab, I’ll
ask.”

Ever since we provided Evander with some of
Arianna’s DNA from a hairbrush we took, he hasn’t left the sterile
room filled with test tubes and equipment. Evander managed to find
wonderment in the world through science. To him, the beauty and
complexity of science was another testament to a higher power. As
our resident doctor and expert on all things medically and
genetically related, Evander successfully unlocked several hundred
years ago what separates Tentyrians from humans.

Our unusually wide neural bridge promotes
extensive brain activity and growth—75 percent more compared to
humans. Our hearts also pump twenty times faster—making us
stronger, faster, and capable of self-healing. The Tentyrian
digestive system is one of our more unique qualities. After coming
of age, our stomachs shrink to the size of a baby’s fist. It’s when
our fangs also begin to show. The need for food virtually vanishes.
Instead, our rapidly moving blood flow becomes powered by blood
itself—a testament to our unique evolution but also our curse.

Since the massacre, there have been no young
Tentyrians to analyze and observe the changes they undergo over
time with modern technology. All we have are our own memories of
what we encountered when we reached the ripe old age of
twenty-five. Of course, Aristos and I, along with the rest of the
Brotherhood, are Evander’s constant guinea pigs. But our blood and
DNA are old news—in more ways than one. Our cells don’t age.
Strengthened by the constant replenishment of blood, our cellular
makeup is the equivalent of the fountain of youth. Provided that we
feed regularly and avoid deathly injury, we can live forever.

Living forever is not all that it’s cracked
up to be, especially when you are alone. Although I have the
Brotherhood, it’s not the same as a family, which is what my Coven
was to me. Back when Tentyris was in its golden age, I always
planned on marrying and having children, but it was something I
just didn’t get around to. I enjoyed the company of human and
Tentyrian women alike—maybe too much so. But I had so many years
ahead of me. Or so I thought. Settling on one commitment just
wasn’t in me. Narcissa called me the “perpetual bachelor.” To this
day, thinking of her and all of my people makes my heart ache.

When everyone was killed, everything changed.
The responsibility of ensuring that I would be there when it came
time to reunite the Luminaries and prevent the Event became my top
priority. I could find room in my life for a lover, but a
girlfriend, much less a wife, was too much. Seeing firsthand how
deeply the loss of a partner imprinted itself on the heart as it
did for Aristos made me avoid love at all costs. And besides, my
life would only stay the same while my mate’s would progress. To
hold someone back from experiencing the joys of life and changing
with her would be to force my own immortality on her. And I won’t
do that to a woman.

I admit, after our families and friends were
taken from us, Aristos and I briefly contemplated taking our own
lives. But Evander persuaded us against it. The selfishness of the
act outweighed the relief it would bring. We have a duty to do, and
we owe it to Hathor and all of the dead Tentyrians to see it
through. We long for the time when we are able to close the Book of
Hathor and our task will be done. However, that day is not yet
guaranteed. Getting to Arianna is the top priority, right now. She
is the one ray of light in the grim future we face.

2010 AD, July

New York, New York / New Canaan,
Connecticut

The nerve of that man! Just as arrogant as I
thought. Who did he think he was? I inadvertently slam the door of
my apartment in frustration. The jarring noise is a jolt I need.
I’m over-reacting. There is just something about him that has
gotten under my skin. Seeing him for the first time was like being
struck by lightning. I felt hot and shaky all over. It was a
miracle I was even able to make my way toward him in that ballroom.
I remember the feelings of anticipation I had reaching a fevered
pitch when I saw him.

He was standing away from the crowd, looking
relaxed and debonair in his element, undoubtedly relishing in his
success while he casually sipped his wine. The black tuxedo he wore
fit him perfectly, accentuating his muscular and almost too-tall
build. I’ve always been considered tall, but Maximos Vasilliadis’
stature—he had to have been nearly seven feet tall—made me feel
unusually small. His midnight black hair was meticulously combed
and cropped in the traditional style favored by finance guys. But
what really differentiated him from all of the men I’ve met, and
ever known for that matter, were his eyes.

They were an electric midnight blue that
practically shocked me when they connected with mine. If it wasn’t
enough that I felt like I was being scrutinized by a Greek god, the
baritone of his voice threatened to lull me into submission. The
man was devastatingly handsome. The sharp angles of his cheekbones
and nose gave him a severe look, but that severity exuded such
power. No wonder he was successful. I remember my blood was
practically humming. Miraculously, I had managed to snap myself
back to reality, reminding myself it was about business and hiring
me was just another deal.

It’s about business, I’m still telling myself
now. So why was I so unprofessional? I acted like a petulant child
and stormed out of the party. I close the white linen curtains of
my living room to block out the pouting reflection of myself in the
windows. If I’m going to be sullen, I’ll do it alone. I slip off my
skirt and let it pool around my ankles. The smooth silk sliding
down my skin feels good. It makes me wonder what his hands would
feel like. Jesus. I was going to take a hot bath, but maybe a cold
shower would be better.

I head toward my oasis, discarding the rest
of my clothing in the process. I’ll put it all away before bed, but
right now it feels good to be careless and leave it on the floor.
Look at me, reckless Arianna. My bathroom is always an excellent
antidote to a bad mood. But the floor mosaic of pearly white penny
rounds and the fresh white hydrangea on my pedestal sink do nothing
for me tonight. I let the water from the rain showerhead beat down
against my back. I wish I could do this night over.

But if I did it over, I still don’t know if
I’d take the job. A challenge is one thing, but drastic change is
another. Maybe that was my problem. I was afraid of giving up what
I was used to—my careful routines and the life I had built for
myself. In a period of twelve hours, Leo completely uprooted me and
expected me to say how high when they asked me to jump. I’m not a
jumper, and if I’m going to take a chance, I need to know all of
the risks as well as the rewards. Jumping into things gets you
hurt; I know that firsthand. Maximos Vasilliadis may as well have
“RISK” stamped on his forehead.

He called me naïve. But it wasn’t naïveté; it
was a refusal to lose control. In the half hour I spent with
Maximos tonight, I felt like I was barely able to keep it together.
My reaction to him was an overreaction because for the first time
in a long time, I didn’t know what I wanted to do or what I should
do. And why hadn’t I used my gift? I intended to, but when his hand
touched mine, everything I planned to say and do disappeared.
Instead, I was careless with my words and subconsciously—or maybe
consciously?—ruined the Leo opportunity. The good news is, it is
done and I won’t have to see him again. I scrub my face vigorously.
Tomorrow will be a new day.

I wrap myself in a fluffy towel and put on my
robe. The waffle cotton folds are comforting. Speaking of which, a
comforting voice sounds good about now, and so would a cheesesteak.
I opt to just call Laura and Raad instead of delivery. It’s late,
but both of them are night owls.

To no surprise, I get Laura’s voicemail. She
is probably out with her latest boy toy. I leave a message: “Hey
girl, it’s me. Sorry I bailed on you tonight. I know, I’m a jerk.
Some interesting developments, though. I can’t wait to give you the
scoop. I met the founder of Leo tonight and need some advice. He’s
hot all right, but a real asshole. Anyway, call me. We still need
to finalize plans for Monday night.”

Raad on the other hand picks up on the second
ring. I imagine him sitting in his leather Eames chair, his reading
glasses on, Beau and Luna by his feet. It’s too hot for a fire, but
maybe he’s opened the sliding glass doors and is enjoying the
summer night.

“Ari! What a wonderful surprise,” he says
excitedly as soon as he picks up.

“How did you know it was me?” I ask.
“Intuition, my dear.”

“You finally got caller ID, didn’t you?”

“Maybe.” I can hear him smiling.

“So what’s going on? You rarely ever call
this late. Is everything okay?”

“Yep. I just wanted to say hi. I was thinking
of taking the day off tomorrow and visiting for the weekend.” I
didn’t really know I was thinking about visiting, but it just came
out. Said aloud, it sounded like a great idea.

“You never take the day off. And you told me
you were going to have to work this weekend. Are you sure
everything is okay?”

“I just need a long weekend and to get out of
this hot city. That’s all. I’ll take the train out tomorrow. Can
you pick me up at the station?”

“Of course—just let me know what time.”

“11:15?”

“Perfect. This is great timing. I thought we
were going to have to wait to celebrate your birthday until next
weekend. Now we can do it Saturday night! Also, I started to clean
out the attic earlier this week. You can help me finish.” I groan
inwardly.

“Great, I’ll be sure to dress for the job.
And a Saturday night birthday dinner sounds perfect. See you
tomorrow.”

“Sleep well, but make sure you meditate
before bed,” he reminds me.

“I will,” I assure.

I put my phone in its charger and tidy up my
mess. Or what is a perceived mess to me. My apartment is
immaculate, but in keeping it that way religiously, if one thing is
ever out of place it drives me insane. Like my hairbrush; I can’t
find it anywhere and I’ve turned the apartment completely upside
down twice looking for it. It’s a liability of living alone—making
yourself crazy. At least I don’t have cats. Dogs are more my
speed.

It is going to be great to see Beau tomorrow.
I wasn’t able to go for a visit last weekend, and I’m sure he is
missing me. When I moved to New York, I did a trial period with
Beau in the apartment. He did fine, but he just wasn’t happy
without Luna. I can’t deny him anything, so he went back to our old
arrangement of living with Raad—who loves him as much as I do.

It’s almost midnight and I want to put this
day past me. I take an oversized down pillow in blue ikat from the
tufted sofa and place it on the floor. Perching myself on top with
legs crisscross, I start to slow my breathing and clear my mind. I
rebuild the walls around me that have weakened. I lay the bricks,
one by one. I fill myself with white, clean space and go to the
white room in my mind. No frustration, no upset. Just white, clean
space.

But I see Maximos. His chiseled face fills my
white space. Instead of calm, my pulse quickens. That’s enough for
tonight. I put the pillow back and shut the lights off.

As I slip underneath the covers, he is still
in my head. I sleep fitfully, tossing and turning. Even in my
dreams I can’t stop thinking about him. He really did have some
nerve.

I wake up at 4:30 and go for my morning run.
It feels good to sweat and make my lungs burn, with loud techno
music drowning out my thoughts. The West Side Highway path is
mostly empty. People are still in bed with their spouses and
lovers, whereas I awoke with my BlackBerry next to me.

When I get home, I quickly shower and spend
two hours responding to e-mail. I tell Sarah to clear my schedule
again—I’m still not feeling well. I opt for steak and eggs for
breakfast (my favorite) and make sure that the steak is extra rare.
The garlic butter sauce on top melts right into the steak juice.
Daniel Boulud would be proud. My mother would be appalled.

I pack my Louis Vuitton duffle and don a pair
of worn-in jeans. It’s been forever since I’ve worn them, but I
like their soft feeling and even the tears. Today, I want to relax.
I put on a simple white scoop-neck T, my tan leather ballet flats,
and a pair of pearl earrings. I may be covered in attic dust by the
end of the day, but I can’t forgo all jewelry. After running
through my mental checklist ensuring everything is tidy, I lock the
apartment and head out. I decide to pick up dessert and stop at
Magnolia Bakery.