Thief of Hearts (Elders and Welders Chronicles Book 3) (17 page)

That smug smile wavered, and those sharp eyes widened. It was a look of recognition. The man knew him.

And the man feared him.

Rowan’s head immediately started to ache. He must have known the man as well, but again the details remained just out of reach. The most he could dredge up out of the hollows of his mind was the conviction that he’d not liked the man. The urge to do him violence was overwhelming and instinctual.

“It was indeed a trap,” the man continued once he had recovered from his brief loss of composure. “Though I did not expect to snare such fascinating prey.” He let his eyes return to Rowan, and this time they were carefully shuttered. The smug smile remained, however, and Rowan had the sudden desire to punch it off his face. “It has been some time, has it not?”

“Has it? Should I know you?” he asked bluntly.

The man’s eyes widened again, as if Rowan had surprised him. Then they narrowed nearly to slits, as if trying to puzzle him out. “It
has
been a long time, but surely…”

Rowan looked to Hex for assistance, but she just gave him a helpless look, as confused by the conversation as he was.

“You’re Netherfield,” Rowan finally settled on. It sounded more like a question than a statement, and Rowan cringed. This was not going well.

The man quirked an eyebrow and continued to study him suspiciously. “I am indeed,” he murmured. “And you are?”

Rowan remained silent, clenching his fists at his sides. He had no use for games, but he had a feeling that he was in the middle of one. And he didn’t know how to proceed without showing his hand.

He needn’t have bothered even trying, however, for something in Rowan’s expression must have given him away. Netherfield’s eyes lit with glee as understanding dawned on him, and his smug smile grew into a full-fledged grin. Rowan wanted to punch him more than ever.

“You don’t know, do you?” Netherfield said, sounding awed at the revelation.

“His name’s Rowan, you bastard,” Hex gritted out, her Welding hands scrabbling futilely against the woman’s forearm that was currently pressing hard against her neck.

Netherfield inclined his head. “Yes, of course.
Rowan
. But beyond that?”

“If you know who I am, tell me, damn you,” Rowan snapped.

Netherfield snorted, his grin widening. “Why in the world would I do that? This is
exquisitely
amusing. You have
no idea
who you are.
What
you are.”

“I know I could shatter every bone in your body in less than five seconds,” he growled, and he knew his words were true the same way he’d known how to incapacitate that guard so effortlessly.
And
he knew he’d not feel bad about it either. This man deserved death. He couldn’t remember why, but he knew it was unequivocally true.

Netherfield’s grin faded. “You would have to get through Vasily to do so,” he said, nodding in the direction of the…
thing
Rowan had thrown across the room. Vasily growled at him again, looking completely unscathed now, aside from his bloodstained clothes. Whatever he was, he healed nearly as fast as Rowan did.

“I don’t foresee
that
as much of a problem,” Rowan scoffed. Vasily’s brow darkened at the insult.

“Ah, but then Theodora would have no qualms in dispatching Miss Bartholomew to the afterlife. Even
you
would not be quick enough to save her. And it is why you are here, is it not? To
rescue
her?” Netherfield taunted.

Rowan remained silent, refusing to be baited. He had no doubt he could kill Netherfield easily, and he damn well would if he got the chance. Vasily was a slightly different matter, but Rowan was still fairly confident of his odds.

However, there was no scenario he could think of that wouldn’t end in Hex’s immediate death if he attempted anything at present. He had been stymied from the moment Theodora had captured her.

“And I wonder how much of a coincidence it is that Miss Bartholomew should have a
friend
like you. Poor Omar’s absolutely incoherent ramblings make a bit more sense now,” Netherfield continued conversationally. “He spoke of a man fitting your description quite nicely. Though he didn’t think you were a
man
at all, poor, superstitious primitive that he was. My benefactor and I speculated that something of this sort might be possible, but we were rather expecting…someone else.”

“Who am I?” he demanded, uninterested in Netherfield’s speculations. “What am I?”

Netherfield scrutinized him again, as if he were a specimen under a microscope. “It’s simply extraordinary that you don’t know. Amnesia, is it?” He took Rowan’s angry silence for assent. “It would take quite a lot to incapacitate your…
kind
in such a way.”

“There are others like me, then?”

Netherfield just grinned once more and wagged a scolding finger. “Again, there’s no fun in telling. Though perhaps a few visual stimuli might be in order.” He walked over to one of the intact display cases and raised a brow in Rowan’s direction, as if expecting him to follow.

Rowan didn’t want to cooperate in any way, of course, but he didn’t have much of a choice. He gave Hex an uneasy glance. Theodora still held her tightly, but she didn’t look as if she were in immediate danger, just bloody furious with the situation.

He knew how she felt.

He crossed the room grudgingly and joined Netherfield by the case. Netherfield gestured down at a series of old scrolls.

“The tale of the god Apophis’s journey to earth,” he explained. “It was said he came and left this world from his tomb somewhere in the Western Sahara.”

Rowan’s stomach hollowed out at Netherfield’s mention of the desert, though he fought to let none of his surprise show.

“And?” Rowan prompted tersely.

“It is where you were found by Miss Bartholomew and Mr. Janus, was it not?” Netherfield asked. “Omar was under a great deal of duress when he told his story, convoluted as it was. However, I do not think he was lying at that point.”

“It seems Omar was not the only superstitious primitive,” Rowan retorted, “if you are suggesting what I think you’re suggesting.”

Netherfield didn’t like that. Something cruel flashed over his brown eyes, and his smile hardened. He pointed down to a figure on one of the papyri: tall, pale, amber-eyed and black-haired, his back and torso decorated by a vividly colored, serpent-like creature. The decoration seemed glaringly out of step with the rest of the papyrus’ artwork and not very
Egyptian
at all.

And unsettlingly familiar. He knew that mark. He’d been there when the black-haired man had returned from his travels, in the possession of that ridiculous tattoo. He’d been exasperated but thankful the man had finally come home, after years of fearing he’d never see him again…

A pain flared in his temples, so sharp and bright that he gasped and stumbled away from the case. He clutched at his head and didn’t dare look back at the papyrus, fighting back a bout of nausea.

When he finally gathered the remnants of his composure, he raised his head to find Netherfield studying him again. “That was an…
interesting
reaction.”

“Sod off,” Rowan breathed. He glanced over to Hex. She was watching him with a worried frown.

“I would ask if you recognized the tattoo, but I think your reaction is answer enough for me,” Netherfield said, then he too glanced at Hex speculatively. “Tell me,
Mr. Rowan
, do you know how to return to the tomb?”

Rowan watched Hex’s whole body tense and her face go carefully blank. Somehow, he got the feeling that his answer was extremely important.

“No,” he said quietly, deciding on the truth.

Hex’s body seemed to slump with relief.

Netherfield huffed out a disappointed breath and looked apologetically in Theodora’s direction. “You’ll have to wait, then, my dear. It seems that we still require Miss Bartholomew.”

Well, thank hell he hadn’t tried to lie.

“However, I believe our trip shall have to be slightly postponed in light of your very unexpected visit,” Netherfield said, turning back to Rowan. “My benefactor returns to the city tomorrow, and I’m sure he shall be delighted to meet you.”

“I’m not interested in your games, Netherfield,” he snarled.

Netherfield smirked yet again. “You haven’t a choice but to play along nicely, I’m afraid, if you value Miss Bartholomew’s life. Besides, you doubtless have questions. My benefactor can answer them all.”

“
Can
and
will
are very different things,” Rowan retorted.

Netherfield just laughed. “At least your memory loss has not affected your intelligence. You always were rather clever. Of course, nothing near to your cousin. But then again, he too had his weaknesses.”

Taunting Rowan with his past was getting very old very quickly. “I shall cooperate,” he said through gritted teeth. “Though I doubt you can
contain
me.”

Netherfield’s grin grew to entirely new proportions, and Rowan only just restrained himself from charging the man and pummeling him into the floor, consequences be damned. “That sounded like a dare, Mr. Rowan.”

No, he didn’t like this man at all.

THE CHAMBER
BENEATH
the palace was as dry and dusty as a pharaoh’s desert tomb. Hex struggled to walk, much less breathe, in Theodora’s death-grip, her skin slick with sweat in the suffocating heat, her eyes struggling to adjust in the flickering torchlight.

The trip through the palace had been silent and awkward, everyone they passed turning a blind eye to her bound hands and obvious distress. Netherfield and his mysterious benefactor had undoubtedly put the fear of God into the khedive to be allowed such carte blanche. It wouldn’t have taken much, though, just a flash of Vasily and Theodora’s fangs.

Even if she had managed to escape with Rowan, she doubted she would have made it far, between the vampires and the palace guard. Rowan could have gotten away, but he seemed determined to cooperate. She didn’t know how to feel about his blithe acceptance of their current circumstances, but she knew as soon as they began to descend the winding staircase beneath the palace that they were done for. Every step downward severely diminished both of their chances of escape.

When she saw the giant cage in the middle of a large, musty storage room, bars crisscrossing each other on all sides, her last hopes began to dwindle. And when Rowan, the damned fool, walked right into the cage and let Vasily lock it down without even a token protest, those dwindling hopes faded to dust.

She’d not expected to be separated from Rowan, and from the troubled look on his face, neither had he.

He gripped the bars and tested their strength, and she could tell from the small furrow between his brows that he would not be breaking free of his prison as easily as he had broken free of the tomb. His powers would not stand up to whatever the cage was made of, which was no big surprise to Hex. Netherfield seemed to know what Rowan was. He’d not be so careless as to underestimate his strength.

“It’s a special steel alloy an associate of mine developed. Strong enough to withstand even your strength,” Netherfield explained casually.

Rowan tried to look undaunted, but the knuckles that gripped the bars were white with strain. “Your word that Miss Bartholomew will remain unharmed?”

“Of course,” Netherfield answered smoothly. Too smoothly. “We, alas, need her to navigate to the tomb.”

Vasily, who was standing just out of Netherfield’s line of sight, gave Hex a chilling smile.

She was certain of only one thing in that moment: she could not be separated from Rowan.

Rowan, the oblivious, noble-hearted man, just nodded at Netherfield’s promise, however, as if he trusted the villain to live up to some gentlemanly code of conduct.

Perhaps Netherfield did intend to keep his word, but Vasily surely didn’t. And Hex had no desire to find out what the madman might do to her. But he
would
do it to her at the first opportunity, despite Netherfield’s orders otherwise, of that she had no doubt.

She was asset enough to Netherfield for him to keep her alive, but there were levels of “unharmed”. In the end, she highly doubted Netherfield would care if Vasily had his fun, so long as she was functional enough to pilot them to their thrice-damned tomb afterward.

Hex assessed her meager options in the seconds left before Netherfield grew tired of bantering with Rowan. The only advantage she had left was the fact that Theodora had released her from her chokehold now that Rowan was in the cage. But Vasily and Netherfield stood in front of the one exit to the room, so escaping was right out—though she doubted it had ever really been an option with the speed at which Vasily and Theodora moved.

She needed to do something to force Netherfield to leave her with Rowan, but anything she tried would be risky. Netherfield seemed to have some modicum of control over Theodora, but Vasily, with his hungry eyes and carefully maintained distance from his employer, was a wild card.

Not even Netherfield seemed to realize this yet, but Hex did. Growing up, she’d known many men like Vasily who’d had that same irrationally focused look in their eyes. He would never be controlled, especially if enough temptation was placed in his path.

She would just have to be that temptation. She’d rather be dead than suffer through whatever he had planned for her once he got her alone, so she’d take her chances on her half-assed plan. She just hoped to hell that she came out the other side of it with her throat intact.

Netherfield threw out yet another snide taunt aimed at Rowan—the man was way too pleased by his own cleverness—and when Theodora’s attention strayed to her employer as he laughed, Hex made her move. She ran full tilt at Vasily, pushing aside the part of her that screamed she was a lunatic for doing so.

The brute's eyes widened in disbelief when he noticed what she was doing, then narrowed in anticipation. He crouched down, his body tensing in readiness, a hunter focusing on his prey. His eyes began to glow their eerie glow and his fangs descended, and Hex’s steps almost faltered at the thoroughly disturbing smile that lit his thin lips.

He lunged at her, quicker than she could blink, and she felt his powerful arms wrap around her. They fell back, his body weight crushing her just this side of too painful. Something sharp and cold pierced her shoulder from behind as he pushed her down, and she cried out in agony.

This only seemed to spur Vasily on, his nostrils flaring as if he could scent her leaking blood. He began to tear at her clothes, his amber eyes focused on her bleeding shoulder, his body brutal and hard against her own.

It was nearly impossible to fight back with her hands literally tied together, but even if she could have, she wouldn’t have done much damage. She might as well have been battling a lion. Though with a lion she suspected she would have had more of a chance.

She heard someone screaming her name—Rowan—followed by a shriek, and then suddenly Theodora was on Vasily’s back, tearing him off of Hex. Hex scrambled out of the way as quickly as she could, clutching her injured shoulder and watching wide-eyed as Vasily and Theodora ripped into each other with their fangs and fists, brawling their way around the room.

Vasily’s attention seemed to focus entirely on Hex, a rabid dog fixed upon his bone, despite Theodora’s attempts to divert him. Every hole in Theodora’s defense sent him charging back in Hex’s direction to finish his assault. She just hoped that Theodora could hold him back, for she knew that she was dead if Vasily got another chance at her.

She’d never witnessed such a horrific fight, and had the two of them been human, they would have long succumbed to their debilitating wounds. Bones crunched beneath their fists, skin ripped beneath their fangs, and the walls of the room were fast disintegrating to rubble.

At one point, Theodora managed to shove Vasily’s face against the same bit of protruding metal that had cut into Hex’s shoulder. It slashed clear through his jaw line, and Hex felt her gorge rise at the sight of bone and soft tissue being ripped away. In just seconds, however, Vasily was back on his feet, shaking away the blood and gore with a growl, the wound to his jaw already healing.

Hex eyed the empty path to the doorway and calculated the odds of trying to make a run for it after all. They were still appallingly low, but she decided to try her luck anyway while the vampires were distracted with each other. She didn’t get very far before a furious-looking Netherfield dodged past the fight and straight into her path. He gripped her by her injured shoulder, the bastard, and she cursed in pain. He was surprisingly strong for such a soft-looking man.

He dragged her across the chamber and fumbled at the locks on the cage. She made a show of struggling, though inwardly she was rejoicing. He was playing right into her hands. He lifted the bars and shoved her inside with a stern glare before locking them back in place.

Vasily caught sight of her in the cage and howled like a dog. In a frenzy, he swiped a hand down Theodora’s face, ripping away the skin and digging deep into sinew and bone, then picked her up and threw her against a wall so hard it crumbled inward, stone and dust raining down on her head. Theodora lay stunned, the gruesome wound to her face healing too slowly for Hex’s stomach’s sake.

Vasily threw himself against the cage and reached through the bars for Hex, his face set in a rictus of fury. She backed away as far as she could, though that didn’t seem to discourage him. He was determined to reach her, no matter how hard Rowan pounded against his arms with his boots.

The sound of bones snapping beneath Rowan’s blows reached her ears over Vasily’s rabid snarls, and her stomach churned even more, her vision whiting out with her terror.

Finally, Netherfield snuck up behind Vasily, who seemed blind in his bloodlust, and jabbed a syringe into his neck. The vampire immediately fell to his knees, the fight going out of him, his broken arms retreating from the cage. His glowing eyes dimmed and rolled back in his head, and he slumped to the ground. She couldn’t tell if he was in pain or bliss, but whatever Netherfield had given the creature had worked.

Netherfield jerked Vasily’s limp body to his feet and barked at Theodora to help. He flashed an annoyed glare in Hex’s direction, but she didn’t even flinch. She’d gotten precisely what she’d aimed for, aside from the wound to her shoulder. But a cut was a damned sight better than the thousand other things that could have gone wrong…or what Vasily would have done to her had she not acted when she did.

“You’re a very lucky woman, Miss Bartholomew,” Netherfield snarled. “Next time I will just let Vasily have you.”

Bastard. He’d known Vasily’s plans all along and had had no intention of interfering.

“You need me yet,” she managed to say through her breathlessness.

“Not for long,” he muttered. He jerked a shockingly compliant Vasily toward the exit. Theodora trailed after them, her wounds healed but her fancy dress quite ruined. Hex took perverse satisfaction in that small victory.

“Have a lovely evening!” she shouted after their retreating backs.

Theodora glowered at over her shoulder. Hex just sent a rude gesture back with her bound hands and grinned at the disgusted snarl on Theodora’s face.

When she turned to face Rowan, her grin faded. He was staring at her as if she’d grown horns.

“What were you thinking?” he cried.

Suddenly, she didn’t feel so good. The rush of chemicals that had kept her fighting without feeling were quickly fleeing her system, leaving her shoulder on fire and her nerves completely shot to hell. She leaned against the bars of the cage and gripped her shoulder with her bound hands, trying not to let the pain show. But she couldn’t hide the tremors passing through her body.

Rowan’s anger fled completely at her distress, and his brow creased in concern. He ripped off her restraints, shrugged out of his jacket, and wrapped it around her shoulders. She didn’t realize how cold she was until the light musky wool enveloped her.

“I shouldn’t be cold,” she muttered.

“You’re in shock,” Rowan said grimly, untucking his white undershirt and tearing strips of fabric from the bottom. Hex tried not to look at the hard, toned,
naked
abdomen he inadvertently revealed as he did so, but she soon lost the battle with herself. It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen him in his altogether already.

“I’ll be fine in a minute,” she finally managed, frowning when he let his shirt fall back down, covering the view. “I’ve been in worse spots before.”

And Hex Bartholomew did
not
do shock. She was stronger than that.

“That is not at all reassuring,” he muttered. He started to reach for her injured shoulder, and she jerked away with a hiss.

“I need to look at your injury,” he said.

She sighed and pushed the jacket off of her shoulder. She undid the buttons on her waistcoat, then slid it and the collar of her shirt down just enough to expose the wound.

When she glanced back up at Rowan, he was looking everywhere but at her bare shoulder, a faint pink staining his cheeks. The man was blushing. She would have laughed out loud, but she was too exhausted and in too much pain to manage much more than a snort.

“Well?” she prompted.

He cleared his throat and focused on her shoulder, the blush spreading to the tips of his ears. He dabbed at the wound with one of the strips from his shirt, and she grimaced from the sting. He immediately gentled his movements.

“
Well
?” she demanded once more when he continued to hover silently.

“It’s just a shallow cut. I think you’ll live,” he murmured.

He finished cleaning it and bound the fabric around her arm.

“That…
thing
almost killed you,” he said as he tied off the dressing. She slid her sleeve back into place and buttoned up her waistcoat. She flexed her shoulder experimentally and immediately regretted it. It may have just been a small cut, but it sure as hell stung.

“That
thing
was going to attack me the first chance it got. So I took my chances,” she retorted.

Rowan looked thoughtful for a long, silent moment. “You wanted inside the cage,” he finally deduced.

“Hell yes, I wanted in the cage,” she said with exasperation. Was he really too naïve to have caught onto Vasily’s agenda? “I figured it works both ways. It might not let you out, but it won’t let
them
in.”