Book 1 - Chapter 11 (1/2)
Everything happened within seconds.
One moment she was racing through her living room, the next Darius tackled her from behind. He slammed into her, propelling her facedown. They landed on top of her couch, and the impact squeezed every molecule of oxygen from her lungs. As she struggled to breathe, he flipped her over and locked her wrists above her head. A favorite position of his, obviously. She didn't have time to panic.
”My soul belongs to you, and yours belongs to me,” he chanted, his voice strange, hypnotic. His gaze clashed with hers, ice-blue calculation with turquoise uncertainty. The rims of his eyes were red and swollen, but as she watched, all hint of the toxic spray vanished.
”What are you doing?” she gasped, growing increasingly light-headed.
”Bound we shall be,” he continued, ”from this moon to another, then set free.”
Her blood whirled inside her veins as a strange, dark and oddly compelling essence invaded her. Dark, so dark. Scattered thoughts flashed through her, motionless images in black-and-white-images of a child's terror, hurt, and search for a love never found. Images of desolation and an ultimate withdrawal from emotion.
The child was Darius.
She was poised on the periphery of a vision, gazing down at a b.l.o.o.d.y ma.s.sacre. Men, women and children were lying motionless in pools of their own blood. The boy-Darius-knelt over one of the children. A little girl. Long black hair formed an inky river around her face and shoulders, blending with the blood dripping from her neck. She wore a sapphire-colored dress that was bunched around her waist. Her eyes were closed, but there was a promise of beauty in every line of her softly rounded features.
Gently Darius fitted the hem of the dress around her ankles, covering her exposed flesh. He remained kneeling and gazed up to the crystal dome. He slammed a fist into the dirt and howled, the sound more animal than human, more tortured than any child should ever have to endure.
Grace wanted to sob. She found herself reaching out, hoping to wrap the boy in her arms. But even as she moved, she was whisked back to reality. Darius still hovered above her.
”What did you do to me?” she cried.
He didn't answer right away. His eyes were closed, as if he were lost in a vision of his own. When he finally opened his eyelids, he said, ”I have bound us together.” He looked smug. ”For one day, you must remain in my presence. There will be no more escaping.”
”That isn't possible.”
”Isn't it? Can you not speak my language? Did I not travel here-Gracie Lacie?” he added softly.
She gasped. ”How do you know that name?”
”Your father called you that.”
”Yes, but how do you know?”
”I saw inside your mind,” he said simply. He pushed to his feet, and she scooted backward to the edge of the couch. ”Go to your room and dress,” he said. ”Wear something that covers you from neck to toe. We have much to discuss and not a lot of time.”
”I'm not moving.”
His gaze slitted. ”Then I will change you myself.”
With that threat ringing in her ears, Grace jumped up and scurried around him. When she reached her bedroom, she quickly shut and locked the door, then raced to the nearest window. She unlatched the fastener, raised the gla.s.s and attempted to throw one leg over.
An invisible wall stopped any movement outside.
Nearly screeching with frustration, she kicked and pounded at the wall but couldn't break past it. Finally, panting, she gave up. How dare Darius do this! she seethed. What had he said? A binding spell. How dare he cast a binding spell, locking her within his grasp.
A hard knock sounded at her door. ”You have five minutes to dress, and then I am coming in.”
He'd do it, too, she thought. Even if he had to kick in the door. Even if he had to take the apartment building apart brick by brick. With a humorless chuckle, she leaned against the ledge and rested her head on the wooden frame.
How had such a lost little boy grown into such an uncompromising man?
She didn't want to believe those flashes of his life were real, but he'd known her father's nickname for her. And she hadn't shared that information with anyone. Darius's childhood, those things she'd seen, had happened. She didn't like knowing he'd once had a family. She didn't like knowing about the pain he had endured at their deaths. Knowing made her long to comfort him, to protect him. To stay with him.
”I don't want to change while you're inside my house,” she called. ”I don't trust you.”
”That matters not. You will do as I have commanded.”
Or he'd do it for her , she mentally finished. Grace dragged her feet to her dresser and tore off her ripped tank. She quickly jerked on her largest, plainest turtle-neck sweater and a pair of plain gray sweatpants. He didn't want to see her skin, and she didn't want to show it to him. Glowering, she donned socks and tennis shoes-better to kick him with.
When she was completely dressed, she paused. What do I do now ? She would go out there, Grace decided, and she would be civilized. She would answer his questions honestly. Afterward, he would leave her, just as he'd found her. The boy he'd been would allow nothing less. She hoped. He'd certainly had the opportunity to hurt her: while she slept, while they kissed. A s.h.i.+ver of remembrance trickled through her, and she scowled. How could she still desire him?
Gathering her scattered wits, she unlocked the door and pulled it open. Darius towered a few feet away, his shoulder propped on the opposite wall. His expression was as cold and merciless as ever; his eyes could have been chipped from an Alaskan glacier.
”Much better,” he said, eyeing her clothing.
”Let's go into the living room,” she said. She didn't want a bed anywhere near them. Without waiting for his reply, she swept around him. She settled on the recliner-so he couldn't sit next to her-and said the first thing that popped into her mind. ”Are you going to eat me?”
”What?” he half growled, half gasped. He settled onto the couch, as far away from her as possible.
Was he just as leery of her as she was of him? The thought shouldn't have bothered her, but it did. She had done nothing, by word or deed, to earn his dislike.
”Your friends,” she said. ”They're cannibals and wanted to eat me.” She shuddered at the memory.
His lips curled in what could either have been amus.e.m.e.nt or fury. ”They will never do so. That I can promise you.” He schooled his features until they were as blank as a brand-new chalkboard. ”Where is the medallion, Grace?”
Confession time. ”I, uh, lost it.”
”What?” he roared, jolting to his feet.
”I lost it?” she offered more as a question than a statement.
He sank back into his seat and rubbed a hand down his face. ”Explain.”
”While I was inside the mist the second time, it ripped from my neck.” She shrugged. ”I tried to get it back, but failed.”
His gaze pierced her with its intensity. ”If you are saying this in an attempt to keep the medallion for yourself, I will-”
”Search my home if you want,” she interjected defensively.
He ma.s.saged his temple with two fingers and continued to stare over at her. Then he nodded as though he'd just come to a monumental decision. ”We are going to take a small trip, Grace.”
”I don't think so.”
”We're going to the cave. We will not stay long.”
Heat drained from her face and hands, leaving her cold and pale. Did he hope to send her back into Atlantis? To lock her up? To either kill/torture/molest her-okay, the last one appealed to her in a way it shouldn't have-in his own surroundings?
”Do not think to protest,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. ”I must go, therefore you must go. We are bound together.”
”Atlantis is-”
”Not where I'm taking you. I wish only to visit the cave.”
She relaxed, soothed by the ring of truth in his tone. Another trip to Brazil might actually be beneficial, she realized, remembering the postcard Alex had sent her. She could take his picture with her, something she hadn't had last time, and walk through town, asking people if they had seen him.
”If I go with you,” she said, purposefully omitting her change of desires, ”will you help me find my brother?”
”You do not know where he is?”
”No. And I've looked. His co-workers haven't seen him. He hasn't been home. He hasn't even called our mother, and he usually does. Someone sent me an e-mail supposedly from him, but I know it wasn't because I found a postcard Alex had written telling me he was in trouble.”
A flash of guilt stole through Darius's eyes. ”I cannot stay here long, but you have my word of honor that while I am here, I will help you find him.”
”Thank you,” she told him softly.
He stood and held out his hand, palm up.
”We're leaving now ?”
”Now.”
”But I need to call the airline. I need to-”
”You need only take my hand.”
Blinking up at him in confusion, she swallowed, then forced herself to stand. ”Give me just... ” She rushed to her storage closet. ”One... ” She withdrew a photo alb.u.m. ”Second.” She peeled Alex's picture from the slot, folded it and shoved it into her pocket. She raced back to Darius and, with a half smile, placed her hand in his. ”I'm ready.”
”Close your eyes.” The deep baritone of his voice was hypnotic.
”Why?”
”Just do what I say.”
”First tell me why.”
He frowned. ”What I'm about to do can be jolting.”
”There. That wasn't so bad, was it?” She closed her eyelids, total darkness encompa.s.sing her. A full minute ticked by and nothing happened. What was going on? ”Can I look now?”
”Not yet.” His voice was strained, and his hand clenched around hers. ”I do not have full use of my powers, so the trip is taking longer than usual.”
Trip? And why didn't he have full use of his powers?
”You may look now,” he said a moment later.
His dilemma forgotten, she fluttered open her eyelids and gasped. Bleak, rocky walls surrounded her. Water dripped in a constant procession, the sound ghostly. A thick, smoky mist billowed around them, cold and dreary, dusting everything it touched with chill. She was suddenly grateful for her sweatpants.
The only light came from Darius. Even through his s.h.i.+rt, his tattoos glowed bright enough to light a football stadium.
”How did you do that?” she asked, awed. ”How did you bring us here so quickly, without walking a single step?”
”I am a child of the G.o.ds,” he said, as if that explained everything. ”Do not move from that spot.”
Since that suited her desires perfectly, she nodded. She wasn't going near the mist.
His eyes scanning, searching, he stalked around the cavern, his muscles rippling beneath his clothes with every movement. She easily recalled how all that strength and sinew felt beneath her fingertips. Her mouth watered, and she s.h.i.+fted from one foot to the other. No matter what this man did, he oozed danger and excitement; it seeped from his every pore. He was far too menacing, far too unpredictable, and far too powerful. He'd promised to help her while he was with her, and she believed he would.
If anyone could find Alex, it was this man.
He tried to lift a large branch out of his way, but his hands ghosted through it. As she watched, her eyes widened. She turned toward the wall and ran her own hand over the jagged surface. Shockingly her fingers disappeared inside the rock. ”We're ghosts,” she croaked out, spinning to face Darius.
”Only while we are here,” he a.s.sured her.
Knowing she was not a permanent phantom eased her worry, and she relaxed. She was used to new experiences. Most times she went out of her way to have them. But with Darius, things just sort of happened-weird things she could not possibly prepare for. He was excitement personified.
”Are you looking for the medallion?” she asked when he continued his search.
A long silence fell between them. Obviously he didn't want to answer.
”Well?” she persisted.
”I must find it.”
What was it about that chain? Even she had fought to possess it, had felt its strange, unquestionable draw. ”You want it, Alex wanted it and someone once tried to steal it from him. Other than unlocking your bedroom door, what makes that thing so valuable?”
”Dragon medallions are handcrafted by Hephaestus, the blacksmith of the G.o.ds, and each one holds a special power for its owner, like time travel or invisibility. What's more, it unlocks doors to every room in every dragon palace-as you saw for yourself,” he added dryly.
”If I'd known it offered special powers, I might have held on to it more tightly,” she said. Time travel. How cool was that? ”My favorite novels are time travels, and I've always thought it would be cool to visit the Middle Ages.”
”If you had known of the medallion's powers, you would not have lived long enough to travel through time.”
Well, that certainly put things in perspective, didn't it? ”I guess that means I shouldn't ask what yours can do.”
”No, you should not. You and other surface dwellers should not even know the medallions exist.”