“Like I said, your modern definition of love pales in comparison to mine. Love, real love, when you cherish the soul of another above your own, whether it’s family, friend, or lover, that bond is difficult to sever. It’s why my brother never gave up trying to bring me back. When he failed after hundreds of attempts, he finally understood that my body was the key. Cleopatra’s ankh necklace couldn’t produce a new one, so he had to find a body for me.”
“I really don’t want to know how he did that because I’m guessing I wouldn’t like that story. But, he did choose nicely.” She supplied a weak smile.
I understood that Theodora was trying to make light, but the displaced soul, the young man who used to own this shell, had his life torn away. It was one more pebble on the heaping pile of guilt that comprised my existence.
“The necklace stopped me from aging past a certain point and kept me from dying from that day forward,” I added.
“Wow. That’s a very impressive necklace. Are you wearing it now?”
“No. King made sure it wasn’t easy to remove; I had to pay a very high price to have it taken off.” The Incan chalice I stole from my brother was intended to bring back Mia’s dead brother. Unfortunately, I needed something to barter with so I could get help finding Theodora. I also needed help removing that necklace—otherwise, my body would just keep coming back.
“So you said that you and I met a second time. Where? When?” she asked.
I could tell from the twinkle in her eyes she was expecting a romantic story of two lost souls searching for one another. But nothing could be further from the truth.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MACK
1512
We were savages. No question about it. My brother, King, was building his empire of power and honing his abilities to walk among the living while he searched for the Artifact—the stone he needed to break his own curse and get his life back. As for myself, I had been resurrected but was going out of my mind after wandering the earth as a tormented soul for more than two thousand years.
Nothing made sense to me except pain and killing. It was why, after I slaughtered his entire household of servants—thirty-three maids of all ages, the youngest sixteen, along with forty-nine guards—my brother had to do something. Not that he cared about my killing his staff. He was more concerned about my drawing the wrong type of attention.
“You need time to get this out of your system, Callias,” King said, pacing the length of his lavish study at his French villa in Marseille that overlooked the ocean. “Meanwhile, I will deal with the cleanup and take care of the local authorities.”
I sat on the cream-colored silk couch next to the fire, dripping with blood. Hell no. I didn’t care about the couch. All I could hear were the screams of my victims and the voice in my head telling me to do it again.
“What have you done to me, Draco?” I growled in agony.
“Shut your mouth, brother. Let me think.”
I stood up, ready to make him my next victim. “Why did you bring me back?” I couldn’t believe what I’d done. The absolute horror of it all. Nevertheless, those brief moments of peace I’d experienced after taking each life had felt like a small piece of sanity. Heaven. Calm. Bliss.
“Must you ask?” He casually tugged on the sleeve of his white blousy shirt. The people of these times dressed so oddly, the men in velvety tunics gathered at the waist and the women in their giant skirts. These were not the free-flowing gowns of my time.
“It was wrong, Draco. Wrong when I took your head. Wrong when I died. Wrong when you brought me back to life.” Though I knew he’d resurrected me for purely selfish reasons, so no, I didn’t have to ask why he’d done it. Nevertheless, “Nothing good will ever come of you or me.”
“I said be quiet,” he barked.
“Or what? You’ll slay me?”
He shook his head and began mumbling. “Never. We are twins, one soul divided into two bodies.”
It was what he believed at the time. Later, we’d evolve. Though we were connected, we were two different souls, two different bodies, one original set of DNA. But science was just as much a mystery to us back then as it was to anyone.
“I’m sending you to find the Artifact,” he said. “You’ll pick up the trail where you last saw it and see where it leads you.”
For all I knew, the Artifact was back in Greece. My guards had shown up right before I’d died, and I’d asked them to take it to Mia.
“How do you propose I get back to…to…the place I died?” Memories of Óolal flashed through my mind. I couldn’t quite make sense of them.
“I have given money to a Diego Velázquez de Cuéllar, a Spaniard who has been charged with establishing a settlement on an island called Caobana, not too far from where you perished. You will sail with him.”
“He works for you?” I asked.
My brother smiled. “They work for gold, which I have plenty of. Therefore, everyone works for me. You will tell him you are there to oversee my investment and help locate objects for my collection.”
And so the next day, I set out on horseback to Spain to deliver the letter and travel on this ship to the New World. Four and a half months later, I had arrived to the place once occupied by Óolal’s people, only to find a jungle abandoned long ago. Any traces had been consumed by vegetation. But I didn’t give a shit. Those few months, traveling in this world that was so changed yet so similar to the one I’d left behind, made me feel like a kid in a candy store. Killing was my candy, and there were plenty of people deserving of it. I killed thieves on the road to Spain who’d tried to take my horse. I killed a drunk group of men who were beating a woman outside of a brothel near the port. I killed several men who’d tried to overthrow the ship. It was when I learned how my darkness and willingness to kill could serve another purpose. I was a man who couldn’t die. I didn’t know fear. I was consumed with a need to shed blood. Every time I obeyed that need, it felt like a drug. Then guilt would kick in, and then I’d kill again for relief. Nevertheless, I believed I’d found my calling.
When we reached Caobana, now known as Cuba, it felt like my own personal heaven. The indigenous population was in need of some taming, and I was in need of some killing.
We hadn’t been there more than five days when Diego started gathering men to fight an uprising.
Of course, he asked me to lead. “You’re an animal, Callias. And a fine warrior. You will clear the way for our settlement. Show these heathens no mercy.”
The next morning, armed with swords, myself and a group of men invaded a small village about one mile south of the port. I remember bursting into the first hut, the blood pumping through my veins, calling for my sweet, sweet drug. But when my eyes met those of the young woman kneeling in the corner, wearing only the traditional loincloth, shielding two small children, I froze. My eyes saw Óolal. It was only for a moment, but it was real. And if I’d had any doubts, they were dispelled by the sweet smell of her permeating the small dwelling.
“It can’t be,” I said.
She looked at me, her eyes filled with shock. I didn’t speak her language, but when that familiar voice filled the air, I fell to my knees, my sword dropping with me. Her presence was ten times more potent than any kill I’d ever made.
I don’t know how long we stayed there staring at each other—confused, elated, horrified, and happy—but the screams outside woke me.
“I have to get you out of here.” I held out my hand, and she took it, urging the two children to follow.
I looked outside to scout for the rest of the men, who were off inside the other dwellings, killing.
“Come. Hurry!” I said.
They followed me along the outer perimeter of the hut and into the jungle. Meanwhile my head pounded and spun. Could this really be her?
If not for the noise in my head, I probably would’ve heard the footsteps coming up behind us. When I turned to see why Óolal and the children had stopped following, it was too late.
/> That day would forever be known as the massacre near Camagüey. But what the history books do not tell is that I was the one doing the massacring. Spaniards, indigenous people, anyone who crossed my path. I was blinded with rage.
When the Spaniards finally caught up with me, I let them kill me. I wanted my pain to end.
But it wouldn’t.
Cleopatra’s ankh brought me back a few days later, and I clawed my way out of a mass grave, stole a boat, and headed north. I was beyond psychotic—something that wouldn’t change for the next several hundred years.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
TEDDI
I wanted to judge Mack for the crimes he’d committed. I wanted to wish him to hell and make sure he stayed there. But the fact that he truly hadn’t been in control steered my heart in another direction: pity.
To be frank, I wasn’t a religious person. Not because I didn’t want to be, but because my analytical mind had never been able to subscribe to anything without proof. But if there was a god, she had abandoned this poor man long ago and left him to rot. It wasn’t fair. I could see the torment in his eyes, hear the guilt in every syllable spoken from his mouth, feel the despair leeching into the air around him. If there was a god, why punish him like this? Because he’d killed his brother? Mack had done it, thinking he might save their people. For screwing me without my father’s permission? Mack said he’d loved me. For becoming cursed with my father’s pain or being resurrected by his brother? Or because he wasn’t strong enough to resist their will?
This man didn’t choose. He was forced into every action. Yet he took the blame for all of it.
“Your guilt, Mack, is a sign that you are not evil,” I said.
As he stared at the crackling fire, I could tell his mind was off in some other world, reliving his sins.
“Mack,” I snapped, bringing him back, “you need to listen to me. You are not responsible for whatever you’ve done.”
He speared me with his gaze. “You don’t get it, do you? That doesn’t matter. Because at the end of the day, I am the one who has to live with the memories. I see their faces. I hear their cries. I relive their pain. What the fuck does guilt have to do with any of it? I just want it to stop.”
“If I’m this person you say I am, then we can figure out a way to end the curse. And I can help you with the memories, too, Mack. I can work with you like I do all my patients.”
“You still don’t remember me, do you?” he snapped.
“Don’t change the subject—”
“Answer me,” he demanded.
I didn’t see where he was going with this, but fine. “No. I don’t remember. But what does that matter?”
“It matters because you always remembered. Sometimes it took a while, but you did. And this time, I passed you on the street. We were two feet apart and you didn’t even look in my direction.”
“You mean before you checked into the center?”
“That was when I knew; even you had recognized that it was time to give up. On me. On us. It is time to move on. And that is why I approached you the way I did, without trying to reignite what we had or felt, Theodora. I just needed your instincts, your curse to kick in so you’d kill me. But this—us.” He toggled his finger between us. “This needs to end.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but you’re wrong. Dead wrong. I’m not even close to giving up, Mack. Not even a little.”
Slowly, the human warmth in his eyes faded. He bolted from the armchair and threw me down onto the floor.
“Don’t fucking argue with me, you bitch,” he growled, pinning me by the neck. “You did this to me. You fucking had to offer yourself, didn’t you, Óolal? And you knew all along what would happen.”
Clawing at his hands, I choked out the only words I thought would reach him. “Okay. You win,” I croaked. “I’ll kill you.”
Slowly, he released his grip around my neck, and the expression on his face turned to shock. “Fuck.” He scooped me up and pulled me into his broad chest. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Are you all right?”
Panting and grateful for the ability to do so, I nodded frantically, my face pressed against his heaving chest. “I’m okay.” But now, more than ever, I was determined to save him. I didn’t want him to die. He deserved to find peace and live the life I’d robbed him of.
Slowly, Mack pulled back and stared into my eyes, the firelight dancing in his pupils. “Did you mean what you just said? You’ll do it?”
Oh God. I didn’t want to lie to the man, but I had to. He had to see I was on his side. All I needed was to understand how to undo this horrible curse, and perhaps a part of me already knew. I just had to bring it to the surface.
More time. I need more time.
“I meant it,” I lied. “But I want something for it.”
Cradling me in his arms, Mack’s troubled gaze drifted to my lips, and though that wasn’t even close to what I’d planned to propose, I found myself sitting there thinking, Yeah, that’ll work, too. Heck, more time was more time, right?
He smiled in a consoling kind of way, the dark hair falling into his vivid blue eyes. “The first time I saw that same look in your eyes, you got me into a hell of a lot of trouble, woman.”
I couldn’t help it. I just couldn’t; my heart was racing all over the place and swooning like crazy. Yes, for a man who’d tried to strangle me only moments earlier. But now…God, that look on his face, so hypnotically seductive, so mind-numbingly raw and sweet and so…
Goddamn mine. I slid one hand behind his neck and pulled his mouth to mine. Our lips collided with what felt like an electric spark that rippled through the air. Was this what people meant when they talked about love sometimes feeling like being hit by a bolt of lightning? Whatever the case, I couldn’t deny what I felt inside my soul, a need so deep I never wanted to let him go.
I poured myself into the kiss and savored the roughness of the masculine stubble surrounding two satiny lips.
Of course, kissing this man would feel like that: a sinful contrast. Rough and soft.
He languidly slid his lips over mine, as if also enjoying the texture, and then placed a gentle kiss on the corner of my mouth.
Ohmygod. The sinful sweetness of that did me in. I’d been kissed before, but there’d never been any emotion in it for me. But the two of us, just breathing each other in, pressing our mouths softly together, spoke directly to my heart. The way he carefully kneaded his lips against mine and held me to him, as gentle as ever…So irresistible.
Perhaps he didn’t want to frighten me. Perhaps he was merely testing the waters, making sure that switch inside him wouldn’t flip. I didn’t know, but there was no way a man who took so much care to kiss me like this was evil. Wickedly seductive, yes. But not evil.
With my hand still threaded into the silky hair at the back of his neck, I pushed my mouth firmly to his and ran my tongue over his plump bottom lip, urging him to give me more.
And he did.
His gentleness subsided, and his eagerness exploded. His tongue slid between my lips and stroked and pushed and lapped against my mouth, as if desperate to get inside me.
Ohgod. His smell and taste were so delicious. The feel of him, the heat of him, the shape of his powerful arms holding me to him. I could see why I wasn’t able to resist this man three thousand years ago. Everything about him was pure seduction.
The two of us kissing like wild hormone-riddled teenagers, he lowered me to the floor and stretched his long, hard body against the length of mine. The bearskin rug beneath us was warm and soft, just perfect for ripping off our clothes and going at it, but I could tell immediately that wasn’t Mack’s plan. He was trying to stay in control. I could also tell he was gifted in the lovemaking department, which was why a big part of me wanted him to let go. I’d waited my entire life to feel something like this and to feel it with Mack…there was nothing my body wanted more.
His warm hand slid underneath my shirt, and his fingertips teasingly stroked the soft skin just ben
eath my breasts, but he didn’t move to touch them.
This is torture. Delicious torture. The way he pressed his body against mine, but wouldn’t allow me to feel his arousal. The way his mouth moved with mine in teasing, rough kisses. He was in control right now, control over me, and he liked it that way.
But I wanted more. I needed more.
I shifted my body at an angle and wrapped my leg around his hip, pulling him closer, inviting him to slide between my legs. I wanted to feel that hard cock locked away inside his jeans.
He denied my request by unwrapping my leg and then grabbing my wrists, pushing them into the rug, holding me in place. I responded by pushing my breasts into his chest and kissing him harder. He replied by sliding his mouth down my neck and sucking and licking the sensitive skin just above my collarbone.
Oh, God. He’s trying to drive me mad. His short whiskers tickled deliciously while his mouth massaged and kneaded, helping me imagine what that tongue of his might be capable of if working on my hard nipples or throbbing c-spot.
A soft moan escaped my mouth. “What are you doing?” I whispered toward the ceiling, panting.
“Mmmm…” He slid his hand underneath my shirt again, and his nimble fingers worked down my bra just enough to make my breasts spill out over the top.
I gasped when his hand cupped the soft flesh. Every little thing he did felt amplified and exaggeratedly sensual. Was it because I’d never had real emotions before while being intimate? No, it was definitely this man.
“Was it like this our first time?” I whispered as he bathed my neck and the corners of my mouth in a flurry of kisses.
Suddenly, he stopped.
“What’s wrong?” I looked up at those stunning blue eyes peering at me from behind a curtain of shaggy black hair.
“You really want to know?” he said.
I nodded. “Yeah, I do.”
“Being with you ruined me for all other women. And it was the happiest moment of my life.”
I swallowed hard and tried to stop my eyes from tearing up, but it was useless.