Chapter 8
A week after his encounter with Vernoux, Tonio was crouched on the low branch of a tree in the same woods where Solange had robbed him. Below him, she sat on her horse as they waited for a coach to pass, one with wealthy passengers whom they could relieve of their valuables.
He rolled his shoulder, easing the stiffness from the poisonous burn Vernoux had inflicted. Usually, nothing hurt him while he was Shadow, a dangerous condition because he could be severely injured and not realize it. But he and his brother had been shocked at the effects of the frog glyph. By the time Tonio had returned home, he was sick and shivering. Fortunately, Piero had been able to counteract the poison before it destroyed his Shadow body. The slice across his ribs would have to wait until he returned to flesh and bone, and besides, he could not feel it.
Solange shifted on her horse. “How long have you been Shadow?” Her voice drifted up to him in the quiet night and broke the silence that had stretched between them since arriving at this spot.
During the week that had elapsed after he had discovered her trembling and hurt in her bedchamber, Tonio had visited her every night, sometimes allowing her to see him, other times just watching her sleep. Guilt over urging her to steal from one of the great houses had been part of what drew him to her bedchamber, but only part. Her connection to the Sphere of Astarte had lured him. And his overwhelming craving to touch her. But he had restrained himself. After the abuse by Vernoux, he knew she would not welcome the advances of anyone. During the week of her recovery, she had been cool and polite, with no evidence that they had ever been the least bit intimate. That they had never shared that shattering kiss in the middle of their robbery.
It was only the two of them there in the dark. Her brother was still too ill to join them. Her question surprised him. It was gentle, tentative, intimate, spoken as if they lay in bed together; spent, after making love. Her cool reserve was gone.
He looked down at her upturned face. Only the curve of her cheek, the point of her chin, and the darker bow of her mouth were visible beneath the shade of her hat. The light of the waning moon was filtered beneath the trees, and the shadows of the leaves created a lacy pattern on her skin, making her appear like some wood-bound nymph. The urge to trail his fingers across her cheek, her lips, made him clench his fist. It was not the time. They were there to thieve.
When he did not answer, she tilted her head. “Am I being too forward?”
He laughed. Si.
She faced frontwards again so he could not see her face. “If I asked how you became Shadow, would that be less intrusive?”
If I asked how you became a thief, would you tell me?
She said nothing.
He smiled at her silence. Ah, dolce mia, I guard my secrets just as you do. Perhaps, in time, we will learn to trust and share, si?
She was quiet for so long he thought the conversation was at an end, then he heard her ask, “Can you at least tell me if you are human?”
That, he decided, was a very good question. He glanced down at her upturned face. What else would I be if not human?
Her hat dipped and shielded her face. He knew she was trying to come up with an answer. Throwing away caution, he dropped down to land lightly on her horse behind her. His thighs bracketed her. His chest rubbed against the coat across her back. He projected enough force to make her aware that he surrounded her. I am male, dolcezza, and every time I look at you, I want to touch you.
He felt her stiffen and knew she was thinking of Vernoux’s abuse. Keeping his hands on his thighs, he said, My touch will never cause you pain, Solange.
Her head dropped forward, exposing the nape of her neck. “I can’t forget… I can’t make it go away.”
May I help? Apprehensive, he waited for her answer. If she refused, he would abide by her wishes, even if it meant madness when he entered the Hunger. Despite the fact that he did not entirely trust her, he would not inflict any more pain upon her.
Finally, she gave a tiny nod.
Grazie, he murmured.
Lightly, he traced his fingers across the nape of her neck, where pale tendrils escaped from the braid she had tucked up under her hat. That warm tingle erupted beneath his touch, and he felt her shiver in response. Trailing his fingers across the pulse below her ear, he felt it quicken. It would be easy to Thought Bind with her, to give her pleasure with nothing more than a bit of pressure, but he needed to feel her, to let her feel him. He moved on to her cheek and teased the corner of her mouth. Her lips parted. As he rubbed his thumb across her bottom lip, she drew in a breath.
I think you enjoy my touch, he whispered in her head.
She expelled her breath in a soft whimper of acknowledgment.
Pressing his lips against the back of her neck, he closed his eyes as he savored the feel of her. He felt her bones go soft. As she yielded to him, visions of making love to her in his Shadow form blossomed in his mind. He imagined the feel of her, naked beneath his length, the tingle of her skin skipping along his body.
Aroused, unnerved by what he saw and felt, he drew back. He had never before wanted a woman while Shadow. If he made love to her in his present state, what would happen once he entered the Hunger? Would his craving for her drive him closer to madness? Or would he be able to control it better because he had been satisfied while still Shadow? He let his hand fall to his thigh.
She stiffened in response to his withdrawal. “Why did you stop?” Her question sounded like a plea.
Because this is not the time for such things. He swung back up to the branch.
“I disgust you.” She did not look at him, and her shoulders sagged.
No. Never that.
Her silence told him she did not believe him.
If we make love, it will not be when part of my attention is listening for what is coming down the road. If we make love, I wish all my attention on you, dolce mia.
Despite the fact that she ducked her head, he could see the corner of her lips curve up in a tiny smile. He had pleased her, and that pleased him. Even though questions churned in his mind about entering the Hunger, he knew that his answer to her about making love had contained the wrong word. It was not if, but when. Making love with this woman was inevitable.
He forced the thought away as he crouched on his branch and focused on their task.
Solange stared out at the moonlit road and tried to ignore the little skitter in her chest at Tonio’s words. Anticipation at feeling his hands on her made her wet her lips. How could she possibly be looking forward to making love with him? He was Shadow, not flesh and bone, not solid. She was not even sure if he was human, for he had answered her question with one of his own. But his touch made her feel things she had never experienced. It made her forget the harshness of Vernoux’s hands and the pain they inflicted. It made her think about pleasure, something she had not contemplated with a man. It caused the moisture between her thighs even now, after such a short encounter. She wanted more.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. She could not afford to allow herself the luxury of pleasure with him. He was using her for his own ends, just as she was using him.
Someone is coming.
With relief, she heard his warning in her head. They were here to do a job, not to flirt, certainly not to tantalize each other with arousal. Peering down the road, she could neither hear nor see anyone coming, but she knew his sight and hearing were better than hers.
After a moment, he added more information. A single rider, coming fast.
With a nod, she pulled her scarf up over the lower part of her face and urged her horse forward into the road. The sound of galloping hooves reached her ears before the rider rounded the curve. At first, she thought they were going to collide, then the rider pulled up so hard that his horse reared. He swore violently as he tried to get his horse under control. She kept her own horse under tight rein with one hand and the pressure of her knees. When the rider’s horse came down hard on its front hooves, and she was sure she had the man’s attention, she showed her pistol.
“Your money or your life, monsieur,” she said.
He stared at her in astonishment as his horse pranced. “You are robbing me?”
His amazement was so complete that she laughed. “Oui. I am robbing you.” She saw Tonio move out into the road behind him, cutting off his retreat. Becoming serious again, she ordered, “Throw your money on the ground, s’il vous plait, monsieur, and I will let you pass unharmed.”
The man’s horse paced in a circle, and he caught a glimpse of Tonio. His attention was immediately riveted, and he forced his horse to quiet. Turning his back on Solange’s lethal pistol, he expelled a curse. “Auriano? Is that you?”
Solange was not sure she heard correctly. Her gaze cut to Tonio, standing in the middle of the road, and she watched as he executed a graceful bow.
Buona sera, General Bonaparte, he said, humor rippling through his tone. It seems we keep running into each other. He glanced around as if looking for something. Did you lose your army, General? Where are your aides?
“I’m traveling incognito,” the general snapped.
Aren’t you aware that the roads are dangerous? You never know when you might fall in with robbers, Tonio taunted.
Shocked into silence, Solange’s mind raced. Their victim was none other than the hero of the Italian Campaign that the French were waging, and he and Tonio obviously knew each other. But what had really caught her attention was what the general had called Tonio. Were Gide’s suspicions correct? Was Tonio truly the Duke of Auriano? And if he were, then who was the man who had come that night to help her and Gide after Vernoux had inflicted his punishment? He certainly had looked like the duke, the man she had robbed, the man who had appeared at her salon. But if Tonio was the real duke, how had he become Shadow?
Her attention snapped back to their victim when the general asked, “Have you turned to highway robbery since you left Venice, Excellency?”
Tonio shrugged. Merely a sideline, general. I trust you left our palazzo in good condition?
“It was untouched when I left, although I can’t say the same for the rest of the city. The Great Council needed to be taught some manners. I admired the four bronze horses of St. Mark’s.”
You stole them? Tonio’s tone was half astonished, half amused.
“Among a few other baubles. They are being transported to France as we speak.”
That special weapon that we gave you, do you still have it?
“Oui.”
Is it with you?
“Oui.”
Annoyed at being ignored, Solange snapped at Tonio, “Are you done catching up on old times? I thought we were here to rob him.”
Bonaparte glanced at her and the pistol still aimed at him. “Are you going to rob me or shoot me?”
“I won’t shoot you if you drop your money on the ground,” she told him.
Solange, let him go, she heard in her head.
Her astonishment at Tonio’s request jerked her gaze from their victim. Experience quickly brought it back to focus on the general.
“A woman?” Bonaparte’s surprise turned to a chuckle. “Now I know why you have turned to thievery, Auriano. I would bet my last sou that under all those clothes, she’s beautiful.”
Irritated at what Bonaparte implied, Solange said scornfully, “Does the fact that I might be beautiful have anything to do with the fact that I am holding you at gunpoint and about to rob you, General?”
The general bowed. “My apologies, mademoiselle. You have the advantage.”
“Your money, monsieur le general, s’il vous plait,” she bit out.
No, Solange, not him. Tonio’s words were adamant.
Solange glared at him. She was astounded that Tonio would let their victim go, no matter how important he was or how well he knew him. And she was furious that he had deceived her about his identity. “I’m not letting him go. I need to show something for tonight. You know Le Chacal’s demands. Excellency.” She twisted the title into an insult.
Solange. Her name was half warning, half request.
Tonio took a step toward her, and she leveled her pistol on him. She felt General Bonaparte’s gaze dart between the two of them.
Swinging the pistol back to the general, she said, “I have no problem with shooting either one of you.”
Faster than she could have imagined, Tonio was astride the horse behind her. His hand covered hers where she held the gun. She felt that warm tingle where his Shadow skin touched hers, but there was something else there besides, some power that exerted pressure.
Don’t make me force you to drop this, he said, his voice sounding intimate in her head. You have to let General Bonaparte go. If you rob him, he can bring the authorities down on both you and Gide. I won’t be able to protect you.
“Will you be able to protect me from Le Chacal and his Chamber of Ghosts?” she fumed. “Will you be able to protect me from going insane?”
Si.
His answer surprised her so much, she let the pistol dip. That pressure on her hand pushed it down to rest on her thigh. It was done gently, but she knew that if she threatened Bonaparte again, he would not hesitate to use that force to restrain her. She could feel it thrumming through the long legs that bracketed hers, the expanse of chest at her back. He gestured to Bonaparte. She watched mutely, impotently, as the general tipped his hat to her, then spurred his horse back into a gallop.
“Merci, Excellency, mademoiselle,” he called as he sped past. “Au revoir!”
Solange did not move as she listened to the hoofbeats fade into the night. Tonio remained silent, sitting behind her. His presence overwhelmed her, overloading her senses. She was furious, and she needed to be away from him, from that thrumming that enveloped her.
“Get off my horse,” she spat.
His hand fell from where he held her. She felt him slide away, and then he was beside her on the ground. Before he could say anything else, before he could placate her, before he could seduce her with his words or his touch, she wheeled her horse, dug in her heels, and galloped off into the woods.
Tonio watched her go. She was heading in the direction of the shack where they were to meet after the robbery. He would give her some time, and then he would follow and try to explain. Letting Bonaparte go without robbing him had been the lesser of two bad alternatives. He needed the general’s goodwill, for the Frenchman still held the Crystal Dagger, the weapon that had been created by the Legion of Baal to destroy Nulkana. If he and Alessandro ever needed the man to give it back to them in their war with Nulkana, then robbing him at gunpoint would not help to convince him.
Tonio had to make Solange understand that the sorceress was a bigger threat than the King of the Thieves. In order to explain it to her, he would have to tell her about Nulkana. He would have to reveal some of his secrets. And then endure her anger.
He was not looking forward to their conversation.
As he started toward the edge of the road, he sensed the evil watching. Nulkana had found him again. He searched the area as he tried to find the owl he had seen before, but he saw no round eyes staring at him from the canopy of trees. The evil reached out for him, curling around his soul, sending icy tentacles through him. Clenching his fist against the pain, he swung out his arm as if he were pushing away a physical attacker. The evil receded, then came again, this time gently, almost like a lover.
Back away! he ordered.
He heard a malevolent laugh, as if from a great distance. It was toying with him, letting him know it was coming. A cold caress twined around his soul, then with icy claws, it ripped away, leaving him swaying.
He hunched up against the emptiness that engulfed him. Tonio knew that void was a mirage. Nulkana wanted him to believe that her evil was the cure for the curse, and she wanted him aware that she was nearly strong enough to attack. The sorceress had tried to kill his brother’s wife several times, and he was suddenly afraid for Solange’s safety—Solange, who had the same powers as his sister-in-law. She had run into the woods alone and was now massaging her anger at the solitary shack. Without wasting any more time, he raced into the trees.
When Tonio arrived at the clearing, the shack was in darkness. Solange’s horse stood docilely before it. The door was wide open. He could sense no evil. Evidently, Nulkana had enjoyed her fun with him and then retreated. At least he would not have to deal with an evil sorceress, only an enraged woman. But then, interacting with an evil sorceress seemed like child’s play in comparison to placating an enraged woman.
Carefully, he approached the doorway. As soon as he stepped to the threshold, a dagger sliced through the dark. It thunked into the doorframe only inches from his head. Alessandro’s warning about a woman stabbing him in the heart flitted through his brain.
Your aim is off, dolce mia, he said.
Another dagger whizzed out of the night and smacked into the wood on the other side of him.
“If I wanted to hit you, I would have.” Her voice emanated from the darkest corner of the single-room shack.
Ah. He nodded, pretending to understand, then gave in to his bewilderment. Why didn’t you?
She was silent for so long, he thought she would not answer. Finally, she said, “I need to know why you deceived me.”
He thought that over for a moment. It was not deception. I was being judicious.
“Judicious.” Her repetition of the word was flat, as if all of her anger had deflated. “I suppose you might call Vernoux’s abuse the other night judicious. After all, he was only teaching me a lesson.”
Remorse shot through him at her barb. Ah, dolcezza, no.
“Don’t call me that.” Her voice was low and vibrated with her anger.
As you wish, he acceded. I need to explain some things to you.
“Oui. You do. You need to tell me why General Bonaparte called you Auriano. You need to tell me how you know him. You need to tell me why you agreed to help me, and then let our victim go.” She paused, and her next words were released in a shout of anger and frustration. “You let him go!”
He heard the rush of air as she attacked. Raising his hand, palm outward, he halted her just as she reached him. Her fist drew back, but when she would have swung at him, her arm froze as she hit his invisible wall. Antonio was not afraid of her blow. Rather, he feared the effect of her skin against him, the feel of the warm tingle that enticed. He feared he might be distracted enough to try to seduce her. And he very much wanted to seduce her. But this was not the time for seduction. She would hate him for that, and he did not want her to hate him. At least, not yet.
Solange, will you listen to my explanation?
She struggled against his restraint. He held her immobile, watching the play of expressions across her face in the scant moonlight. Astonishment to apprehension to anger. Her eyes blazed at him.
“Salaud!” she spat.
I think my parents might disagree with you that I am a bastard, he replied mildly. He watched her struggle another moment, then said, I will let you go if you promise not to hit me.
With a glare that held enough heat to cook him, she gave a jerky nod.
Slowly, he lowered his hand. Her fist dropped to her side, and she took a step back. Narrowing her eyes, crossing her arms, she tilted her head, suspicion written plainly in every lovely curve.
“So? Explain.” She bit out her words as if each syllable was from a valuable horde.
Shall we get comfortable? Perhaps light the lamp and sit? He swept his arm toward the dark interior.
With a hiss of annoyance, she spun on her heel and moved to the table. After a moment, a light flared. In the lamplight, he saw the only place to sit was a small cot against one wall. He drifted in the other direction, to the table top and sat, tailor-style. As he did, she pointedly stepped away, back toward the door, as if she might flee if he provoked her. Seeing him settled, she pulled one of the daggers from the doorframe before moving to the cot and perching on its edge.
“All right, Excellency,” she said, once again giving the title a sarcastic twist. “We’re sitting. And I’m listening.”
He reminded himself that she had every right to be furious and fought not to lose his own temper at her verbal darts. The urge to push her to her back and punish her with a kiss, to remind her he was helping her made him close his eyes for two heartbeats. Behind his eyelids, the vision of her writhing in passion beneath him made him open them again.
His wild craving for her unnerved him. He had lusted after other women, but never this intensely, never with such single-mindedness, and never while Shadow. In comparison to what he felt towards Solange, his feelings towards those other women were as pale as air. He wondered if Alessandro had felt so out of control around Sabrina, and then remembered his brother’s mad need during the Hunger. Tonio was determined to avoid that at all costs. A cool explanation of the danger they were in would help.
Solange, do you know what you are? he began.
Her eyes widened fractionally in surprise at his question, then she shuttered them again. “This is not about me. This is about you. Why did you let Bonaparte escape?”
Because he is holding a valuable artifact for us… for me. I can’t make an enemy of him.
She immediately picked up his error. “Us? Who else is he holding it for besides you?”
Realizing his mistake, he hesitated. He had not planned on revealing who he was quite so soon. My family, he said.
Solange saw him glance away and knew whatever he was about to tell her would reveal much. Either he was preparing to lie, or the truth was something amazing. At first surprised he had a family, she realized that of course he must if he were truly the Duke of Auriano. But she rejected any soft feelings he might evoke. She fueled her anger, played with the dagger in her hand, and refused to be swayed by seductive words or pity. She had counted on his help, and he had betrayed her. Now, she had nothing to give Le Chacal, and Vernoux had given the Jackal permission to be remorseless. Only the thin line of Vernoux’s protection had kept her from becoming the outlaw’s whore as well as Vernoux’s. If that changed, she would have no compunctions about covering her dagger in blood—Le Chacal’s, Vernoux’s.
Tonio’s.
Those molten eyes turned back to her. My family, he began, was cursed generations ago by a sorceress named Nulkana. She wanted something that we had—the Sphere of Astarte.
Solange’s lips parted in surprise. Tonio nodded at her recognition.
Si. The artifact that the Silver Arrows are supposed to locate. The Sphere was broken apart by my ancestor and the pieces scattered. Only finding the pieces, returning them to Auriano, and connecting them again will completely break the curse.
“What does this have to do with General Bonaparte?”
He is holding the Crystal Dagger. It was created by the Legion of Baal to kill Nulkana.
“The Legion of Baal?” Solange stared at him, wide-eyed. “They are merely an international group of wealthy men.” Wealthy men who were able to inflict pain with a frog tattoo.
Tonio shook his head. The members are more than wealthy men. I think you know that. The Legion also seeks the Sphere. They are very dangerous.
Silently, Solange admitted what she had been denying for many years, what her experience with Vernoux had shown her—that he had some sort of magical power. “But why would these men want the Sphere of Astarte?”
Because it contains strong magic. It will impart wealth and power beyond imagination to anyone who owns it. The members of the Legion of Baal want to rule the world.
Suspicion narrowed her eyes. “Is that the real reason you wish to find the Sphere? So you may become powerful and wealthy?”
He shook his head sadly. No, dolce mia. My family already is wealthy, and the only power we seek is to walk the earth as normal men.
Solange glanced away from the pain in those golden eyes. Even if she had not believed his words, his naked expression revealed the truth. Not wishing to delve deeper into his soul, she turned to another subject. “Why is General Bonaparte holding onto this Crystal Dagger? Surely after so many centuries the sorceress is dead.”
No, she is still alive.
“How can that be?”
She lives by sucking the life out of young women.
Appalled, Solange sucked in her own breath.
Nulkana wants the Sphere because it also bestows immortality.
Stunned, Solange stared at Tonio as she tried to digest everything he had just told her. She had always known that Vernoux was more than a lucky aristocrat who had escaped the guillotine. The frog glyph that gave such pain was proof of that. But she had no idea that there was other evil in the world worse than his.
“I always thought the Sphere of Astarte was a myth,” she said.
Like the moonstone? he taunted.
She felt the heat rise in her cheeks.
Do I look like a myth, dolce mia? His words swirled softly through her brain.