Mortal Sin (14 page)

But it had been her home base for years and she felt more comfortable at Olivet than most anyplace else.

She’d feel better if Rafe were here with her.

Nothing had changed, except that there were only a half-dozen people on base when there used to be at least two dozen at any given time. She looked through the pantry and noticed Rico still stocked her favorite strong black tea. It made her smile. Drinking tea with Rico in the early morning hours were the best memories she had from Olivet. She put water on to boil.

She liked the mindless process of brewing a pot of tea. She brought out the teapot, a couple cups and saucers, sugar, lemon rinds, spoons. She put everything on a tray, then rummaged through the pantry where she found fresh oranges and Tristan’s stash of homemade scones. She filled a plate. When the kettle whistled, she poured the hot water into the pot with the loose tea bags and then carried the tray to the War Room.

Large and functional, Moira had dubbed the library the War Room the minute she’d come on site years ago. A large conference table dominated the center, but there were also many comfortable chairs grouped in corners and one wall of windows looking out to the garden. It was still dark outside, and all she saw was her reflection in the glass. Bookshelves lined another wall, and a third wall had maps pinned up with color-coded magnets to identify what kind of trouble was brewing in which parts of the world. The sheer number of magnets told her things were already way out of control.

No wonder Rico was being so bossy.

What’s his excuse the rest of the time?

She smiled and sipped her tea.

“You shouldn’t have brought the girl,” Rico said, entering the room.

“Have some tea,” she said.

He scowled, but poured himself a cup. They’d spent many early mornings in this room, analyzing information and drinking tea. Most of the time, they’d been silent. Not because Moira wanted to be—it was a drill that Rico required of her because patience was not her virtue.

Still, over time, she’d learned to appreciate the quiet mornings. She’d come in this room alone many, many nights and early mornings with her black tea when she couldn’t sleep. She learned that sometimes the answers came when you cleared your head. She just didn’t always have the patience to wait for her crowded head to clear.

“We’re not prepared to care for her.”

“Lily isn’t a pet. She’s an eighteen-year-old girl who’s been used as a pawn. People want her dead. They still think she’s important to their overall quest. We can’t let Fiona get her hands on her.”

“They can’t use her anymore.”

“Bullshit. They can use her against any of us.”

He waved his hand across the maps. “We are overwhelmed right now.”

“If we’re not doing this for people like Lily, why are we doing this?”

He stared at her as if that was the dumbest question she’d ever asked. But Moira didn’t think so. For years she’d been driven by revenge. Tunnel vision: Stop her mother. She’d grieved Peter’s violent death. She grieved for her own lost soul. But now… there was
more.
People who didn’t deserve to suffer at the hands of evil. People who didn’t even know what they might face if Fiona won this war.

Moira said, “Lily is ill-trained for this. She was a complete innocent they were planning on using, not a willing participant. Not someone who knew the stakes. Now, she barely sleeps, she hardly eats, she’s sleepwalking, having nightmares at all times of the day and night. Father Philip sacrificed himself to save her, and I’m not going to let him die in vain.”

Rico stared at the map of Europe, but Moira knew he was thinking, not seeing.

Rico was a tough man. An older warrior—almost forty. There were few men over forty. There were no old warriors, and no young priests. Rico was scarred and rigid and the strongest man Moira knew, in both body and spirit. They had battled many times, but Moira respected him. She owed him everything, including her life.

“We’re down to bare bones here. Tristan, Dimitri, and Andrew once I leave.”

“They are more than capable of watching out for her. With all the security on the perimeter, she won’t be able to get out.”

“She would escape?”

“No—she’s sleepwalking. She doesn’t know what she’s doing.”

“And you’re sure she’s not being controlled by magic.”

“Positive.”

Rico looked doubtful, but didn’t question her. “We’re as protected as we can be here, inside and out.”

She knew exactly what that meant. If Lily was a threat, they would stop her.

Rico said, “I’ll make sure Dimitri knows to keep a close eye on her. And I’ve requested that Gideon Arturo be sent to me for early training. His calling hasn’t been determined, but he shows potential. He should be here by the time we return from Victoria.”

“He’s a kid.”

“Seventeen. I started when I was fourteen.”

“You’re special,” Moira said, trying to lighten the mood, but Rico didn’t smile. She continued. “Look, if John really did track down one of the Seven, we need Rafe.”

Rico turned to face her. With a serious expression, he said, “You don’t trust me?”

“Talk about a stupid question.”

“I have far more experience battling demons than Raphael.”

“Geez, Rico, that’s not what I meant.”

“Raphael hasn’t recuperated from his ordeal. Is he still having those visions?”

“They’re more like memories.”

“And you’re certain they are not from magic.”

“I told you they weren’t.”

“He could be deceiving you.”

She glared at him. “Spill it. When you came to Santa Louisa three months ago, it was so obvious you hated Rafe. What’s going on?”

He didn’t say anything, his face hard and unforgiving. “I don’t hate,” he said through clenched teeth.

“Talk to me.”

He didn’t say anything, instead turned to the door. “We leave in two hours. Be ready.”

“That’s it? That’s all?”

“What do you need? You assured me you kept your training up.”

“Battling incarnate demons the size of a semi-truck will do that for you.”

“You can lose the sarcasm, Moira.”

“And you can lose the cloak and dagger bullshit. We’re beyond that.”

“Moira—”

She cut him off. “Lily says Father Philip is talking to her in her dreams. She also said John is dead. Is he?”

Rico didn’t say anything, but he was obviously surprised. He walked out without another word, leaving Moira to fume on her own.

“Bastard,” she mumbled.

It was four a.m. in Santa Louisa, but she called Rafe. He answered on the first ring.

“So you weren’t sleeping.”

“Not without you beside me, Moira,” he said softly.

Hearing his voice made her homesick when she never thought she had a home. She wanted to leave, go back to Santa Louisa, right then and there. Instead, she asked, “What did Rod say?”

“I’m not dying.”

“Well that’s good,” she said sarcastically. “Seriously, Rafe, what the hell is going on?”

“Seriously, Moira, he doesn’t know. But he did an MRI and ran tests, and apparently, I’m using more of my brain than most people.”

“So you’re a smart guy. I knew that.” A chill went through her. Rafe wasn’t telling her the whole truth. How did she know that? She didn’t. It was a good guess because Rafe never wanted her to stress about his headaches. He was trying to protect her so she could do this job with Rico without distractions.

Are you lying to yourself, Moira? You think that Rafe keeping secrets is now a good thing? If you were in the cabin with him, you’d make him spill everything.

“Rafe,” she said, “I need the truth.”

“I’m telling you the truth. Rod doesn’t know what’s going on, only that my long-term memory center in the brain is unusually large. Is that what you want to know?”

“I just want the truth.”

“Moira, I’m not lying. I’ll have Rod show you the tests when you get back, okay? If that makes you feel better?”

“It would.”

“Call him.”

“Maybe I will.”

“But please, sweetness, don’t worry about me.”

Sweetness.
She was anything but sweet, but she loved hearing the endearment coming from Rafe.

“I miss you. I couldn’t sleep.”

“Don’t worry about me. Focus on yourself. Be safe.”

“Always.” She took a deep breath. Her emotions were getting the better of her, and she needed to be grounded. So she changed the subject. “What’s going on with Skye and Anthony? It’s been weird between them, and then Bertrand is killed after Anthony tries to bribe him. And you can’t prove Anthony didn’t do it.”

“He didn’t. I know Anthony, and this has to be the end of this conversation. If we start doubting each other, it’ll be the beginning of the end.”

Moira wasn’t certain they were doing the right thing. Sure, the timing would have been tight, but not impossible. Still, she couldn’t picture Anthony bashing some guy’s head in. It wasn’t his style. And he wasn’t a killer.

She just wished she had as much faith in Anthony as Rafe did.

“Anthony was with Skye last night,” Rafe said. “Don’t worry about them. I’ll keep my eye on the situation.”

“I like Skye. She deserves better than that self-righteous, unforgiving prick.”

“Tell me how you really feel about Anthony.”

“There’s something going on with him. He’s been… different with me. I can’t put my finger on it. Not nice—God forbid he’s
nice
to me—but he’s been tip-toeing around me, and it’s not because I’m friends with his girlfriend.”

Rafe didn’t say anything.

“You see it too,” she continued.

“Don’t read anything into it. Like I said, I’m keeping my eye on him.”

Good, but that didn’t completely appease Moira. Not for the first time, she wished she could go back to Santa Louisa sooner rather than later. “What about the box?” She couldn’t stop thinking about the dagger that wasn’t there.

“The box was made at St. Michael’s.”

“What?” That made no sense to her. She’d felt the evil inside.

The evil was inside the box. Residual evil from the dagger.

“A protection box,” she murmured.

“That’s Anthony’s guess. He sent pictures to St. Michael’s and secured the box in the vault at St. Francis de Sales.” Rafe paused.

“Does Rico know?”

“I couldn’t say.”

“You think he does.”

“Rico knows everything.”

He hadn’t told her. They’d sat in this room and he hadn’t told her about the box. Keeping information from her. If Anthony had told Rico about the box, he would have also told Rico the circumstances by which it had been uncovered. So why hadn’t he asked Moira about it?

“Come home soon, Moira. Something is brewing down here. I feel it”

“I promise.” She hung up because she was feeling… tingly.

She needed to get back to Santa Louisa ASAP.

#

Skye woke up to kisses on the back of her neck. She smiled. She hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep last night, but she felt more relaxed than she’d had in weeks.

She rolled over and kissed her lover. “Good morning.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Anthony said with a subtle smile as he kissed her ear, her neck, her chest.

“Better you than my alarm.” She pulled him close to her. “We have fifteen minutes until I have to get up. Let’s make the most of it.”

“Only fifteen? I don’t know if that’s enough time,” he teased. “You know I like to go slow.” He kissed her neck, his tongue lapping at the base of her throat. An erotic jolt zapped her and she groaned. “Really slow. To make sure you’re fully satisfied.”

“You fully satisfied me last night,” she whispered. “Twice.” She rolled over so she was on top. Anthony was already fully aroused. There hadn’t been a morning since he moved in with her—when he was in her bed—that they hadn’t had morning sex. Though the night before had been exquisite, she wanted more.

She straddled him, perched above him, naked and completely in lust with this man beneath her. His darker Italian skin contrasted with her fair complexion, his face covered with his morning beard. She put her hand on his St. Michael’s tattoo, placed over his heart. Did St. Michael’s have Anthony’s heart? Was there no room for her?

But Anthony told her he loved her. Showed her every day in small ways.

“You are beautiful, Skye, my love.”

She sank onto him, feeling his hard penis fill her, and she gasped at how urgently she wanted him. He held her hips, trying to slow her down, but she she didn’t want slow. Slow was loving, slow was wonderfully erotic, but she needed his lust, his power.

She grabbed his wrists and pushed his hands from her hips to her thighs. She squeezed her vaginal muscles around him and he moaned.

“I must please you first,” he said through clenched teeth.

“I won’t orgasm until you do.”

“Skye—”

Anthony had this overwhelming need to make sure she came first. She loved it because she was always satisfied, but he was always in completely control. Even when he allowed himself to release, he held something back.

“I have as much control as you, Anthony. I just don’t want to use it because I love making love to you. Every touch, every kiss, every climax. But you always keep control. Lose it.” She moved her body up and down on him, fast and steady, the friction turning her on as if she weren’t already turned on. Anthony’s jaw clenched as he battled his chivalry, his hands squeezed her thighs so hard it almost hurt.

She arched her back and closed her eyes because she was so close. He did this to her, made her crave him, want him, and she wasn’t going to give in just yet. Sweat beaded on her skin as she kept moving on him, up and down, until Anthony gave into his lust.

With a sound she could only think of as a growl, he turned her over, so she was on the bottom and he was above her, his body slick with sweat. He pushed himself fully into her and began to shake, his entire body fighting his desire, as his emotional need to please first her battled with his physical need for immediate release.

Skye urged him on, with both her body and a raw voice that didn’t even sound like her. His head came down to hers and she whispered into his ear, “I love you, Anthony. I want you. I want you now.”