Lightning Rider (13 page)

One coil slithers across the carpet and up Papi’s leg.

Chapter 10

The moment Papi vanishes, Ilif releases the vehemence he’s barely kept in check. “You think you’re something special, don’t you?”

“No more than you do.”

He closes the small distance between us and tries to force me backward.

I lean away. “What’s your problem?”

“Watch yourself,” he says. “You’re a mistake, an anomaly. There’s a reason women don’t inherit.”

“What reason? Tell me why there’s never been a girl rider. Tell me why you hate women.”

“They’re genetically weaker. I’m here to teach your father. Not you. Don’t forget it. And do
not
return to Spain.”

I want to laugh in his face. No one tells me where and when I can’t be. He’s not the first man to try it, and he won’t be the last. Leaning forward, I lift my hands between us and the lightning balls expand, pushing him back. “We’ll see. I think you know exactly what I am, and it scares you.”

He flinches and the border of his body fades.

“Thought so.” There’s a whole lot he’s not telling us. Penya may have been right. It’s our power Ilif hides, not the dangers. I step around him. “Take care of my father.”

“His safety is my utmost priority.”

Finally some truth. “You’d better hope so. If not, I will be your worst nightmare.” Twin ropes of lightning spill from my palms.

“You already are.”

“What’s your deal?”

“Women do not arc. They simply do not.” He’s shaking.

“They do now.”

He wipes his face with a trembling hand to compose himself. “I apologize.” He looks away, then back. “That was inappropriate. Finding your father—and you—after all these years has created an unexpected well of emotion in me. I don’t handle it with poise. I have been known for the occasional outburst.”

My jaw drops.

“I’m only concerned for your safety. When Rafe died, your grandfather could not bear it. I only assume the same fate would befall your father if anything happened to you. It is far easier to keep you safe if you are here. I cannot predict how arcing will affect a woman, and I am loath to experiment. You must understand that. If your father were to lose a child . . . I’m asking you not to put me through that again. Spare your father the pain.”

I cock my head. He sounds almost sincere.

“I must go. If not for me, do it for your father. Remember that he asked you not to arc.” He sweeps his hand through a floating bit of lightning and vanishes. I assume he’s gone to Papi.

I imagine one day I’ll do what I’m told. Today is not that day.

The moment he’s gone, I utter the words and think of Spain and the answers I need from Penya.

Relying on some instinct I can’t quite pinpoint, I stretch for my lightning in the darkness and hold it with both hands until I can see it blazing blue in front of me like the last time I came to Spain. I flex my knees and wait for the impact.

Beneath my toes, I feel the solidity of ground rolling slowly up my feet until my heels touch, like I’m being lowered gently by a giant hand.

The briny air lets me know I’m by a dock. I hope it’s the one I’m looking for. Water swishes against the pier, and I orient myself before opening my eyes.

Ships dot the landscape. Some look familiar, and several more look like that Roman guy’s fleet. Fishing vessels are moored, and the sun is shining high in the sky. I’ve come late enough in the day that the fishermen have all gone home.

Shit.
I’m in pants again, and Penya’s going to be pissed. It’s not my fault Ilif rattles me so I can’t think through a plan. I’d arc home and change, but Ilif and Papi might be back there already—who knows what the hour will be this time.

If I hurry, maybe I can make it to her place before anyone sees me. There aren’t many people milling around, but it will only take one accusation to get me branded a barbarian. Too bad I’m not a girly-girl whose first choice is always a skirt.

I stomp down the pier, unsure why I let Ilif get to me or why he pushes my buttons like that. He can’t really be that furious because I’m a girl—I get chauvinism, but he’s off the charts. There’s got to be something else.

Which is why I left. I have too many of my own unanswered questions, and I don’t want to taint what Papi needs to learn. Ilif’s interest doesn’t extend to me. He considers Papi the asset, which means he’ll keep him safe. Ilif may not have our best interests at heart—clearly the man is working from some twisted agenda he’s been drafting for sixty years—but until I can find information to confront him with, he’s going to keep separating us and pushing Papi toward his own ends. I need to find out if I can trust Penya. And quickly.

At the end of the dock, I take another look around. Low clay buildings stand guard. I may be close to the time I left. Everything looks fairly similar, but Spain takes her changes in moderation, so I could be a hundred years in either direction.

“Sorceress.”

I jump then turn around. The Roman I met last time is exiting a building across the way. He pulls the door closed behind him and marches over, grabs my upper arm, and keeps walking.

“What are you wearing? Where have you been?” There’s a fierce urgency in his whisper.

“Where have I been? What are you talking about? Where are you taking me?” I try to turn, but he’s propelling us down the street toward another building at the end of the block before I can wrench out of his grasp.

He shushes me and barks a command at the men guarding the entrance.

They let us through into a wide airy room, and as they close the doors, I catch the glance of one—he doesn’t look happy to be leaving me alone with this guy. I wonder which of us he’s worried about.

The Roman whirls. “Do you know me?”

I jump. “No.” Prickles of fear lift the hair at my nape. I jam my hands in my front pockets to prevent any errant lightning until I figure out what’s going on.

“I’ve spent five years looking for you since you disappeared that day on the pier. Today you stroll down the road like it’s any other morning.”

Five years? I run quick calculations. At least I got somewhat close to the last time I was here. Better than the thousand-plus-year span of the two trips before. Getting better.

“You’ve really been looking for me all that time? You need a life.”

“My life is fine.”

“What does that have to do with who
you
are?” I cross my arms.

“I am Gaius Titus Pomponius Constantine.”

I shrug. “And?”

“You were sent to steal my secrets.”

I can’t fight the burst of laughter. “You think I’m a spy?”

He folds his arms and manages to sound incensed. “Yes. You saw who I met that day on the dock, and you arrive again today of all days.”

Today of all days? Since he sounds like we’re going to be here for a while, I look for a chair and find a line of benches stacked beneath tall windows on the far side of the room. My laughter echoes off the high ceiling as I make my way across the expanse of open tile. He turns as I pass him, as if he’s nervous about leaving his back to me. I tug a heavy bench a few inches from the wall and wince at the screech of wood against tile. That sucker was heavy. My hands sting and I shake them out. I sit and draw one boot onto the bench, then drape my elbow over my bent knee.

He’s watching me.

“Seriously?” I ask.

He mumbles something, but I can’t make it out.

My laughter dies. Enough of this drama. “I need to get going.”

He ignores me. “Where have you been for five years?”

“I can’t tell you.”

He crosses the empty room and stops in front of me. “I fear I may be in need of your assistance.”

“I’m kinda busy.”

“This is no laughing matter.” His shoulders relax, like he’s decided I’m not a sorceress after all. Now there’s something desperate in his eyes, and he sits down next to me, comfortable enough with his assessment of me to drop his head into his hands.

I’m quiet. He doesn’t like my joking, and I’m not sure why I’m so confidently sarcastic around him. 

I wait for him to tell me how he thinks I’m going to help him. My eyes rove across the breadth of his back. He’s more refined now, not such a thick mass of meat like last time. His muscles are lean and quick. If I had to guess, I’d bet he fights with speed and finesse instead of brute force. I shiver.

He doesn’t look up as he speaks. “I’ve been tasked with killing a man.”

I bite my tongue.

“He has become a plague upon Rome, this Viriato. He is a man who will not surrender, who will not die. But there is a way.” He raises his head and pierces me with those golden, lion eyes. “It will require your talents.”

I scramble from the bench. “I’m not what you think I am—”

I only make it three steps before he’s behind me.

“Stop.” He wraps one arm around me, while the fingers of his other hand encircle my wrist. His lips press against my ear. “You will help me. This mission will not succeed without you. Our lives are intertwined in this.”

“Why? And if it’s so important, maybe you should start by saying ‘please.’ I’m pretty sure I won’t get a ‘thank you’ either.” I struggle against him, but he easily holds me with one hand, the other now resting on my shoulder.

“For what reason? You have skills that will help us defeat an enemy, and you’re concerned about niceties? Niceties are for festivals.”

“Who said this guy was
my
enemy?”

“Why do you ask so many questions?” His thumb swishes lazily across my wrist.

“Let me go.”

“Why are you here today?”

“Why should I tell you?” The heat of his body seeps through the back of my T-shirt. Everything about him should be setting me on alert, but his earlier vulnerability nags at me, making it hard to accept this tough-guy image. Nonetheless, I’m a futuristic foreigner, he’s ancient military . . . we seem to clash naturally.

“You know I’ve had dealings with Penya,” he says. “Why do you hide that you are here to see her?”

“You can’t know that.” 

“Yes. I can.”

The rigidity in his body melts. Softly, he slips his hand across my shoulder and rests it against the curve of my neck. His grip is loose around my wrist, and the vulnerability is back in his voice. “I need you.”

The whisper slides across my skin.

“Why me?”

He shifts, and his lips are dangerously close to the erratic pulse in my neck. When his breath catches, I’m not sure he’s talking entirely about the mission.

I step out of the circle of his arms and turn to face him. “I’m not your girl. Sorry.”

A smile plays at one corner of his lips. The hunger isn’t entirely gone from his eyes. “Let’s go ask Penya, shall we?”

I straighten. “I was going there anyway.”

He extends his arm toward the door. “One way or another, I’ll release your spell.”

“Still with the sorceress thing? Oh, and a spy, don’t forget that.”

He shrugs. “One never knows what a person will reveal when pushed.”

I roll my eyes.

Lightning sizzles in my palm, and conflicting emotions rise up in my chest. He looks hot, all rattled and off-balance by his own conflict of needing me and . . . needing me.

But it’s time for answers. Still, no matter what the scroll means, no matter what nonsense Constantine is talking about, I won’t help him kill anyone.

He paces in front of me. “Penya will tell you what your role is. But once the mission is complete, I can’t have you here bothering me.”

Such conflict.

I lift my hand and feather my fingers through the short hair at his temple. “Whatever you want.”

He watches me with that intense gaze, and I match him. The muscle in his jaw twitches, and his cheek shifts ever so slightly closer to my palm. The moment our skin touches, his eyes slip closed and his hands clench at his sides.

I can’t keep the smile hidden. He’s spicy with a side of dangerous, and I like it even though I know I shouldn’t. A merciless flirt, because it gets me what I want, I can’t help pushing him a little further, punishing him for calling me a sorceress and a spy. My hands lace through his curls and around the back of his neck.

“Be still,” he says, his voice gruff.

“You started it.”

“Please.”

His plea is a whisper against my palm. So he
can
be polite. I don’t imagine it’s a word he uses often, and I’m willing to relent. For the moment.

I drop my hand and he turns me with two fingers on each shoulder, as if I’m contagious. “You will walk in front of me until we get to Penya’s house. Far in front of me.”

“Then what?”

He ignores the question and stalks toward the door.

I smile and follow.

At the door, he steps aside, drapes a vest over my shoulders, and fingers my braid before tucking it under my collar. He plucks a short blanket from beneath a bench and wraps it around my hips, careful not to touch me. His face changes into the mask he wore in the road, and I silently vow to behave myself. Constantine may be big and lethal, but I don’t know what lurks outside this room.

He follows behind me as we leave, and I stop in the road to wait while he gives orders to the men stationed at the door. I hear only snatches of the conversation. They are to stay here until we return, but the men don’t feel comfortable leaving him alone with me.

The one who glared at me when we came in is still at it, staring daggers at me over Constantine’s shoulder while they argue.

I cross my arms and move away. I don’t need to listen to their nonsense about my barbaric attire. I’m not a threat. Not that they know of, anyway—they haven’t seen my lightning.

I turn and start walking. I don’t need an escort, and Constantine obviously knows where to find Penya. 

He yells after me, but I keep walking. His sandals scuff the ground behind me, and he reaches me in a few strides. “There are dangers here you know nothing of.”

I point back to the soldiers. “I didn’t deserve that. You could have explained to them—”

“What would you have me tell them?”

“I don’t know, but what’s with all the sorceress stuff?”