Hunted Warrior Page 13

  “It took more than one hundred and forty years to complete,” Avyi said, her voice hushed despite the hum of countless voices and pressing bodies. Almost every face was pointed up toward the dome or down toward children who had the potential to bolt or simply be consumed by the crowd. “Can you imagine? Even Dragon Kings born on the day of its groundbreaking would’ve been into their twilight years before it was finished.”

  “With a significant break for the Black Plague.”

  “Strange that we survived that devastation unscathed, yet now …” Her gaze fell on a nearby family. A man and a woman shepherded tired children along the cobblestoned street. One was old enough to walk—a boy of perhaps eight. Another was carried in a sling across the father’s chest, while the mother pushed a stroller. They walked with the stooped posture of pending exhaustion, yet they were smiling, absorbing the history and majesty. “That will never be us. None of us.”

  Mal stopped in the midst of traffic, then steered Avyi to a corner by a gelato vendor. He took her face in his hands, assessing, reading eyes made pale green in a flash of sunshine. “Do you know that?”

  “You’re asking me for a prediction?” Her tone somewhat exaggerated, which grated on his nerves.

  “Do you know?”

  She shook her head. Coal-black hair twisted down from her temples and hugged the curve of her nape. “I don’t. Too many variables, remember? But every time I look toward the future, I see a human population expanding to the point of heedless destruction. And we’re nowhere to be seen.”

  Mal spread his fingers, as if doing so might permit access to her mind, to the future he desperately needed to steer onto another path—a path where the Dragon Kings still thrived. “You mean it. You’re not hedging because … because—”

  “Because you’ve been an arrogant ass?”

  He blinked. Pulled back. His palms burned.

  “No, Mal.” She sighed, her eyes returning to where that family had stood at the far edge of the Piazza del Duomo, but they were gone. A trio of what appeared to be college students had taken their place. “I’m not hedging. I would hide dangerous things from you if I wanted to act out of spite.” Reaching up, she adjusted the twisted strap of his pack. “I can only hope that one day, events will change. Perhaps I’ll see days when babies are born to surprised, thankful Dragon King parents. I’ll breathe easier knowing such a future is coming, even if it’s too far off for me to witness.”

  “Or to have children of your own.”

  She shook her head. “You mistake me. I don’t want children.”

  “Self-defense,” he said, grasping the hand she’d used to hold his. He tugged her toward the cathedral’s massive bronze doors, which were adorned with carved reliefs depicting the life of the Virgin Mary. A line of tourists wrangled by ropes meant a long wait. He and Avyi took up their place at its end and shuffled along with the mass of humanity. “You don’t want children because it’ll never be an option. Why want something you can’t have?”

  She disentangled their hands and shoved hers into her pockets. “No, I don’t. Not for any reason. I’ll touch them and I’ll know too much about their futures. I’ll see accidents, weddings, disappointments, arguments, first sexual encounters, and maybe even the circumstances of their deaths. All the while I’ll wonder what events lead to the terrible things and how I can prevent them. For the good things, I’d drive myself mad working to further them along.”

  “You say we have no free will,” he said evenly.

  With haunted eyes, she looked up at him. “But wouldn’t you try?”

  “Yes. I would try.”

  They reached the head of the queue and entered the dwarfing brass doors. He leaned closer to Avyi. “Most times, I don’t take notice of human achievement.”

  “You’re one of those. So superior.”

  “Maybe. But how is this any less magnificent than what we can do?”

  “Perhaps that’s our ultimate legacy, even if our race doesn’t survive. We taught them the skills. They made … this,” she said, hands sweeping up toward the doors’ bronze reliefs. “Astonishing.”

  Upon entering the cathedral, Mal craned his neck to take in countless details, although he would’ve needed to be Garnis for his senses to keep up fully. Too many indescribable sights and ancient smells, all of which harkened back to the centuries when the Tigony dynasty had reached its zenith. The fresco that adorned the sloping interior of the dome was that of the biblical Last Judgment. Only, the painting wasn’t distorted by the four-hundred-foot dome’s sloping octagonal sides. The perspective was perfect, so that the scene appeared as flat as a canvas.

  “How … ?” he whispered, his voice dipped to a reverent pitch.

  “I don’t know.” Avyi shook her head. “More than six hundred years old. No computers. No Dragon-given gifts. Just human ambition and imagination.” She gently elbowed him in the ribs. “Get your head out of the clouds and pay attention to the world. You have no excuse. You’ve not been trapped in a lab for twenty-five years.”

  He had his answer. She’d been Dr. Aster’s captive for twenty-five years. A shudder climbed his spine.

  “So where is this bow? Some exhibit?”

  “It’s not in an exhibit. It’s in the crypt.”

  “There’s a crypt?”

  “It’s a cathedral. Of course there’s a crypt. And guess whose ruins were rolled over with rock?”

  “Romans’.”

  “Your people must take personal offense when the Greeks and Romans get all the credit.”

  Mal was inclined by long habit to agree with her. But with a glance back up the dome, he reconsidered. “The Tigony don’t deserve all the credit.”

  Following the signs to the crypt, which was accessible by rather civilized carved stairs and wrought-iron railings, they shuffled along with the rest of the curious.

  “We should’ve come at night,” Avyi said, her voice tight. “Fewer people.”

  Mal glanced down. Her face was ash white. Beads of sweat dotted her hairline. “I thought crowds would be good for blending in. Are there evening tours?”

  “No.”

  “Then we made the right call. No sense adding to the dangers we’ve already faced by breaking into a national treasure.”

  The first memorial in the crypt was that of Brunelleschi, who had engineered the dome’s theretofore unheard of structure. He’d also been the first human to introduce the concept of perspective. Mal couldn’t imagine a world where perspective was a new concept that needed to be instructed by a singular individual. He nodded in appreciation toward the marble casing, before they moved to saints, bishops, and other artists who’d worked those one hundred and forty years to construct and decorate the Duomo.

  “Down here?”

  “So much doubt.” Avyi took his hand again. He liked that. Too much. Every touch was a reminder of what they’d done and what they had yet to do—prediction or not. “The Giva must learn to trust,” she said, slanting him a censorious look, “and to have faith.”

  “In you, the woman I shouldn’t trust at all? And in the mysteries of your gift? So far the power provided to you by the Dragon is to get under my skin.”

  “Don’t invoke his name if you don’t believe.” Her voice held genuine castigation.

  “Long-standing habit.”

  She stood on tiptoes and whispered in his ear, “Not habit. Deep belief. Now, a little distraction would be useful.”

  “Distraction?”

  “Short-circuit something. Lights. Fire alarms.” She nodded toward the ropes and barricades that marked the extent of the public’s access to the crypt’s excavation. “What we seek is not a tourist attraction.”

  “You, Avyi. What you seek.”

  *

  “Rub your hands together,” Mal said. “I need some heat.”

  “Flirt.”

  He raised his eyebrows, which tempted Avyi to smile. She nearly did. They were buried beneath the earth and surrounded by too many human bei
ngs for comfort. Surely someone would look at them both and spy the uncanny glow that visually defined their people. Enjoying Malnefoley’s half smile was better than the unpleasant alternatives that walked bugs up her arms. She knew the pain that could come from being identified as a Dragon King.

  That thought made her look down. They were in a crypt. They were standing among the dead …

  “Avyi? Focus, wild child.”

  “Watch it. You already gave me one name.”

  She slid her palms together and rubbed with increasing speed until her hands were warm. Nothing could explain the touch of Mal’s gift as that turbine under his skin sucked her scant static. His eyes glowed. Literally glowed. Twin blue beacons. She gave up on creating an energy source for him, because he was going to give them away. Instead, she grabbed his shoulders and turned him away from the bulk of the crowd. Glimmering golden skin could be rationalized into nothing: a really good tan, or that other human impression—that they were in the presence of a man or woman of exceptional, literally indescribable beauty.

  There would be no hiding blue eyes that shone a light across his features and made delicate shadows of his pale lashes.

  “Yes,” he whispered.

  The word was spoken with the satisfaction she’d heard in their ferry berth. Did he receive as much pleasure from his gift as he did from sexual release? Avyi would’ve been envious had she not been caught in the thrill. She grabbed his hands, holding on to a living electrical wire.

  “On three.” His voice was distant and rough.

  “One, two, three.” She said it quickly, intimidated by the strength of him, outside and in.

  Mal grinned briefly. “Coward.”

  “Just not an idiot.”

  He released her hands and dropped his to his sides. With a quick turn, he released the gathered, amplified electricity and aimed it toward the nearest light fixtures. His precision was astounding. A bulb popped. Then another, and a third. The crypt went dark, before it was flooded with the bloodred of emergency lights. Warning sirens blared. People began to panic.

  Avyi clung to the nearest waist-high railing—the one that marked the extent of the crypt’s public accessibility—and held tight. Human beings astounded her, but this behavior was what had always made her fear them. Panic. Irrational fear that overrode calm common sense. If the tourists and docents kept their heads, they could walk slowly up the crypt’s stairs and out to safety. That never happened. They were no better in such moments than a school of fish darting away from a shark.

  “Which way?”

  She opened her eyes and swallowed. Mal stood before her, his eyes no longer unnatural beacons of blue, but shaded black by the eerie red emergency lights. His hair beamed with orange highlights.

  She couldn’t move.

  Understanding softened the urgency etched on his features. The lines of tension around his eyes smoothed to nothing.

  He leaned down and kissed her.

  Just a kiss. Barely a meeting of mouths.

  But it jarred Avyi out of her haze. She licked her lower lip, catching the taste of him. “Was that some aspect of your Tigony ritual I missed?”

  “In part wanting to kiss you.” He grabbed her upper arm. “In part waking you the hell up. C’mon, before we miss our chance.”

  “I should be the one dragging you along.”

  “Who’s in charge here?”

  “Good question, Giva.”

  “We’ll get along much better if you just listen for once.”

  “Back at you.” She urged him from a recess between a damp wall and a crevice that was barred by a metal gate, exasperated but reluctant to awaken his ire. He was tagging along for the wrong reasons, but at least he was with her.

  Avyi nimbly scampered over the metal gate. Mal mimicked her actions, with more power and equal grace, joining her beyond the barrier. He stowed the backpack in a shadowed crevice, then set about rolling up his shirtsleeves. She remembered how he’d done the same in their ferry berth and felt a jolt of anticipation. Adrenaline was pumping, her imagination was in overdrive, and he was a Dragon-damned handsome man.

  This wasn’t the time. She was too near her goal.

  Avyi stepped to within inches of his body. “Whatever happens … thank you for being here.” She paused. “We make a good team. Except when you tried to obliterate me.”

  He grinned. “Something like that.”

  Heat traded between them. Her skin had pulled in on itself, dry, shrinking, needing wet kisses to ease an ache as old as time. Mal’s stare had that effect on her. She needed to turn away, toward the opening of the deepest portion of the crypt, to remind herself why she was there. He was that distracting.

  “No wonder these areas were barred to tourists,” she said tightly.

  “Not exactly on the guided tour.” Mal pushed a thick curtain of moss away from where it dangled in its ancient home. The ceiling was sloped here, and the walls tighter, like a hand closing around them. The air was chilly and damp. “Could be anything down here.”

  “Just the dead.”

  “That’s little comfort.”

  “At least they won’t try to kill you.”

  “Good point.” His smile was fast and delicious. “Now, off you go.”

  “How gallant.”

  “If you’re going to be on your hands and knees, then I insist you go first. I’ll enjoy the view much better.”

  She felt that Dragon-damned blush creeping up on her again. “If only the Council knew you as I’ve come to.”

  “I prefer being alone with you, although the location leaves much to be desired.”

  “But you forget.” She slid a hand down his arm and clasped his hand, gave it a nervous squeeze. “We’ll need to regroup here when it’s time to leave. I’ll enjoy the return view.”

  CHAPTER

  TWELVE

  Mal had no time to appreciate the way Avyi’s cargo pants clung to her ass as she crawled ahead of him. A wasted opportunity. He was too focused on the slick surface and its sloping dip into the earth, like a child’s shallow slide. Securing his handholds and the grip of his hiking boots required all his concentration. Darkness overwhelmed them quickly. The red cast of the emergency lights at the opening of the tunnel was too faint to illuminate detail.

  He stopped, straightened a little, and rubbed his palms on his jeans. Denim was useful for static electricity. The sparks he cast lasted a few moments until he needed to take a break and start again. The space smelled faintly of sulfur. He didn’t risk using a stronger flash of energy, for fear of setting off an unknown underground element.

  “Just think,” he said, watching the shadowed waffle pattern on the soles of Avyi’s boots. “Upstairs are hundreds of tourists being ushered into the sunshine. They’re startled. They’re upset because they paid for exhibit tickets and don’t know if they’ll get back in before dinner. I envy them.”

  Avyi threw a mildly disgusted look over her shoulder. “You’re nearly whining. Unflattering, Giva.”

  “You’re leading this expedition. My job is to make a little heat and remind you of how insane you are.”

  “I said one day I’ll be right. You’ll see. Today. Tomorrow. Your future will catch up with us.” She paused. “And you’ll hate me for it.”

  Mal fought to ignore the shiver that climbed his spine. Their connection was too tenuous to trust. “I don’t know about that,” he said, trying to maintain their uneasy peace. “You’ve only promised me one thing so far, and it’s far from disagreeable.”

  “It will be if you don’t shut up. I’m not doing this all by sight.” She found a rock and tossed it out ahead of where she crawled on all fours. “A wall. Close. More light, please.”

  “Since you asked nicely.”

  He set off a charge of light and maintained it at a low glow just above their heads.

  She reached the end of the crypt’s descending slope and sat cross-legged with her back to the far wall. Mal joined her, hip to hip. Their clothes, stre
aked with earth, did nothing to detract from her radiance beneath his conjured light. She glowed with a luminance that nearly matched that fire. Memories of the night before might haunt him for the rest of his life. At the moment, however, they were as raw and fresh as if he’d just been so hard, so deep in her softness.

  A sharp sound marked the first time Mal had heard Avyi laugh. She covered her mouth, but the sound kept coming. It reverberated off the walls, as the echo cackled along with her. She glanced at his jeans where his erection was coming to life. “You’re looking at me like that now? Really?”

  It was either grin or take offense. “I am.”

  “Lonayíp ass.”

  “You’re stunning. And I’m arrogant.”

  She smiled, as if laughter still fizzed in her blood. Laughter at his expense. He didn’t care. “Arrogance has its benefits. We’re in a crypt because of mine.”

  Mal increased the burst of light above them in a lasting arc. “Where do we start?”

  “Anywhere.”

  Together they searched on all fours within the antechamber, which was no taller than Avyi and not much bigger in diameter than a couch. Mal touched rock and dirt, feeling and digging until his fingers cramped. Avyi’s breathing echoed in the small space, its pace exceeding that of their exertion. She sounded as if she were becoming ever more frantic.

  “What if it’s not here?” she rasped.

  “Keep looking.”

  Mal frowned at himself, wondering why he was encouraging her to keep going. He didn’t believe. But why were his hands dusted in dirt and his heart beating in anticipation?

  Upstairs, the sirens went silent. They looked at each other. “I wish that had lasted longer,” he said, dimming the glow over their heads. Then … “Here. Avyi, here.”

  In the near darkness, he pulled her fingers toward the curve of the wall to the left of where they’d entered the hollowed chamber.

  Avyi knee-crawled forward. A hollow in the rock revealed a long strip of color that gleamed in the half-light. It was as if strands of gold had been inlaid between jewels, but the jewels were plain striations of earth. “It’s beautiful.”