Assassin's Honor Read online

  Well, it had been dark and she'd been terrified. She'd probably exaggerated the size of the cut in her mind, and she'd had plenty of time to rest her ankle during the drive, not to mention all the whiskey she'd had. But then Ares had mentioned Phae and healing in the same sentence. Could the woman be an empath? She dismissed the thought. She was having enough trouble coming to grips with the extent of Ares's special talents. The frisson racing up her neck made her realize Ares was behind her.

  The awareness cresting through her alarmed her. No man, not even Jonathan, had ever affected her the way Ares did. She couldn't ever remember a time when just the mere presence of a man made her skin go hot and feverish. His hand pressed gently into the small of her back as he urged her to follow Phae.

  They walked in silence toward an elevator, where Ares pressed his thumb against another security panel. In less than a minute, the doors opened. Whoever these people were, they'd left nothing to chance when it came to security.

  Warm, rich oak panels lined the elevator's interior, and it had the ambiance of a luxury apartment building. Someone they knew had money. Downtown Chicago real estate was expensive and the technology she'd seen didn't come cheap either. She wasn't even going to estimate the cost of the paneling that lined the elevator's walls. The car whirred softly as it moved upward. The digital display above the doors changed as they passed first one level and then another.

  "Il mio signore, what accommodations shall I arrange for--" Phae's voice broke abruptly as she looked first at Ares and then Emma. "For Ms. Zale? I believe Cleo has a spare room in her apartment."

  "We've a spare room she can use." He sent the woman a harsh glance. "She's under my protection."

  Phae eyed him with disapproval but she didn't argue with him. Emma couldn't be certain if the woman didn't protest out of respect or because she feared him. Probably the former. The Italian phrase she'd addressed Ares with was used to address nobility. It constituted more than simple respect. It represented authority and allegiance. The woman sure didn't agree with him, though. That much was clear from the look of disapproval on her haughty features. The elevator stopped with a gentle jolt.

  As the paneled door slid open, Ares ushered her into an elegant foyer, which opened into a large, softly lit living room. The foyer's hardwood flooring extended into the living room, where a large Persian rug served to carpet a large portion of the space.

  An elderly gentleman came around the corner and stood just at the edge of the foyer. Arching his white eyebrows, he greeted Ares with a look of concern.

  "Phae said you're hurt."

  "Not too bad." Ares grimaced. "Cleo's on vacation and I need stitches."

  "Is there some reason why your sister hasn't already healed your wounds?"

  Emma followed the man's gaze to Phae's rebellious expression. His sister? Well that knocked the antipathy born of jealousy theory right out the window. As Emma studied the woman's mutinous expression, it surprised her that Phae didn't say a word. It was easy to see she wanted to, but she held her tongue. Ares seemed to be thinking the same thing because he sent his sister an odd look. She couldn't decide whether it was approval or amusement. Ares looked back at the elderly gentleman.

  "Unfortunately, Emma is injured as well."

  "Emma?" The man's gaze fully focused on her for the first time. A wary look darkened his features. "You brought an aliena here?"

  She knew a lot more Italian than Latin, but she knew that aliena meant outsider. Great. Someone else who didn't want her here. She might not have wanted to come with Ares in the first place, but this crowd certainly didn't win any prizes in the hospitality category.

  "Emma suffered a cut to her hand and injured her ankle while she was trying to escape an assailant." Ares met the older man's eyes with a silencing look. Immediately, the man offered him a slight bow.

  "Then I am pleased to offer my humble skills as a physician, il mio signore."

  Ares nodded at the man's response then turned to his sister. "Phae, show Emma to her room. Do what you can for her then come see me."

  "We'll be in the kitchen," Doc said as he turned and walked away.

  A mutinous expression on her face, Phae jerked her head in a direction opposite the way the physician had gone. "This way, Ms. Zale."

  She hesitated as she realized she hadn't even thought about her house. With a broken window, the office was going to be a watery mess. And the back door was unlocked, which meant anyone could walk in and take what they wanted. She turned her head to Ares.

  "We need to call the police. My house--"

  "I'm going to send someone over in a few minutes. They'll take care of the window and make sure it's locked up tight."

  "But I--"

  "I promise I'll take care of it, Emma. I'll have a repairman there in the morning."

  She reluctantly nodded, knowing there was little she could do about it right now. Her skin tingled as Ares touched her shoulder and gently pushed her in the direction of his departing sister. Alarmed by the heat skimming through her at his touch, she tugged free of his grasp and took a quick step back. His arm fell to his side as he studied her with a thoughtful expression on his face.

  "You're safe here, Emma."

  "Am I? Then why do I feel like a Trojan about to find a Greek horse?" she muttered as she reluctantly followed Phae. His soft laugh trailed after her. She wanted to turn and glare at him, but she knew it would only encourage him. Ares DeLuca had a wicked streak in him.

  She'd known it from the first moment she'd laid eyes on him. And the appalling fact was she liked him for it. He excited her. Reaching the door of the room Phae had vanished through, she paused and looked back. Still standing where she'd left him, she saw a half smile curve Ares's mouth. It was the smile of a sinner and it spelled trouble. Maybe more trouble than she could handle.

  Chapter 7

  FLUSTERED by Ares's wicked smile, she darted through the door in front of her. The understated luxury of the room reinforced her earlier impression of money. Muted colors of rose and ivory decorated the room, complementing the cherrywood of the empress canopy bed Phae sat on. The woman gestured for Emma to sit next to her. When she hesitated, Phae released a soft snort of disgust.

  "Stop acting like everyone's going to eat you, and sit down so I can help you."

  "Look, let's get a few things straight." Emma snapped as her patience gave way under the woman's contemptuous tone of voice. "One, I didn't ask to come here, so take that up with your brother. Two, I didn't ask for your help. Stitches would be a hell of a lot easier than dealing with your bitchy attitude. Three, you people seem to think I should accept everything I've seen tonight as normal, when it's anything but as far as I'm concerned. So do me a favor, cut me some slack, because I really don't feel up to kicking your ass right now."

  The last part of her tirade was a bluff, and they both knew it. Limping her way to the bed, Emma glared at Ares's sister as she flopped down next to her on the bed. Phae stared at her for a long moment with a glimmer of respect in her eyes before she agreed with a regal nod.

  "With your permission, I must touch you to heal your injuries."

  Still angry, Emma didn't say a single word. She simply stretched out her hands and offered them to the woman facing her. For the first time Phae appeared uncomfortable. Overwhelmed, exhausted, and in pain, Emma didn't give a damn how the other woman felt. At the moment she was too interested in attending her own self-pity party. She watched as Ares's sister gently cradled her hand and studied the ugly cut at the base of her palm. Seconds later, Phae grasped Emma's uninjured hand and closed her eyes.

  Uncertain what to expect, Emma watched the woman with a mixture of curiosity and even a trace of fear. Could Phae really heal just by touching her? It seemed a bit farfetched. Particularly given the fact that several seconds had passed and her hand still hurt like hell.

  Slowly the seconds continued to tick away. Phae murmured something unintelligible as a tingling sensation suddenly zipped across Emma's skin.
The warmth pulsed its way deep into her muscles and worked its way through her entire body. She glanced down at the cut on her wrist and frowned. The injury seemed even smaller than when she'd arrived.

  Across from her, Phae uttered a small cry of pain. Startled, she looked up from her hand to see an expression of agony fly across the healer's face. The woman's grip on her uninjured hand grew tighter with each passing second. It was almost as if Phae's discomfort was growing as hers lessened.

  She looked down and gasped as she saw a cut developing on Phae's palm. As the wound on Phae's hand grew in size, the smaller and less painful her own wound became. Even her ankle didn't hurt anymore, and looking down, she noticed Phae's ankle swelling as if she'd suffered a bad sprain. Quickly glancing back at her hand, she saw her cut had healed completely.

  The expression on Phae's face showed she was still in pain, but already the wound on her palm had begun to heal. With a relieved sigh, the woman let go of Emma's hand and slumped forward slightly. A thick lock of dark hair had slipped out of the knot at the back of her head to trail over her pale cheek. A shudder shook through Ares's sister as she sat upright and met Emma's gaze. Still stunned by the woman's ability, Emma didn't know what to say. Amusement curved Phae's mouth in a smile that mimicked her brother's.

  "I think we could both use a good night's sleep." Standing up, Phae headed toward the bedroom door. "You'll find plenty of towels in the bathroom. If I know my brother, your clothes will be here sometime tomorrow morning."

  "Thank you," Emma said quietly as she glanced down at her healed hand. "For everything."

  "You're welcome." Phae's expression almost passed for friendly as she left the room.

  Left to her own devices, Emma stood up and tested her ankle as she examined her hand at close range. She uttered a quiet laugh of amazement. Phae DeLuca had healed her completely. There wasn't even a scar on her hand to show where she'd been cut. Unbelievable.

  She raked her fingers through her hair and moved toward the closed drapes. Not bothering to look for the drawstring, she pushed the heavy material aside where the panels met. Sixteen or more stories below, the Chicago River flowed through the city's downtown. A few blocks away the gothic architecture of the Tribune Tower rose up above Michigan Avenue. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been downtown at night.

  The drapes fell back into place as she turned away from the window and stared at her surroundings. The elegant decor had the mark of a professional decorator. The perfect guest room, it screamed money. Hell, the whole apartment did. Could she call it a penthouse? It sure reminded her of ones she'd seen in movies. She had so many questions, her head was spinning.

  She didn't have the foggiest notion of what to think about everything that had happened tonight. First Ares and his ability to move things, him stealing her coin, finding her father's--With a gasp, she shoved her hands into her back jean pocket. Carefully, she pulled the crumpled paper out of her jeans. The soaked pages clung to each other with tenacity as she sat down at a nearby table and pried them apart with care. The ink from her father's note had smeared a small amount, but she could still read the cipher easily. Her notes, however, hadn't survived quite so well. She'd have to start over, but she remembered enough that her notes would be easy to re-create. She wanted to sit down and start now, but she knew better. To think clearly she needed sleep. She caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror hanging on the wall opposite the table. Hair matted with mud and smudges of dirt on her face told her the first order of business was a shower. After that, bed. She'd figure out what to do in the morning.

  ARES grimaced as the needle bit into his skin for another suture. With his side pressed against the rounded edge of the kitchen's brown marble countertop, one of the ceiling lights spotlighted his arm. Doc had seen to his chest wound first, and now the physician was intent on closing his other wound. Arching his white eyebrows, Doc shook his head as he knotted a suture.

  "What were you thinking, boy?"

  "I haven't been a boy for a long time, Doc," Ares ground out between clenched teeth as the needle slipped through his skin once more. Even with the numbing agent, a swarm of angry wasps had taken up residence in the shoulder. "As for why I brought Emma here, I didn't have a choice."

  "But she's working with the Praetorians."

  "I don't think so. The Oriental Institute might be one of the biggest backers of the Ptolemy dig, but Charlie Russwin led the expedition. Emma just worked for the man."

  "You must give credence to the idea, Ares. The Praetorians control the Institute, which means she works for them, whether she realizes it or not." Doc shook his head as he knotted the last suture in Ares's shoulder.

  "She doesn't work for them," he said in a firm, cold voice.

  "How can you be so sure?" Phae's soft question drifted over his shoulder, and he turned his head to meet his sister's sober gaze.

  "Instinct," he growled. "The same instinct that earned me the right to lead this guild my way and without my directives being questioned at every turn."

  Phae sat on a bar stool close to him, her expression reflecting sisterly concern. "I'm not questioning your orders. I'm suggesting you might be trying to make amends for the past. Punishing yourself for things you had no control over."

  Ignoring her quiet observation, he watched Doc bandage the cut on his shoulder. It didn't matter what his sister believed. Clarissa had been his responsibility, and he'd failed her. He'd left her unprotected and she was dead because of it. The memory of walking into that apartment and finding her body tightened his torso. The involuntary movement exacerbated the cut running horizontal across his chest and he suppressed a grunt of pain. Clarissa had been an aliena, too. He'd met her while buying specialty chocolates for Phae's birthday. They'd struck up a conversation, and he hadn't had the common sense to end it right there. Instead, he'd come to care for her. He started as he realized his sister had asked him a question.

  "What?"

  "I asked how long she's going to be here. She can't remain indefinitely. The guild won't like it. Not to mention what the Prima Consul or the Order will have to say."

  "I don't give a damn what the guild or the Order likes or doesn't like. Emma's life is in danger. The man I fought in the alley tonight wasn't a Praetorian, he was a Sicari."

  "A Sicari." Phae sent him a skeptical look. "Are you sure?"

  "Yes. And he would have killed me tonight if you hadn't shown up when you did."

  "That I seriously doubt." His sister snorted her disbelief.

  Shaking his head, he recalled the man's fist driving into his injured shoulder. It had been a Praetorian move, but everything else about the warrior's skills reflected Sicari training. And he still couldn't figure out what was so familiar about the fighter. Whoever the man was, he'd been the better fighter.

  If Phae hadn't arrived when she had, he wouldn't be sitting here right now with a body that hurt like fire and damnation. The real question he wanted answered was what had prompted the man to target Emma. And why would the warrior warn him off?

  He didn't like it when he had more questions than answers. Especially when his people were at risk. The chime of the elevator made his muscles tense. Seconds later, Lysander entered the large gourmet kitchen. Tall and muscular, he always turned women's heads with his handsome profile until they saw the rest of him. Where one side of his face could have belonged to a cover model, the other was brutally scarred. The black patch he wore over his missing eye further enhanced his menacing appearance.

  Phae jumped to her feet the moment his Primus Pilus entered the kitchen. A grim resignation slid over him as he studied his friend's expression. Just the way the scarred man avoided looking at Phae told him the news wasn't good.

  "Where is he?" she snapped. The tension in her was almost tangible, and something flickered in Lysander's green eye but his expression remained impassive.

  "He's dead."

  Phae didn't make a sound at the flatly spoken words, and Ares quickly shifted his gaze to
his sister. It didn't surprise him to see her looking coolly composed. She'd learned over the years to hide her feelings behind anger, sarcasm, or icy silence. The only indication of her grief was her pale features.

  "Did he . . ." Phae took a quick breath and swallowed hard. "Did he suffer?"

  Again, Lysander hesitated and a muscle twitched beneath his marred flesh. "They skinned him."

  "Merda." Ares rasped as he briefly glanced at his friend's hideous scars before meeting the man's unreadable gaze. His second-in-command knew firsthand the horror of the Praetorians' torture methods. "We'll need to make preparations."

  "Everything's being seen to. I contacted the New York guild and they're sending someone out to Julian's parents' house."

  "And the Rogalis?" Ares shot a quick glance in Phae's direction, but her expression rivaled Lysander's emotionless countenance.