Rapture's Edge

22

With or without your blessing. So you better step back if you want to keep your head attached to your body.”

They stared at each other silently, two muscled, menacing males in black, both alike and yet so different. Same height, same breadth of shoulders, same air of danger, and those black, black eyes. Born and bred in darkness, they were warriors and had a warrior’s fearlessness and sense of pride, and also the willingness to die for what they believed in.

Constantine believed in duty. What D believed in was far more dangerous: love.

“Great Horus save us,” Constantine finally muttered, “from idiots in love.”

Though he doubted even the god of war and protection whose symbol all the Bellatorum had tattooed on their left shoulders could change D’s mind once it was made up. He ran a hand through his hair and stared at D another moment longer until he shook his head and sighed. “And you are an i***t, you know.”

“No argument here,” D answered, still bristling with anger.

Constantine’s mouth twisted. He regarded his brother, thinking of the pain he’d been in the past few years, though of course D had never voiced it aloud. Ironically named after an ancient Greek orator, D often went days without speaking at all. As if the shaved head, multiple tattoos, eyebrow piercings, and air of murderous rage weren’t enough, his silence lent him an even more frightening aspect. A glance from him sent most people running.Constantine saw past that, though. They’d known each other since birth, and though not brothers by Blood they were brothers in spirit, and as D lost hope, Constantine saw him slowly, surely dying, day by miserable day. He’d thought D would get over her in time, forget her, but Eliana and the memory of what could have been haunted him like a ghost.

And now that ghost had been captured by the Paris police.

“But two idiots are better than one,” Constantine decided, loyalty winning out over logic. “I’ll go with you.”

D’s body relaxed a little, and the tension went out of his shoulders. Just because they’d sparred in the past didn’t mean either one looked forward to another go-round. “No. I have to do this alone.” He paused. “You know why.”

Three years’ worth of history passed between them with a single, pointed look.

“Don’t be an asshole!” Constantine snapped.

D met his gaze head-on but didn’t respond.

“Are we really going to do this again? Here?” Constantine gestured to indicate their surroundings, the dive bar he despised but came to because he didn’t want his best friend and brother to drown his sorrows alone. “Fine, then, let’s do it! If I didn’t shoot that son of a b***h, you’d be dead. We’d all still be living like slaves. Your girl would be married to some i***t from the Optimates that you’d want to kill every time you got near him—”

“I know,” D interrupted. “You saved my life. You saved all of us. I know.”

“But you’ll never forgive me for it,” Constantine said flatly.

D paused for the barest of seconds. “I hated that bastard as much as you did. More.”

That was just an evasion, and they both knew it. A few more seconds of silence crackled between them while everyone else in the bar paid close attention to their drinks and pretended not to listen. Finally, Constantine muttered a low oath. He said, “I’ll cover for you as long as I can. Ten, twelve hours tops, then Celian will figure it out and send the Legiones after you. But The Hunt won’t wait that long, brother. They’re probably already on their way. So be careful. And be quick.”

There was a time when the two would have exchanged a quick, hard, back-pounding hug when one or the other was going off into battle. But now they only exchanged stiff nods. Too much anger, too much blame, too much unsaid left festering between them. Now, finally, the real battle would begin.

D turned and made his way toward the door.

After only a few paces, he broke into a run.

If she wasn’t injured, Eliana might have Shifted to panther and torn the police officer’s head right off his body.

Unfortunately, she was injured. The bullet had gouged an agonizing divot in her leg, and tearing off his head would have to wait. Though she’d heal quickly from a relatively clean wound like this—within a day, most likely, as fast healing was common to all her kind, but even more pronounced in her immediate family—even a much smaller injury was enough to trap her in human aspect, so Shifting was impossible. The more pressing problems were getting her leg stitched up, getting the humiliating handcuffs removed, and getting something better to wear than the button-down shirt that stank of stale sweat and fried food. When standing, it fell to mid-thigh and did a decent job of covering her nude body. When sitting, however…to put it delicately, her lady parts were about to make an appearance.

And the officer had definitely noticed. Though why he’d be so interested now was a mystery, as he’d already seen her entirely naked at the museum.

Damn it all to hell. She knew the Louvre was a bad idea.

The officer seated at the table across from her said something to her in French. She pretended not to understand him, so he switched to English. “How is the shirt for you, pigeon?”

Pigeon? Cockroach of the skies? Deeply insulted, she asked, “How was the box of donuts you managed to smear all over it, pig?”

His cheeks flushed red. She was gratified to see it. In the corner of the room, another officer leaning against the wall snorted.

There were six of them in all. Uniformed, armed, obviously feeling very pleased with themselves that they’d finally caught the infamous La Chatte.