Page 18

CIRCE

“ A re you sure this is wise?”

“It needs to be done, Circe,” Ananke says matter of factly. “Besides, I need those hard drives. And this will be an opportunity to test him. To see if the programming holds.”

Ero steps into the hallway beyond the door, his steps cautious.

He’s been acting strange all day. And not the normal kind of strange he usually is. There’s tension to his whole posture, almost imperceptible. Except I know everything about how he moves.

“Ero …”

He doesn’t respond. In the dim emergency lighting ahead, I see him glance from side to side, checking doorways. In the red gloom, I lose sight of his shape halfway down.

Take a breath, Circe. Still need to find those computers.

I follow slowly, my gun ready, my throat dry.

How is there power down here still? Must have its own system.

My mind races as I pace down the length of the tunnel. Ghosts of occupants long gone crowd in on me, a palpable presence of a place with a horrible history.

We shouldn’t have come here.

I find the server room before I spot Ero. Slipping inside, I recall the instructions, the log numbers. With trembling fingers I unclip the drives, slipping them into my satchel.

“There!” A muffled, recorded voice echoes through the space suddenly, making me jump.

“He’s finally awake. Check his vitals.”

“We need to see if he’s…”

“Brain-dead?”

Exhaling slowly, I follow the sound to the second to last door. Ero’s here, sitting in front of a monitor, the light from the video reflecting off of a wide, wall-to-wall window behind it. Barely visible past the reflection of Ero’s face, I see a chair, equipped with wrist and ankle straps.

And on the screen…

“Quickly! He’s going into shock again,” the accented voice on the recording shouts. Figures rush to subdue him, injecting him with something.

Objectively, torture never bothered me. I’ve killed. I’ve questioned people for answers. Broken bones.

But seeing him …

Tied to that chair, electrodes and wires plastered to his shaved head. His body writhing ever so slightly. Straining in the throes of a seizure…

“This is where they did it,” Ero mumbles, his eyes distant. “This is where they took my life away from me.”

“Kiss me again…” I moan.

Swimming in the warm waters of the Mediterranean, our bodies intertwine as we float. There’s something so sensual about the way Ero moves through the water. Just like on land. He’s deadly, terrifying, yet I never feel safer than when I’m in his arms.

Because I know he would only ever use his deadly skills to protect me.

We spin in a circle, a spiral, the skies above us setting in the sun. Clouds streak overhead, fading out to the horizon.

Just … perfect .

How many months have we lived this impossible fantasy, fighting, saving one another, saving others, changing the world? I’d have it go on forever.

Ero’s eyes meet mine, and I smile.

I wish he would smile back, but I know him. I see the light in those dark eyes…

It fades suddenly, shifting to inky black. Ero’s mouth splits, not in a smile, but a toothy maw. His skin toughens, morphing beneath my fingertips. Dark blue, leathery and slick, he vanishes from my grasp, surging through the water.

A fin breaks the surface, arcing around me, circling closer. I catch a glimpse of one eye, glassy and hollow. Hungry.

He veers sharply in the churning froth of white spray, row after row of teeth flash toward me?—

I gasp, my eyes snapping open.

Sitting up, I throw my legs over the side of the bed. Moments pass, the panic fades.

But the dreams don’t. Ever since Marrakesh, neither of us have slept well. Ero tosses and turns in nightmares, fighting demons in his dreams. Me too. When I actually sleep.

The rest of the time I stare at the ceiling, trying to figure out what the fuck we saw in the basement of that palace. And how it relates to Ananke and her control over him. Over me.

A glance tells me I didn’t disturb Ero, lying next to me. Rising silently, I pad to the window, cracking it just enough to get a sliver of cold air. The glow of the city stretches up into the night sky.

Moscow. Another test. Another risk.

Our apartment is ridiculous, as usual. A suite in a high-rise. The perfect place to stay near to the rich, the elite. And our target, a delegate from the UN visiting Russia.

I turn back, watching my partner, my lover, sleep. He’s so different when he’s not awake. Not hyperaware, scowling at everything. Peaceful.

Knowing I won’t get another wink, I head to the shower, cranking the water to just shy of blistering. Stupid cold country. Always cold.

By the time I get out, Ero’s gone.

“Stupid ninja,” I grumble, putting on a pot of coffee. Somehow, I never hear him leave. It’s infuriating.

Part of me chastises myself for not keeping better tabs on him, but the man is a goddamned feline. He’s quiet. He moves even more quietly than I do. And for the past several days, he’s vanished every night to wander the streets of wherever we’ve been.

We left Marrakesh that same night. Stopped off in Spain. Caught the train from Madrid to Paris. That’s where I got our orders to head to Russia.

Which took us through Belgrade, Serbia. The only city with a direct flight.

Tracking our progress helps me calm down, settles my nerves. Just like following steps in a process helps me keep from spinning out.

I set about getting ready, changing my appearance, my hair. It’s therapeutic. And it lets me step away from myself for a time.

Never liked you with red hair. Artemis watches me in the mirror, sitting on the bed in the room behind me. She’s gaining substance. Appearing more often.

“You never liked anything that wasn’t six-foot something and built like a bear.”

Mmm…I do love a good beard. But I’d never kick a tall, thick, woman with tattoos out of bed, either.

“I thought you just did that to piss your parents off.”

Can’t it be both?

Working in colder climes makes disguises a bit easier to conceal. A fur head wrap, a matching coat. Still, it’s a point of pride to be able to look in the mirror before I leave and not recognize the person looking back at me.

A half hour and a cab ride later, I’m standing beneath the glittering sweep of Moscow’s high-rises. It’s a small district compared to most major cities.

A soft snort behind me makes my muscles tighten, but I resist any other reaction. With a twitch of my head, I spot Ero emerging from the shadows.

“You look spectacular.” He hums, his hand finding its way into my coat.

“You like what you see, Papochka ?” I purr back at him in a thick Russian accent.

“Gross. I am impressed if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Just playing the part, Daddy.”

“Save it for the gala.” That sharp, cold tone again. Ever since Morocco, he’s been closed off. He steps off the curb at the crosswalk, his hands in his coat pockets. “I’ll see you there. Bring a date.”

I wait on the corner for a short while, until a limo finally arrives. The man inside is older, broad chested and thick necked. He’s balding, but carries himself like a man who owns his aging. Power and money. Gold rings on nearly every finger tell me some of his affiliations.

“Karanina?”

“ Da, dorogoy ,” I smile seductively.

The ride to the event is quiet, only interrupted by a bottle of champagne and my client’s brief toast to a lovely evening. I clink my glass and pretend to sip the bubbly, thankful for the fact that he doesn’t try to sample the goods before our date.

Wouldn’t be the first time that I had to put a John in his place. It’s also why my cover agency hires me out as a “security escort” and not just a pro.

This guy gets it. I’m a jewel on his arm and a dagger up his sleeve. Lets him show up without bodyguards and look like he’s the boldest bastard in the room.

Or he’s got so many mistresses that he doesn’t need to bother with me. The cynicism that I’ve built up over the last few years tries to rise up and strangle me.

Focus.

Fancy cars wait in queue. Lights. Butlers.

It swishes past in a blur, my senses heightened to take in every detail. Including the flicker of a shadow landing on the roof. Don’t get sloppy, E.

Opulence is the name of the game inside, gold and marble, velvet and crystal. There’s only subtle differences between the mix of gangsters and government officials. Favors and threats pass freely over vodka and raucous laughter, masking schemes and double crosses.

We mingle for a few moments, Mr. Karlov greeting closer acquaintances on the first pass. Shots will come later. Well, they would. But I need him preoccupied.

“Kara, a moment.” He looks peaked, a bit sweaty. Nodding toward the facilities, he walks a bit too quickly into the men’s room. Taking a casual post outside, I wait for an opening to peek into the bathroom.

One attendant.

“ Izvinite… ” I whisper to him, waving him over. Slipping him a sizable tip, I play coy, glancing and pointing toward Karlov. The attendant takes the hint and the tip with a conspiratory smile, heading toward the back hallway for a smoke.

Karlov is definitely getting laid tonight. Laid out.

Fortunately, the powder I slipped into his champagne in the limo is already taking its toll. A quick prick of a needle and he’s resting quietly on the toilet in the farthest stall. Just another drunk.

A dark figure falls in beside me as I exit, leading the way toward the back rooms.

“Got the keycard?”

“Naturally. Did you get the passcode?” Ero swipes the card in the security door and lets us into the chilly confines of a server room.

“Is that even a question?” Slipping the makeup pad out of my clutch, I set the rest of my tools on the desktop beside one of several computers. Combining two viles, I pour the solution into the mold of Karlov’s fingerprint.

“Ready.”

“There.” I press the print to the panel.

Upload. Download. Mission complete.

Sometimes it feels way too simple. Experience tells me that sometimes it really is. Superstition tells me that I should never, ever even entertain the thought.

We’re halfway to our exit route when a loud voice calls the gathering to attention. Ero and I turn back under the partial cover of the stairs. I can’t see the speaker from our position, but we both wait to hear what he has to say.

“ Brat’ya ! Druz’ya ! Thank you all for coming. I will not keep you from business or from pleasure for long. We are here to renew alliances. Discuss the future. A future that many of you seem to think would be profitable under new leadership.”

A murmur of voices swells, fades. Silence grips the gathering.

“Some of you have dealt outside the brotherhood. Met with a foreign power. Invited rot into our midst. So I invited you all here tonight to clear the slate.”

Suddenly, every exit is blocked.

Men and women move into position from the crowd, all dressed as elegant partygoers. Each one targets a guest, forcing them to their knees.

“We will not negotiate with this Pantheon. And we will not tolerate your treachery. Do svidaniya uvidimsya v adu. ”

See you in hell…

My eyes widen as knives are raised, throats torn out. It’s a fucking bloodbath.

I grab Ero’s hand, pulling him toward the top of the stairs and our way out. “We need to go.”

But our way is blocked. Two guards turn the corner, eyeing us.

Heading back down, I tug at Ero’s sleeve. He follows after me through the chaos, as many of the guests rush to leave, the staff panicking. Clearly, this was planned, but many of the guests are bystanders and don’t want any part of the massacre.

The balcony door hangs open, swinging in the cold night breeze. Just gotta get to?—

Ero’s arm rips from my grip.

Bodies clog the ballroom entrances. But his eyes are locked on the front of the room, the small stage. Following his gaze, I frown, missing whatever he’s looking at.

“Ero! Snap out of it. We need to go!”

I reach for him again?—

His hand takes me at the throat, driving me through the doorway.

I try to break his grip, but I’m shaken and completely off balance.

We struggle, Ero overpowering me and slamming me up against the stone wall outside.

In the darkness I can’t make out his expression other than the twist of rage and fear.

“Er-Er!” I gasp, bashing at his forearm with my own. “It’s me!”

Instinct takes over, my fingers swiping through the folds of my gown. The dagger jabs him twice, once in the arm, then the ear. It takes every bit of self-control not to slash his tendons and disable the hand choking me.

Ero spasms, his eyes clearing. “Circe?”

“Yes…” I rasp, ducking out of his grasp. “What happened?”

“You…you don’t look like you.” He’s still foggy.

“I know. I’ll explain later. Come on.” Because there are shouts from inside. They’re checking everyone leaving to make sure no one on their kill list escaped.

Ero’s training takes over. We snatch the bag stashed in the hedges, loop the harnesses around our waist. He wraps his arm around me.

I fire the zipline gun. We clip in.

And we’re soaring over the street far below. We land on the rooftop across the way, ditching the gear and heading straight for the fire escape. Out of immediate danger, Ero and I pause to catch our breath.

“Hey, talk to me…” I pull his face down, kissing his lips, stroking his cheek.

Ero shakes his head, a frantic, wild look comes over him.

“Ciro … I saw him …”