Her brain kicked into action and Bea opened her mouth to scream. Without warning, a large hand clamped over her lips, trapping her cry for help. Bea tried to spin away, but an arm wrapped around her waist, jerking her back into a hard chest. Her body pinned to the large man holding her, she could do nothing more than squirm while trying not to gag on the man’s unwashed scent.
The shadowed form in front of her shifted, moving casually closer, as if he had all the time in the world. Who was he? Too short to be Demyan. Bea stilled and narrowed her eyes. Yet … there was something familiar in that gait … The morning light that streamed through the part in the drapes hit his face.
Recognition swept through her, shock making her numb. Henry. The very man who had tried to kill Leo and Ella.
He smiled, a smile that spoke of false sincerity. “Hello, cousin.”
Bea’s stomach tightened. Too confused, too frightened, she didn’t struggle with whichever of Henry’s men held her in a tight grip. This was Henry, her cousin. She hadn’t done anything to provoke him. He wouldn’t hurt her, would he?
“Now,” he said, moving slowly toward her. He was thinner than she remembered, but she hadn’t seen him in over five years, and then only briefly. “If Sergio removes his hand, you’ll keep quiet? I’d hate to have to hurt my own relative.”
Her confidence wavered. Apparently, he would hurt her. With no other alternative, Bea nodded. Sergio’s hand slipped away, but he kept his tight hold on her waist. Bea flinched, her ribs protesting the crushing embrace.
“What do you want?” she demanded, proud that her voice came out steady.
Henry’s dark brows rose in mock surprise. “Want? Why, I want what everyone seems to want … money, power, knowledge. I want that statue, Bea. You’re going to help me get it.”
In a linen shirt and stained trousers, he barely resembled the man she knew. Time had worn him down. She met his gaze directly and shook her head. She would not cower to this man. “You don’t need me and you know that. If it’s true what they say about our bloodline, you don’t need me. You can do it yourself.”
His smirk fell but Bea didn’t feel any satisfaction. Something wasn’t right. A blush of red swept up his neck and into his cheeks. He looked away, a telling action. Was he embarrassed? “Yes, well, that would be true if my mother hadn’t been a whore.”
She shook her head. “I … I don’t understand.”
His gaze snapped toward her, ire flashing in his eyes. “Are you really so stupid?”
When she remained mute, he stepped closer, his breath warm and harsh. She could feel his anger like a blow, but managed not to flinch. “The blood flows through the male line. My mother slept with a local farmer. Understand? I’m another man’s child.”
The words sank heavy into Bea’s gut. She and Henry weren’t related? Nor were Leo and Henry? “All that anger toward Leo? That anger because he’d supposedly come back from the dead and taken your heritage, when you didn’t even deserve the title?”
His eyes narrowed, his lips curled into a snarl, and Bea couldn’t help flinching this time. “I deserve it more than that heathen!” For one breathless moment, she thought he would hit her. Finally, he cleared his throat and looked away, as if gathering himself. “So”—he was looking at her again—”as you see, I need you and your blood.”
Blood. All sorts of horrible thoughts flashed through her mind. Bea trembled despite herself. “You really think you can escape without being seen?”
He laughed, the disinterest in his eyes making her nervous. “We got in, didn’t we?”
A soft knock sounded on the door, a mere scratch of hesitancy. A whispered warmth swept through her body and she knew who it was even before he called out. Bea cringed, her gaze jumping from the door to Henry, and her pulse gave a frantic leap. Henry didn’t look concerned in the least.
“Don’t answer it,” Henry whispered.
“They know I’m here,” she replied.
“Bea,” Colin said from the hall. “We need to talk.”
Bea didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Of course, now of all times the man wished to talk. Henry pressed his finger to his lips. “He dies if you say anything.”
“He knows I’m in here!” she persisted, tears of frustration stinging her eyes.
“Bea, let me in. Please.” There was a slight plea to his voice, so slight that anyone else wouldn’t have noticed. But she did. How badly she wanted to call out to him. How badly she wanted to tell him she was sorry for being ridiculous when they first met. To tell him … to tell him she loved him.
“I’m not leaving, Bea, until you let me in.”
“Colin, please, just leave me alone!” she cried before Henry or Sergio had time to stop her.
“I won’t,” he snapped, followed by a soft thud, as if he’d hit his fists against the door.
She looked helplessly at Henry. The man gritted his teeth, staring at her for one impossibly long moment. “Go then, open the door only slightly, understand? Get rid of him.”
Bea nodded, eager to be released. Sergio loosened his hold. Wasting no time, fearing that Colin would break the door down, she stumbled forward. She didn’t think about how hard it would be to see Colin. She didn’t think about how her heart would ache, knowing this might be the last time they’d be face-to-face.
Her heart pounded with each unsure step. She’d only think about getting him to leave. She pressed her hands to the door as if she could feel him through the wooden panel.
Taking in a deep breath, she pulled it open only a crack. Hidden behind the door, Sergio was right behind her, his large body so close, she could feel his heat. She ignored the man and looked at Colin, prayed he’d leave, and at the same time prayed he’d understand the plea in her eyes.
How lovely he looked! Colin stood there disheveled, and delicious. He’d found more clothing, but his shirt hung untucked, his feet bare. He braced his hands on either side of the door jamb and looked at her with those pure blue eyes.
“Bea …”
She looked away, her heart clenching. “It’s fine, Colin. It doesn’t matter.”
“To hell it doesn’t. Bea, please, let me in.”
“No!” she shot out, her gaze jumping to his. “You used me!”
Confusion worked across his handsome face. She could imagine what he was thinking. After all, wasn’t she the one who had instigated their intimate night? But what she said seemed to be working and she knew she had to continue her rant for Colin’s sake.
“You … you used me and now you’ll toss me aside. Well, it was a lack in judgment, Colin, my lack. I’m going home. I’m sick of dirt, of bugs and heat. I’m going back to Scotland, where I can be with my grandmother in peace. Where I can marry a titled man with wealth.”
The shocked look on his face told her she’d done her job well. “Bea, you don’t mean—”
“I do! Damn you, Colin! Leave me alone.” She slammed the door in his face. Her body trembled with emotion. The room fell silent, her harsh breathing the only sound. And she waited … waited to hear Colin’s retreating footsteps.
“Very good,” Henry whispered.
Sergio latched on to her arm and jerked across the room, toward the double doors that led to the terrace. Bea could merely trip beside him, too spent to argue. In her mind’s eye she saw Colin, devastated.
“You’re quite the actress, my cousin.”
“I’m not your cousin,” she seethed. “We’re not even related!”
Before she could react, Henry slammed her against the wall, his fingers on her throat, holding her pinned to the plaster. “Keep your mouth shut. Understand?”
She couldn’t nod, she couldn’t breathe. She could only stare into the eyes of a man who had become a monster. Her lungs shriveled and panic flared. Her fingers found his wrist, her nails clawing at his skin, but he seemed immune to the pain. Giving up, she squeezed her eyes shut and prayed for her life to end quickly.
The sound of splintering wood broke throug
h her consciousness. Bea’s eyes opened as Henry’s grip relaxed. Colin stood in the doorway like a guardian angel come to life.
“The infamous Colin, I presume?”
Colin’s gaze flickered from her to her cousin. “Henry.”
Henry smiled. There was no fear on his face. “But of course.” His gaze moved from Colin to Sergio. “Kill him.”
Sergio didn’t hesitate. His burly arm lifted and Bea could only stare in horror at the small pistol that protruded from his fingertips. With a flick of his finger, a blast rent the room. It was over in a split second. Colin’s eyes grew round in shock. For one brief, heavenly moment, Bea thought he was faking his death as he’d done in that temple. Then a brilliant red began to seep through the linen of his shirt.
Bea screamed. A terrifying sound that erupted from her very soul.
Henry slapped his hand over her mouth, trapping her cry. Someone latched on to her arms, tight manacles that refused to release. Bea jerked forward, desperate to get to Colin.
He sank to his knees, then slumped to the ground, his gaze locked on her. Bea couldn’t move, couldn’t help him. Someone pulled her back, but she was barely aware. Tears burned her eyes, streaming down her cheeks.
“Can you … can you get sick?” she’d asked him days ago.
“Yes,” he’d said softly as he settled his bare feet on the marble floor at Shiva’s home. “I can. I was injured when my mother was murdered and I very nearly died with her.”
They were pulling her farther away … farther away from Colin. He fell back onto the floor, breaking eye contact. Her heart ripped in two.
Bea choked on a sob. Colin was dead. Lifeless and still on the floor.
They jerked her through the door, into the garden. Numb, she didn’t struggle anymore. She didn’t care.
Colin was dead.
A soft rain began to fall, misting her face. Suddenly the sunlight faded and blackness beckoned sweetly. Bea closed her eyes, allowing unconsciousness to overtake her as she slumped toward the ground.
“Is he dead?” a voice asked, a familiar voice … Where had he heard it before? Through the foggy haze of searing pain, Colin realized only one man would ask that question in such an even and unconcerned tone … Leo.
Colin curled his fingers, attempting to move, but the action only brought on an aching awareness that something wasn’t right. He felt cold, yet each small tremor sent burning pain through his muscles. He parted his lips, intending to respond, but couldn’t seem to find his voice. Liquid filled his throat, blocking air to his lungs. His eyes popped open, panic welling as he began to drown. Lifting his head, he coughed. Warm liquid splattered from his lips. Blood.
“Hurry, please,” Ella replied. Soft hands rested atop his head like a mother’s touch, gentle and comforting.
Colin breathed in shallow gasps and laid his head back, managing to keep his eyes open just enough to study those who hovered over him. Beside Leo and Ella, a stranger leaned forward, an older man with roughened skin and brilliant blue eyes that peered at him through scraggly gray facial hair. There was something in those eyes … something odd … something familiar.
The old man’s lips moved, but a low buzz had entered Colin’s ears, drowning out all sound. What had happened? Where was he? More importantly, why could he barely move? His chest felt wet, cold, almost sticky. And his body felt bizarre … as if he couldn’t quite make out his legs or arms … just a head, floating in oblivion.
Confused, he met Ella’s gaze, hoping for answers. Tears shimmered in her blue eyes, hovering at the tips of her spiky lashes. She was worried … about him?
She leaned closer, brushing the hair from his forehead. “He won’t last much longer, please hurry.”
And Colin knew in that moment that she spoke about him. He wouldn’t last much longer. He was going to die. Shocked, he wasn’t sure how to react.
Ella rested her hand on the old man’s shoulder and peered up at him, as if the stranger were responsible for whether he lived or died.
Yet … someone was missing. Someone he needed to see.
The old man rubbed his chin, his eyes narrowing in contemplation as he studied Colin. “Then I suppose you must do whatever it is you do.”
For one brief moment, Colin thought he was talking to him. Do what, exactly? Because frankly he felt like shit and wasn’t about to do much of anything. Someone shifted, piercing his attention. Another stranger, Colin realized. An Indian man with a narrow face and brilliant blue turban atop his head. He felt suddenly surrounded and itchy irritation crawled up his skin. What the hell was going on?
“Can he hear us, do you suppose?” Ella asked, sniffling.
The old man nodded. “He can hear us. His mind’s alert, if not his body. He’s confused, all right.”
For one blessed moment anger replaced his worry. Colin wanted to demand answers. How the hell did he know what he was thinking? The Indian came closer, blocking the others from view and interrupting Colin’s thoughts. His blue eyes focused on Colin. The man’s young face grim, he settled his hands on Colin’s chest. It was like someone had placed a branding iron on his bare skin. The pain was immediate, consuming. Colin sucked in a breath through gritted teeth, arching his back.
Just as suddenly as the pain arrived … it dissipated. A cool numbing sensation swept through his body.
“Go on then, we haven’t all day,” someone said.
Colin grappled with the words … trying to understand. But he couldn’t make sense. Nothing made sense. Heat flared through his limbs. Colin gasped, his eyes opening but around him … all he could see was white light. Where had everyone gone? Was he dead? If so, he wouldn’t complain. He felt better than he had in years.
Yet there was something not right, something pulling, tugging at his memory, something he seemed to have forgotten but needed to remember. The warmth spread slowly, bringing feeling to his limbs, his fingertips and toes. His entire form seemed to vibrate with energy as he floated through a peaceful bliss of reality.
And as the light enveloped him, taking away the pain and worry, a woman appeared. Her long dark hair fell in waves to her waist, her eyes glowing golden. An angel? Had he truly died? She smiled and realization dawned. Bea. Sweet, intoxicating Bea.
Memories flashed through his mind … Bea’s eyes flaring with anger during that first meeting. Bea pushed against the wall as he cut her corset from her chest while they were escaping through the alleys of Delhi. Bea riding that damn elephant. Bea coming toward him … pressing her mouth to his … Bea.
The air suddenly changed from warm to bitterly cold. Bea disappeared and darkness enveloped him. Colin’s lungs expanded. There was no warning. His eyes opened and he sucked in a bitterly cold breath as if he were drowning in ice water. Faces wavered before him, some concerned, some thrilled, others unreadable. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath. Was he dying? Or had he just been saved? He started coughing, coughing on the dry air. The Indian man settled back, still silent, still watchful.
“That’s it, well done,” the old man said with a smile that produced dimples in his whiskered cheeks.
“Are you well?” Ella asked.
But Colin’s gaze remained pinned to the old man, warily studying him. His face was barely readable through the full gray beard, but he knew there was something familiar about the man. Where had he seen him before? Colin moved his hands under his hips and attempted to push upright, but his body felt heavy and he barely managed to move. Ella was there, sliding her arm under him. She smelled like roses, he realized with a start, a strong, calming scent that he hadn’t noticed before.
“What happened,” he managed to croak past his dry throat. “Where am I?”
Curtains were thrown wide and light splashed into the room … too bright. Colin blinked, shading his eyes with his hand. Every tiny speck of dust floated on the beams … white, pure light. Beautiful, really, mesmerizing.
“You were shot,” Leo explained.
“Shot?” Colin jerked his
attention to him. It was then that he noticed the wetness of his shirt, clinging to his skin. Confused, he glanced down. Brilliant red soaked the linen, a hole in the center of the material.
A piercing, mind-numbing shock rushed through him. He pressed his hands to his chest and, with a swift movement, ripped the material wide. Buttons went pattering to the floor. His skin was pure, intact, if not stained slightly from the blood.
Wide-eyed, he looked up into their stoic faces. “How … I … Am I dead?”
The old man chuckled. “This is a sorry afterlife if you are.” He struggled to stand, the grunts and slowness showing his age. “No, you’ve been brought back to life. This is Sam, he carries the same powers as you.” He nodded toward the Indian man, who bowed low but remained quiet. Colin doubted the man’s name was truly something so American as Sam, but couldn’t find the reason to argue.
He didn’t understand. Nothing made sense. And Bea, he suddenly realized, was nowhere to be seen. “Powers?”
The old man shuffled closer. “We know. We know what you can do.”
His gaze jumped to Ella and Leo. Had they told? But neither looked particularly guilty. “I don’t understand.”
The old man pulled at his beard, his face scrunched in contemplation. “We haven’t time to explain. Not if you want to save that friend of yours.”
“Friend?” Reality came rushing back, cold and gut-wrenching. “Bea.”
“Yes, that’s the one.”
Fear pulsed through his veins, freezing him in place. Bea. They had Bea. His stomach tightened, his lungs tightened. His entire body tightened as frantic fear clawed at his insides.
“Bea,” he whispered, so quietly no one could have heard, yet the old man narrowed his blue eyes.
“She’s well. They won’t hurt her. They need her.”
He didn’t feel any relief. Why didn’t he feel any relief? Colin struggled to his feet, his breath coming out in harsh pants. “Bea. I have to find her. How long has she been gone?”