The light of day didn’t make him look any safer than he had last night, though; her original assessment of dangerous held true even in these civilized surroundings. Perhaps because of these civilized surroundings. Actually, a billboard wasn’t the right place for him; he should be out on some battlefield in the Highlands, wearing a kilt and beheading an Englishman.
She was probably giving him the third degree with her eyes and felt heat creep into her cheeks. “You’re here to help me figure out who I was?” she asked.
“I’m here to keep the demons off your back while you figure out who you were.”
“Do you know who I was, then?” Tension gripped her heart in an iron fist, squeezing until it felt like it couldn’t deliver blood to her starved extremities. This was even worse than nightmares. Her soul wasn’t her own.
“Yes.” His voice gave away nothing.
“Assuming that I believe you, can’t you just tell me? This would all go a lot faster.” And she could finally figure out what these damn dreams meant.
“Of course you believe us, lassie. You’re intelligent, what with the university job. Recent events—the tattoo, the appearance of demons—indicate that the world isn’t all you thought it to be. And nay, I canna tell you who you were.” End of story, the undercurrent of his voice said.
“And why not? Precisely?”
“Rules.”
“If you are half as intelligent as you say I am, you’ll agree that rules is just another deflection of my question. Why can’t you tell me who I was?” The professor voice was the only one that would do in this circumstance.
“Fine. I’ll explain. But the rules are important. They’re the only way we keep our society secret from the mortals. They need to be followed.” He gave her a hard look to make sure she understood.
Diana was all too familiar with the consequences of not following rules, so she nodded.
He nodded back and said, “Reincarnates usually experience a catalyzing event that returns their memories. The appearance of your tattoo was a small event that sent you to us, but you still haven’t experienced one that will allow you to understand who you were. I could tell you that you were Queen Victoria, but it wouldn’t do you a damn bit of good because you wouldn’t have her memories. You’d have no idea what your task is. It could even divert you from the proper path if you went chasing off after loose ends. You were reborn for a purpose, and for you to misinterpret that purpose would lead to dire consequences.”
Dire consequences? As in, more dire than being attacked by monsters and kidnapped by a previously unheard-of magical organization?
“Gather your things. I’ll meet you in the hall outside in two minutes.” He spun on his heel and walked out.
Chapter 8
Cadan paced in the hall, clenching and unclenching his fists while he waited for Diana. They needed to get the hell out of here so that they could leave Edinburgh and her pursuers, yet the idea of being in close proximity to her had his heart sinking and his cock stirring.
What had that been in there? Seeing Diana, being near her, had felt like drowning. She’d made him feel, and he wanted to despise her for that. He’d worked so hard over the years to cut off emotion that he didn’t know how to fucking deal with it anymore. Who the hell could live as long as he had, alone, and keep feeling and expect to stay sane?
The door creaked behind him and he turned, heart thudding just a little bit harder. The small, black overnight bag was slung over her shoulder.
“Where are we going?” She sounded calmer, more collected. With her glasses perched above a straight nose and the intelligence shining behind her eyes, she looked like a 1940s librarian. The kind from a pin-up calendar posted above a bunk on a WWII battleship. He hadn’t known he had a fetish for sexy librarians.
Shite. His self-control was going to be a problem. Staying away from her, keeping himself focused, was the only way to ensure her safety…and he was already failing.
“We’re leaving Edinburgh. It’s no’ safe for you here.” There were too many Mytheans in this city, and he was afraid that some of the more dangerous ones already knew she was here. She’d been a soldier for good in her first life, and the underbelly of Mythean society wouldn’t want her fulfilling her destiny.
“Come on, I’ll take your bag.” He reached for it.
“I can carry it.” She clutched it closer and glared at him.
“Sure you can, lassie. But I’ll be taking it all the same.” He grabbed her bag, ignored her protest, and turned to head down the hall. Her light footsteps quickly caught up.
“Is that your idea of chivalry? I can carry my own damn bag.” She scowled at him.
He supposed it was, though normally he was smoother. He never had any trouble with other women. But this one...
“And quit calling me lassie. I’m not your lassie.”
“Never said you were. Lassie.” He didn’t know why he baited her. To see her reaction, probably. Was she as volatile as Boudica had been?