“It’s like you said. They’re crazy. And they’re looking for me because I took something from them. That’s all.”
I didn’t buy it, but had to ask anyway. “What did you take?”
“The Incan Chalice of Life. I traded it with someone who helped me find you.”
Okay. Wasn’t expecting that answer.
“May we drive now?” he said.
“Yes. But we’re going back to the center.” There we could talk under the watchful eye of the security staff.
“You and I both know it won’t be safe there. Drive east.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Drive east,” he insisted.
“Why?” I asked again.
“Because you said you wanted to help me. This is helping me.”
I thought it over for a moment. Strangely, that rage-filled voice inside my head from earlier had disappeared. I felt like me again. And good ol’ me was saying it wasn’t a good idea to just “drive east” with this guy.
“Fine.” He reached for the car door and started to exit.
Shit. I couldn’t let him go. I couldn’t. He was too…too…well, I wanted to slap myself for saying something so crazy, but he was too important to me. He felt like everything, in fact.
“Okay!” I barked. “I’ll drive east.”
Mack got back inside and closed the door. “Head for the highway.”
I turned toward the steering wheel and started driving east, doing my best to keep my eyes on the road, but taking every chance I had to steal glimpses of the man in my backseat. A proud cheekbone. The full, sensual lips. The strong brow and square stubbled jaw. Each flicker of light from a passing car gave me another peek.
Mack was goddamned beautiful.
Great. Fucking great. He’s hot and mysterious. And totally out of his mind.
“Watch out!” Mack barked.
I jerked the car back into my lane and off the shoulder, feeling like a drooling moron.
After a few moments passed, I finally asked, “Any plans to tell me where we’re going?”
“Just keep driving.” How he’d know that I wasn’t the least bit tired or sleepy, I could only guess. But we would drive all night until the sun rose.
Later, I’d look back on the day ahead as the best and the worst day of my life.
CHAPTER TWELVE
MACK
I was torn. Inside and out. Being in the car with Theodora was like being in my own personal hell. How was it possible to want to protect someone and care for them, ache for them and need them, yet feel compelled to harm them and want them to kill you, too? It’s downright fucking psychotic. That’s what it is.
Of course, the voice inside my head, screaming to slide my hands around her neck and choke the life from her, wasn’t truly mine. It belonged to óolal’s father and his goddamned curse, demanding that I “relive his pain” for eternity. Translated to mean I would feel compelled to kill and then feel guilty as hell about it. The more I cared, the stronger the urge to harm, the bigger the guilt. I supposed that was how he felt about killing óolal for the good of his people in a quest to not piss off the gods. Idiot. He’d created a monster: Me.
In any case, I wouldn’t touch Theodora. I never had, and I never would.
I hoped.
Honestly, we’d never been together for more than a handful of hours at a time. King always got to her somehow. Sometimes before my own heart sensed she was near. Because seeing people for who they once were wasn’t a gift I could claim to possess like King. Although I knew that the dead with unfinished business sometimes returned by means of reincarnation or by other unnatural methods, as in my brother’s case. In short, he’d been cursed, too, and the moment it was lifted, a cosmic force controlled by the Seers snapped him back to life, righting a wrong that was never meant to be.
As for me, my return was unnatural, as well. A product of multiple forces at work. But this time, I am going to die, and there will be no return. Theodora will see to it.
If you don’t kill her first.
I quickly barricaded the dark thought behind a wall. A flimsy wall. The clock was ticking.
“Take this off-ramp,” I demanded, guiding us to the only place with any hope of preventing King from finding us immediately. His gift of locating people and things was impressive, although what truly made him powerful were the tools in his box. He owned thousands of items—spell books and rare artifacts—that possessed the sort of powers people, especially bad ones, dreamed of possessing. Compelling, untraceable poisons, talismans to drive people mad, gemstones that made one immortal—like the one in the rings King and Mia wore—aphrodisiacs, youth serums—you name it. Add to that, my brother could get inside people’s heads and crawl around, well, it made him one scary sonofabitch.
“Are you going to give me a clue where we’re going?” Theodora asked.