Chapter Sixteen
KHALIDA
“Talik.”
She knocked a second time, her patience wearing thin.
Laughter and voices in Italian, English, and Atlantean drifted up to her from the streets. It may be fall, and the weather was beginning to cool, but it didn’t stop the bustling tourists visiting Rome.
He was late. Not that she expected anything less. He’d always preferred dramatic entrances, while she despised tardiness that bordered on the obsessive. And he knew it.
The wooden door wasn’t that thick that he wouldn’t have heard her.
She filtered out the extraneous noise as she leaned against the door. The faint echo of running water was barely discernible above the music in the room.
Done waiting, she opened the door and stepped into the dark room before quietly closing it behind her.
Unlike her accommodations or the corridor, the room was plain, covered in muted grays and whites.
It was also sparsely decorated. A silver table was flanked by a dark-green sofa that hid the nineteenth century ornate marble fireplace.
It was as if the owner barely spent any time in the room or had not wanted to leave an impression of who they really were.
It could have belonged to anyone. Except for the twin swords on the wall above the window.
Time had not been kind to the swords. The wrappings of the hilts were a faded black and had begun to unravel, the once red ribbon had faded to a pale pink. She ignored the way her backpack dug into her shoulders as if it had gained twenty pounds since she had seen the swords.
A memory she would rather forget flooded back.
“Teach me how to use the two swords,” Khalida demanded as she licked her dry lips. She tugged at her long shirt. It suddenly felt too tight and everything too warm.
In the distance, the tall eastern turrets of the Arx towered over the sand dunes.
If she squinted, she could see the Atlantean guards scanning the markets, looking for something or someone.
Likely her. She wasn’t supposed to venture this far outside the Arx, not without her guards.
Out here, the humans and Atlanteans traded goods and shared some sort of common ground.
It also had him. Watching him for the last three days, she finally mustered the courage to meet him in person.
And the damn Atlantean had the audacity to ignore her.
Colorful stalls and tents littered the area and appeared to reach the horizon. The scents of spices and cooking meats surrounded her, thickening the air with delicious, mouthwatering scents. It reminded her of the Arx’s main kitchen.
The crowded audience that had encircled him earlier was beginning to thin when they realized that there would be no other opponents willing to fight him.
Not today. Khalida had taken it as her opportunity to approach him before he disappeared again.
The sand between them was splattered with sweat and blood and tears.
It was supposed to be illegal to stage fights, but this far away from the main buildings, the Arx guards turned their attention toward the opposite direction, only interfering when it became apparent that it was not a simple fight or wager.
Khalida would have informed her father of the spectacle, but she had been just as entranced as everyone else by him.
She had never seen anyone as comfortable with swords or as skilled.
The blades seemed to almost be an extension of him rather than a weapon he wielded.
Red and black silk lined the hilts in a beautiful, intricate pattern that reminded her of waves.
A red ribbon dangled from the hilt, swaying in the subtle breeze.
Even her mother’s people of House Mestor had never shown such skill.
A handful of Atlanteans still surrounded them, many who would not take long to work out who she was, but she didn’t care if she made a spectacle of herself or if this encounter spread like wildfire to her father. If she was to be the best, it meant learning from the heathen Atlantean.
When she had first spied him, she’d had her guards find out as much information about him as they could.
They had returned with disdain and informed her that his parents and family had been no more than human.
He was a nobody, claimed by none of the Houses.
An aberration of a lost bloodline. But his lack of lineage did not bother her, not when her impeccable maternal and paternal bloodlines didn’t make her feel like any more of an insider.
She knew exactly what it was like to be always looking in and not belonging.
Not that a single Atlantean aristocrat would ever ignore her outright.
No, it was their silences and lack of invitations to non-formal events that cemented the feeling.
As the heir to House Azaes, she was in an uncomfortable position of power and privilege.
“And what do I get in return?” His black eyes lined with kohl blazed with a quiet fury. “Princess.”
She steeled herself against flinching or showing any form of reaction.
She knew instinctively he would use it to his advantage—but she could taste the contempt in his voice.
Her father had taught her the importance of never caging an animal.
She had never thought the analogy could be used for her species until today.
There was no mistaking that the swordsman was a caged animal, hidden behind bars only he could see.
“What do you most desire?”
Riches and power she could give him.
He looked at her slowly, indecently for his status. “Make me one of your kind?”
Khalida blinked. “Convince the aristocracy to accept you as one of us?”
“Or do you think it is beneath you?”
Khalida swallowed. It was a dangerous bargain—she could teach him how to be an aristocrat, could introduce him to the Atlanteans, but it did not mean he would be welcome. How much did she want to learn? The drive to be the best overwhelmed her. “What is your name?”
“Talik.”
She took a step closer, every one of her instincts telling her to run in the opposite direction, but there was some part of her that was drawn to him.
Wanted to touch him. “Teach me how to beat you, and I will teach you how to be an aristocrat. You will need to convince the aristocrats to accept you.”
Khalida blinked as she tugged at her shirt, hiding the evidence of the goose bumps. Thinking about the past would get her nowhere. The young Atlantean didn’t exist anymore. Neither she nor Talik were anything like they were in their youth. Choices and decisions had led them apart.
And she wasn’t the type to repeat mistakes. They seemed to hurt far more the second time.
The bathroom door opened, and steam exploded into the room, signaling Talik’s arrival. Heavy metal music played in the background.
“You are late.” She turned to face him, and for a heartbeat, she wished she hadn’t.
“Hello,” Talik said as he walked into the room, toweling his long hair. And he laughed. “Any excuse to see me half naked. All you have to do is ask.”
All she had to do was focus on his face and the smirking smile she wanted to punch.
Except she couldn’t.
His hair hung in loose waves halfway down his back and over his shoulders, covering his chest. She remembered exactly how soft they had felt as she played with his hair and how the strands had caressed her skin as he had slowly kissed her, using his hair to heighten her pleasure.
“Are you ready?” Her voice sounded even.
She knew he was fit. After all, he had beaten her in a fair fight, but she hadn’t been expecting this.
In the centuries apart, he had honed his body further to be muscular and lean.
The tailored suits he wore were clearly not designed to give the illusion of muscle, but in fact hid some of his size.
Khalida had forgotten how much she had enjoyed running her hands over his taut golden skin.
She followed his lickable abs with the sprinkling of dark hair, and the deep “V.” He wore his cargo pants unbuttoned.
Desire flooded through her as she felt the hint of wetness between her legs.
She bit her lower lip. What she wanted more than anything was to run her hand through his hair before she dropped to her knees and made him beg.
“Eyes are up here,” Talik said. Desire laced his voice. “If I were a gentleman, I wouldn’t say anything. But we both know I’m not.”
Fuck. He could sense her lust—had always had the uncanny ability, even compared to other Atlantean’s heightened senses. Could taste even the whisper of any emotion.
She quickly looked up, stopping at the black tattoo on his left pec, over his heart. Reality came crushing through her as she stared at the mark. It was a North Star.
A reminder of Sidra. And every reason why this was a dangerous game to be playing.
It was like being doused with a bucket of water. The spell was broken in a heartbeat. Khalida stared at Talik. Every other thought was encased in ice. “We leave in five.”
Talik pulled a shirt identical to hers over his head. The matte black ring on his pinkie held her attention for a second before she shook her head, silently berating herself.
He grabbed his utility belt and put on his combat boots.
Khalida needed to get out of the room. She blamed the memories that seeing the swords had unearthed and then Talik for her behavior.
Boundaries, she repeated silently over again.
“I will wait for you downstairs.” It was what she should have done to start off with. She walked to the door slowly, not wanting to show how affected she was.
“Did you get the knives?”
Khalida stopped mid-stride. They were from Talik. At no point would she have thought he would leave her a gift, especially her favorite kind. Weapons.
It didn’t matter who gave them to her—as long as they did what they were supposed to. Help her kill their targets.
“Yes.” She closed the door behind her before she could stupidly say anything more.