9. Chapter Nine
Chapter 9
R ieka had made a deal with the Devil. There was no denying it now.
A night spent oscillating between dreaming of a deceased queen and cold emerald eyes hadn’t helped her.
She clung to the straps of her backpack as she surveyed the plane, the heavy weight of the bag comforting. Despite flying all the time, the knots in her stomach never stopped. She couldn’t quell the feeling of walls rushing toward her, closing her in—the sound of screeching metal bending unnaturally. It had been fifteen years since the accident, but if she closed her eyes, it still felt like yesterday.
Rieka had been one of the lucky ones. Her mom had not.
“This way, Dr. Sinha.”
Her heart jumped at the intrusion; she didn’t know the voice, but he obviously knew her. She turned, expecting another guard, but surprise washed over her as recognition flooded through her. It was hard not to recognize him; his face was in the gossip magazines at least monthly.
“Dante informed us you would join us. Sypha is with the pilot and asked me to meet you. Talik Njoror,” said Talik as he held out his hand. “Welcome aboard.”
Talik reminded her of a highly stylized, dark-haired Viking, and at six feet and three inches, she had to look up to him to meet his gaze. Dressed in a black three-piece suit, Talik looked more like he was going to a ball than being one of Dante’s security guards. The light highlighted the red and golden streaks through his black hair. His messy bun was an artful casual style. Rieka had never been jealous of anyone else’s hair before, but she might just be now. Handsome as sin, she could understand why he had earned the playboy moniker. There were plenty of photos of him out with beautiful human and Atlantean women, and the occasional male, on his arm, but never the same one twice in a row.
Rieka returned the handshake as she tried not to focus on the door closing.
“Don’t believe everything you have read,” Talik said with an exaggerated wink, his obsidian-colored eyes flashing mischievously. “I will be with Sypha if you require anything.”
Talik disappeared, leaving her alone. She surveyed the extravagant private jet, and she had to give it to Delacroix. He had a specific style, and it was reflected in the minimalistic monochrome décor. No expense had been spared. Perks of being an Atlantean billionaire.
She walked toward the seats hesitantly, touching the soft leather. The jet was bigger than her apartment.
A flash of white appeared to her left as Sypha stepped out of the cockpit. The Atlantean looked downright angelic—the only splash of color was their hair and pink talons.
“When do we leave?” Rieka asked, her voice slightly higher pitched than normal. They weren’t in the air yet. All she had to do was find a seat and focus on work. Thank god for modern technologies. She didn’t think she could handle the traditional eight-hour flight. Only five hours to go until they landed. And she would be back on the ground in no time. Breaking down the elements of the flight put her at ease for seventy percent of the time she was flying. The rest was normally up to the drink menu.
“Once you have chosen a seat,” Dante said.
His voice went straight through her. The butterflies differed from the dull echo of anxiety coursing through her. The light lilt of an accent was far sexier than it should have been. Rieka turned to face him. He was larger than she remembered and took up more room than he should have, but it wasn’t just his size; it was also his sheer presence. Dante looked like he had just walked off another photo shoot, his gray suit jacket hung over his arm. The white shirt set off his dark Mediterranean complexion. Rieka dragged her gaze away from him. She was going to work on not being distracted around Dante, but that was a future-Rieka problem. Right now, she could use all the distractions she could get, or there was an enormous risk that the memories would swallow her up.
“While we are in Egypt, if you need anything, and I am unavailable, Talik and Sypha will help you.”
She hadn’t realized when she said yes that she would work closely with Dante. Didn’t billionaire Atlanteans have better things to do? Staging bloodless coups or working on their empire building? Not babysitting an unemployed archaeologist. “I assumed you would be working. And…” What did Dante do daily? Count his money?
“I am more interested in the House Atlas artifacts than in endless meetings,” Dante said.
Rieka moved to the closest seat. Her fingers brushed the soft white leather. The touch grounded her into reality. She dropped her backpack next to the seat, sliding into the oversized chair. Dante hadn’t moved, but she could sense his gaze following her. Even the pressure of her bobby pins was annoying her.
It’s just takeoff. Nothing to worry about. Liar.
No matter how often she flew, it never got easier. The nausea was just below the surface, the memory of the taste of jet fuel never far away. She hugged her bag. There was no use pretending to look happy. With the Atlantean heightened senses, it wouldn’t be difficult to identify the smell of fear and anxiety rolling off her. Dante and any other Atlantean within six feet would know that it was just a facade. Instead, she did something she was good at and ignored the rest of the world.
D ante looked over to where Rieka sat. His attention had been on the hybrid far more than he would voluntarily admit. He could not deny that it was more than solely because she could help him find Vandana’s tomb. He was attending the Jimourt in an unofficial capacity, a mere invited guest. It would allow him to only attend meetings he was interested in and, more importantly, focus on what was in the vault. And Rieka. Five hundred years was a long time to wait for another opportunity, even with their life span. Sypha’s vision hadn’t quite left him. Whoever Rieka really was, he needed her more than she knew.
Rieka’s knuckles were white as she held onto the armrest and sat ramrod straight. It was the posture of someone who was petrified of flying. A small part of him stirred at the image, but he pushed it down. Instead, he glanced at the backpack. It looked like it was bursting at the seams, but it was all she had brought with her. A well-worn notebook lay in a prime position, sandwiched between neatly rolled clothes. It must be something valuable.
“Why are you interested in the statue?” Rieka asked as she loosened her grip on the seat. “Or finding Vandana’s tomb?”
There was no sign of Talik or Sypha; both had made themselves scarce. Rieka’s flame-colored eyes sparked with curiosity. The haunted look she had been wearing had disappeared, for now. She had relaxed as soon as they had straightened up. The waves of fear must only be associated with takeoff, but he didn’t need his heightened senses to understand what Rieka was feeling. It was all in her eyes. “Locating the tomb will be the greatest discovery in Atlantean history.”
Rieka frowned, as if she wasn’t quite happy with his response. “Haven’t you already built enough of a legacy? Being richer than a combination of Croesus and Midas is not the end goal for you?”
Dante smirked at the brutal honesty of the question. The answer was one he gave little thought to, not after all these years. “Money allows me to fund my interests.”
“And the tomb is on the list?” Rieka said as she kicked her long legs out, the hot pink laces of her boots a stark contrast to her practical dark attire. “Doesn’t sound like the life ambition of a billionaire.”
“And how many of them do you know?”
“Including you?” Rieka held out her hand as if she was counting. “One.”
“I should be honored.”
“Some days, I just don’t have a filter.”
There were too many people who lived by the diplomatic game, saying what he wanted to hear. Rieka was refreshing. “Never apologize for who you are.”
“Since you don’t mind me being blunt,” Rieka started, the color had finally returned to her face. “How old are you?”
It was an unusual question, but then again, humans were obsessed with age and numbers. Despite Rieka’s eye color, she had grown up a human. Dante had not decided if her parents had done her a disservice or not. Hybrids existed in a precarious position in both Atlantean and human societies. Many didn’t fit into either world, no matter how much they tried. “724 years old.”
Rieka leaned forward as if she was about to share a secret. The gleam in her gaze was almost contagious if he were that way inclined. “Going to be honest, you don’t look a day over three hundred.”
Dante bit back a laugh at the absurdity of their conversation. Rieka continued to surprise him with how she thought—she did not play the game of the elites. Outside the circle of his close confidants, it was not a situation he often found himself in.
The patter of heels on the soft carpet caught his attention. Sypha stood near him, their gloved hands clasped around a tablet.
“I have a meeting I need to attend.”
Rieka nodded. Disappointment flashed across her face. She was an open book.
He picked up the tablet and entered the passcode before handing it over to Rieka. “About seventy years ago, the vault’s paper repository was digitized. You have access to every item that has been cataloged within the vault.”
“Thank you.” Rieka smiled, warmth emanating from her.
A whisper of desire ran through him. The thanks were sincere. “Don’t thank me yet. I will have questions about what the artifacts are from your perspective.”
R ieka stared at the tablet, not paying an iota of attention to what was in front of her as she convinced herself she was still a professional, even if she was temporarily unemployed. But she was working on that. She was not watching Dante walk away to his meeting. She definitely wasn’t noticing the way the cut of his shirt emphasized his lean, muscular physique. The cough next to her made her face heat as she clutched the tablet on her lap.
“Breakfast is served,” Talik said as he placed a bowl of fruit in front of her before he bowed, the movement far more graceful than she would have expected. “Coffee is on the way.”
“What do you do for Dante?”
What was wrong with her? Ever since the first meeting with Dante, the filter between her mouth and brain had taken a vacation. The knot in her stomach continued to grow. A sixth sense was quietly making itself known, but she didn’t have time to delve into it or wonder why it was starting now. After countless hours of therapy, she still hadn’t gotten over her aversion to flying. At least she wasn’t in the fetal position on the floor. Yet.
“Jack-of-all-trades, but officially the operations officer.” Talik sat across the aisle, shrugging his jacket off as he smiled at Rieka. “And sometimes air host.”
Rieka stifled a giggle. It hadn’t taken long to see that the dramatic playboy persona was just that. There was an intensity within Talik that was just beneath the surface.
“Thank you.”
Talik waved his hand. Black nail polish gleamed in the light, the matte-black ring on his pinkie finger the only other embellishment he wore. He settled into the chair as he pulled dark-tinted glasses from his pocket. “Enjoy your light reading.”
For the second time that morning, a pang of envy stabbed her as Talik fell asleep instantly. She stretched out her legs as she picked at the grapes. Work would distract her for the next couple of hours, but she needed music. She rummaged through her backpack until she touched the familiar shape of her headphones. The loud tones of mid-twentieth-century heavy metal transported her to her happy place as the drums drowned out the real world. The white noise allowed her to focus on the files.
Rieka looked up. Talik appeared to be deep asleep, his dark sunglasses slumped low on his nose and arms across his chest. He didn’t seem to be a particularly good guard, or operations officer, she corrected herself. Maybe within the plane he didn’t see the point of being vigilant. Any sort of attack would come from outside, as improbable as it sounded.
Rieka scrunched up the napkin on her lap and threw it toward the sleeping Atlantean. She aimed for the chair next to him. A hand shot out and grabbed it out of the air.
Not asleep.
Talik lowered his glasses; his black eyes locked onto her as he slowly shook his head.
Rieka smiled sweetly at him before she returned to scanning the images. It didn’t take long to find what she was looking for: the image Dante had shown her in their original meeting. Vandana wearing amour. Proof that she hadn’t hallucinated in the temple.
The queen stared back at her defiantly. Even etched in shades of black and gray, Rieka could sense the fury that was barely contained within the image.
Who were you really?