“Talk?” Taras asked, backing toward the window. Several wooden boards blocked it-Taras had added them to shield the place from sunlight-but he could break through them if he had to. “About what?”
“Something we both want, Taras. And stop moving toward the window. I could kill you before you broke the first board if I wanted. I’m not here for that.”
He couldn’t hide his surprise. How the hell did she know who he was?
She stepped into the room with a silky, lethal grace, giving Taras his first good look at her. Her long black hair spilled in waves over her shoulders. Aristocratic, sharp features dominated her lovely face. Her black eyes glittered with amusement, and a faint trace of a smile tugged at the corners of her deep red lips. Her clothing clung to her like a second skin, leaving very little to the imagination. He found his eyes drawn to the shapely swell of her breasts. Had he still had need of breath, she would have taken it away. As it was, he could not help but stare at her dangerous beauty.
More than her beauty, he felt the power of her lithe body in his skin. It tickled his nerves, sending an icy shiver through him that he couldn’t hide. Her wide, confident smile burned a hole through him and cauterized the wound. The woman’s power sizzled and popped, radiating from her body like heat from the sun. Taras realized he would have no chance if it came to blows. He had no doubt that she could, indeed, kill him any time she wished, just as she claimed.
He moved to the edge of his bed and sat down. She didn’t want to fight, that was obvious. A deal, then. But for what? And why him? Only one way to find out.
“What could a woman like you possibly want that you can’t get for yourself?”
She sauntered into the room, slithering onto the bed behind him and raising her hand to his arm. Her fingernails traced softly along his skin, leaving a trail of gooseflesh behind them. Her hand came to rest on his shoulder, and he felt something wet and slippery on the back of his neck. Her tongue? She brought her face next to his and brushed her lips against his ear. Taras stiffened, trying to suppress the rapidly awakening desires he’d thought long dead. Had he really been thinking about Mary only moments ago? Gods, it had been so long…
“Theron,” she whispered into his ear. “I want Theron.”
Taras jerked away from her, catching her wrist in his hand. All thoughts of desire gone, he stared into her black eyes, searching for some sign of the joke. She looked back at him, a smirk hiding at the very edge of her lips.
“What did you say?” he asked, his fists bunched, useless, at his side.
“Theron,” she replied. “I want him. You can help me get him.”
“Why do you want him?”
She shook her head. “We’ll get to that in a moment. The important thing is Theron is here in Londinium and-”
“He’s here?” Taras jumped to his feet, his rage lending him a strength he hadn’t known he possessed. Without realizing it, he’d willed his claws to grow, and despite the woman’s influence, they sprouted fast and strong from his knuckles. “Where?”
She eyed his claws, and for the first time her smile faltered. The corner of her mouth twitched, and her brow creased with a brief look of confusion. It passed quickly, however, and she stood to face him. “Sit down.”
Taras towered over her, and his rage pulsed through his body like a wild thing. “No,” he said, and tried to shove his way past her.
The second he touched her, he heard a popping noise and felt a jolt of energy sizzle through his body. His muscles jerked, and his knees buckled, sending him sprawling to the floor in a heap. The air in the room smelled like the aftermath of a thunderstorm. He lay there looking up at her while his arms and legs twitched as in the throes of a seizure. What the blazes had she done to him?
“I can do worse,” she said, as if reading his thoughts. “Don’t touch me again.”
Taras nodded, or he tried to. The muscles in his neck spasmed and didn’t quite obey his command. But she smiled again.
“Good,” she said, and sat back on the bed. “Theron is in town. He is here looking for you.”
The twitching in his muscles lessened, and he regained some control. “Me? Why?”
“Theron hates you almost as much as you hate him, if not more,” she replied. “Do you know what you took from him when you refused to take him to Jesus’ tomb?”
Taras shook his head. His body had resumed normal function, and he picked himself up off the floor and moved to the far side of the room. His visitor noticed, but her smile never faltered. “No, I don’t,” he said, “and I don’t care.” He thought of Mary’s face, and the familiar ache settled into his chest. “Whatever he lost, it is nothing compared to what he took.”
“He lost everything,” she continued. “He was on a path of glory; a servant of the Council, and a favored one at that. He’d made a few mistakes, but all he had to do was show up in the Halls of the Bachiyr with the rabbi’s head and he would have had everything he wanted.”
“Well,” Taras said, “we know how that turned out.”
She stared at him, a thoughtful expression on her face. “You and Theron are much alike, Roman. You are both skilled assassins who worked for a higher power. Both of you are dedicated to your tasks, and possessed of far more patience than most, yet your biting sarcasm has landed you in trouble more than once. And of course, both of you are Bachiyr who are running from the agents of the Council.”
Privately, Taras swore to himself he was nothing like Theron, but it was hard to argue the similarities with her. Time to change the subject. “So why do you need my help?” he asked.
“He will follow you anywhere,” she replied. “If you walked into the Council’s portal here in Londinium he wouldn’t hesitate, even though he knows the Council’s agents would swarm him. He hates you that much.”
“So?”
“I want you to lead him to me. Let him see you in the market, then run to me. Once he is nearby I can capture him.”
“Why do you want him?” Taras asked for the second time.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
Taras shook his head again.
She looked at him again with that same bemused smile on her lips. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”
“Should I?”
“My name is Lannis,” she said. “Fifth of The Council of Thirteen.”
7
Theron walked into the tavern and surveyed the room, his head swiveling from one side to the other. The main room stank of sweat and old mead, with a hint of blood added, probably from a brawl. The walls were bare, unadorned wood, with not a single window to let in light or allow the stale air to circulate. Apparently the patrons of this place enjoyed their gloom.
A dozen or so wooden tables sat on the floor, most of them empty. Behind the bar, a stout Briton was deep in conversation with a plump young serving girl. The two looked bored, as well they might. The place was nearly empty, with only a handful of sullen, raggedly-dressed humans nursing their drinks.
These are the ones who stayed behind, thought Theron. The city is doomed.
A pair of soldiers stood alone in a corner, talking and drinking and casting wistful glances at the door. Probably ordered by Suetonius to stay behind and offer a token resistance. Perhaps to slow down the Iceni horde. By all reports, Boudica did not take prisoners, so the two soldiers were as good as dead. Judging by their faces, they knew it, as well. Having seen firsthand what the Roman Legion did to deserters, Theron understood why they stayed behind. Better a quick death in battle than a slow, painful one at the hands of a Roman Inquisitor.
Taras was nowhere in sight. Another wasted effort.
Theron turned to leave, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.
“Are you a coward, too?” said a gravelly voice at his back. “Afraid of a few barbarians?”
Theron turned to find himself face to chest with a very large – and very drunk – man in a dirty tunic and torn breeches. Theron recognized him as one of the men from the only occupied table in the tavern. Only a few moments
