"Not necessarily a human." With a shuddering sigh, Grace sank onto a stool. "Any of the creatures in Atlantis could use it to sneak inside your home and steal your valuables. For God's sake, you own jewels of every kind and size."
That's exactly what those humans had been doing inside Javar's palace, stealing, using the gods' tools to pry out the jewels. "Atlanteans must only ask and we share. There is no reason to steal."
"There is, too, a reason. Pure greediness. And I know for a fact that the emotion is inherent to all races, gods and humans alike. All of our myths and legends expound upon such things."
Now he sighed. "Humans are responsible this time ." He thought back to the messenger's words and the gun the boy had drawn. "Humans are even now inside my friend's home, wielding guns and the gods only know what other weapons."
"Could the humans be working with this friend?"
"Never." He would not consider the possibility. "Javar loathes humans as I do. He would never aid one."
She averted her gaze from him, shielding her expression. Several seconds ticked until she said, "Do you loathe all humans?" A trace of hurt leaked into her voice.
"Not all," he admitted reluctantly. He liked one tiny female more than was wise. A female with silky red curls and softly rounded curves. With lush breasts and high-tipped nipples.
A female he craved in his bed more with every moment that passed.
"Well, then," she said, straightening her back, pretending she had not a care. "We'll concentrate on humans. I'm sure I've told you this, but Alex wrote of someone chasing him through the jungle during his search for the portal. I'm willing to bet the same humans who are inside that palace are the ones Alex wrote about."
"Wrote?" he lashed out, concentrating on that one word. He could not allow any written record of his home. He already had the Book of Ra-Dracus to contend with. "You said he told you."
"He did. In his journal. He kept a log of his search for the mist. Would you like to read it?"
"Where is it?" he asked sharply.
"I'll show you." She walked from the kitchen, and Darius followed close on her heels. She led him down a small, narrow hallway laden with the calming scent of chamomile. They entered her bedchamber and it took only one glance at the bed for his stomach to tighten. She stopped at the desk and held up a can for his view. "This looks like an ordinary hairspray can, right?"
"Of course," he said, though he had no idea what hairspray was.
"Well, it's not." With quick, precise motions, she untwisted the end and out popped a key. Her lush, pink lips lifted in a half smile, revealing the hint of straight white teeth.
His stomach didn't tighten this time, but reached up and devoured his throat.
How could one woman possess so much beauty?
With a graceful flick of her fingers, she hooked tendrils of hair behind her ears. She bent down and inserted the key underneath the desk. "My father was too sick to hold a job-that's why we moved from South Carolina to New York, so he could be close to Sloan-Kettering. Anyway, to pass the time and make money in the process, he carved and sold furniture. He built this for me a long time ago."
"I am sorry for your loss."
"Thank you," she said softly. "My dad built one for Alex, too, though his secret compartments are different. I think. We used to get into each other's stuff, which made both of us furious. Alex would read my diary, and I would steal pictures of his friends. So my dad made us each a desk where we could successfully hide our treasures."
The melancholy in her voice remained long after her words faded away. Darius very nearly dropped to his knees and vowed never to hurt her or her brother if only she would smile again. He stayed the impulse, knowing such a promise was impossible to keep.
Inside the secret drawer lay a thin, plain book bound by black leather. As Grace traced her fingertips over the surface, she caught her bottom lip with her teeth, slowly releasing it. She handed the book to him, retaining contact until the last possible second.
He flipped through the pages, frowning at the unfamiliar script. While his spell of understanding gave him complete comprehension of Grace's spoken language, it did not provide him with an understanding of the written. He'd never been concerned with others' opinions of him, but he did not want Grace to perceive any weakness in him. He wanted her to see him as strong and capable, all that a woman could desire.
He handed the journal back to her, saying, "Read it to me. Please."
Thankfully she made no comment, merely accepted the book and stood. "Let's get comfortable in the living room."
Once there, Grace situated herself on the scarlet couch, and he eased beside her. Perhaps he should have chosen another chair, but he craved physical contact with her and saw no reason to deny himself. Not while he hungered for her scent in his nostrils. Hungered for her touch. Even this, as little as it was.
His thigh brushed hers, and she sucked in a breath and tried to scoot away. Did she think to deny him this minor connection? After everything she'd already allowed? Only hours before, the woman had kissed him as if she couldn't live without the taste of him in her mouth. She had let him suck on her nipples, had let him bury two fingers deep inside of her.
He spread his knees, straightened the wide width of his shoulders, both actions consuming all of her space.
"Do you have to sit so close?" she asked on a ragged breath.
"Yes," was his only reply.
"Want to tell me why?"
"No."
"I don't like it," she insisted, scooting from him for the second time.
He moved closer. "Want to tell me why?" he parroted.
"No," she parroted right back, her expression stubborn.
"Then you may begin reading."
She examined her cuticles and yawned prettily. Only the needy gleam in her eyes gave her away.
"What are you doing?" he asked. "I do not have time to waste. Begin."
"I'm waiting."
He arched his brows. "For?"
"For you to move."
Scowling, Darius stayed where he was for a long while. This was a minor battle of wills, yet he did not want to lose. Did he have any other choice, though? Teeth grinding together, he inched slightly away from her. As he moved, the sweet scent of her lessened and the heat she emanated faded. He wanted to howl.
"That's better." She settled into the cushions and opened the book. Her fingers smoothed over the first page, and a look of sadness filled her expression. She began reading, despair reflected in her tone, as well.
He leaned his head back, locked his hands under his neck and closed his eyes. Her melodious voice floated over him, as gentle as a caress. There was something so peaceful about listening to her, as if her voice, despite its melancholy, was a reflection of joy, laughter and love. As if all three were his for the taking, if only he would reach out and grasp them. But he knew they would never be his. Warriors like him were destined to roam life alone. It was the only way to preserve his sanity.
A cold-blooded killer needed absolute withdrawal.
Much too quickly, Grace closed the journal with a gentle flip of her wrist and glanced over at him. He worried two fingers over his jaw. "Tell me again where your brother stole the medallion from his boss."
"At a charity gala hosted by Argonauts."
Again Argonauts, Darius thought, his determination to speak with them increasing. Alex had stolen it, had almost had it stolen from him, and had been followed.
He frowned as a thought occurred to him. "If you knew your brother was in danger," he said to Grace, his voice growing harsher with each word, "why did you even go to Brazil?"
"Did you not hear the last passage? Alex found the hint of danger exciting. And so-" she jutted out her chin in defiance "-did I."
He was furious as he leaned toward her, putting them nose to nose. Their breath mingled, swirling together and becoming a single essence. Exactly what he wanted for their bodies. That quickly he lost his fury in a haze of lust. His dragon's blood roared to life, clamoring for her. Aching for her. Frenzied for her.