Tricia stared at him while his gaze tracked around the space. His eyes glowed an inhuman golden green in the muted light. That did more to convince her he had told the truth about the Sons of Ra than anything he’d said. “What will you do with the pyramid?”
“I’ll decide when I see it.”
Not the answer for which she’d hoped. She just wanted him to crate the thing up and take it away so she could be done with all this weirdness.
She led him into the assessment room where all new pieces of doubtful origin were checked before being logged on to the system. So far, the only official record of the pyramid was a delivery note.
Tricia snapped over ten switches on the lighting control panel. Spotlights beamed on to the transparent pyramid in the centre of the room.
Christian stilled beside her. For long seconds he didn’t even appear to breathe. The blue-tinged flames in the heart of the artifact danced and flickered, as real as any fire she’d ever seen. “Merde. That shade of blue belongs to Benedict Rothswell’s family.”
A jolt of shock rooted Tricia to the spot. She sucked in a breath. He couldn’t mean. . “Are you talking about the Duke of Buckland?”
Christian wheeled around to face her. “You know him?”
“He’s the Institute’s patron. He owns this building.” She flung out an arm to indicate the mansion. “He owns half of Bristol actually.”
“And you touched the ben ben?” Christian’s gaze narrowed. “We have a serious problem.”
“I have to concur, Lefevre,” a deep masculine voice said. “I take a very dim view of your entering my territory without invitation, or even permission.”
The smooth, deep baritone of The Duke of Buckland made Tricia turn, her heart thumping. “Your Grace. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were here.” She winced inwardly at the stupid comment. He’d obviously arrived unannounced in the middle of the night to avoid discovery.
The duke’s flaring blue gaze made her step back. She’d met him five times as part of the management team welcoming him to an event at the Institute, and they had never exchanged more than a polite greeting. Tall, with hair the colour of polished ebony, and a cut-glass British accent, he exuded breeding and authority from every inch of his powerful frame. He had the compelling attraction of a large predator. He strode purposefully towards her.
Christian was suddenly in front of her, blocking her view of the duke, yet she hadn’t even seen him move. “She’s mine, Rothswell.”
“You haven’t claimed her yet, Lefevre and she’s in my domain. Ergo, she is mine.”
“I discovered her twenty years ago.”
The duke laughed, a dark chuckle edged with primeval hostility that did not belong to a civilized man. “Negligent of you, Lefevre, not to trap the pretty butterfly before now. I have males in my family who would fight for her. Why should I let you walk away with something so rare?”
“As the price for my help.”
An electric tension hummed in the room as the two men faced each other down. Tricia stepped back and pressed herself to the wall, mute with disbelief at what she’d just heard. They sounded positively medieval. The duke glanced at the pyramid spotlighted in the centre of the room and annoyance flashed across his face.
“I’m guessing that your son rests inside that ben ben,” Christian said softly. “You’ll need help if you plan to force him to renew. Let me take the butterfly back to France and I’ll lend you my power.”
Tricia’s pulse beat so fast the blood vibrated in her temples. It wasn’t difficult to understand that she was the butterfly they were discussing like a couple of Neanderthals vying for the right to drag her away by her hair. She could just about understand why Christian might want her now, after all, he had desired her twenty years ago. But the concept that the Duke of Buckland knew men who would fight over her was absurd.
A coppery flush painted the duke’s cheekbones. When he glanced back at Christian, his eyes glowed blue. “You win this time, Lefevre. But I’m warning you, claim the woman or my family will take her from you and make her ours.”
Tricia did not intend to be claimed as a possession by any man, even a wealthy, handsome, titled man. She edged along the wall towards the door, her breath coming in shallow snatches as the two men approached the pyramid.
Christian stripped off his leather jacket and tossed it over a chair, while the duke removed his charcoal-grey suit jacket and red tie.
The duke ran his hands over the four surfaces of the transparent shape, searching for something. “Here,” he said at length, turning to Christian. “Careless as usual, my son’s left a fault that will give us a starting point.”
Tricia’s retreating feet halted and she stared, unable to drag her gaze away as both men stepped back and extended their arms. A four-foot long sceptre with a flat head and forked tail appeared in each man’s hand. They both pointed the tops of their sceptres at the pyramid. “Cover your ears and look away,” Christian called over his shoulder to her.
A moment later, a blast of gold-green fire from his sceptre hit the pyramid at the weak spot. The duke’s gold-blue fire streamed out, targeting the same spot.
Tricia slapped her hands over her ears at the agonized screaming sound like metal straining under impossible force. She squinted through the shadow of her dark lashes, unable to look away from the terrifying spectacle. The pyramid started to glow so brightly her eyes hurt and the heat warmed her from across the room. The floor beneath the melting crystal had to be getting hot. She sidled closer to the door and scrabbled blindly for the fire extinguisher she knew was there.
“Your son’s resisting the rebirthing,” Christian shouted.
“He’s bloody lazy and doesn’t want to wake up,” the duke replied.
Tricia released the fire extinguisher from its panel and peered at the instructions. Why had she never bothered to find out how the damn thing worked?
Slowly, the transparent pyramid melted. When the trapped blue flames burst forth into the air, Christian and the duke stopped their assault and pulled back.
The fire from inside the pyramid licked the ceiling. Tricia hefted the extinguisher, ready to douse the flames. Before she could press the trigger, the last traces of the pyramid disappeared and a man’s naked body materialized.
Tricia hugged the extinguisher like a lifeline to normality as the man’s face appeared. With his dark hair and blue eyes, the young man closely resembled his father.
Christian hurried back to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Buckland can clear up his mess. Let’s get out of here.”
“Cover yourself up,” the duke growled at his naked son. He cuffed the young man on the side of the head, sending him stumbling into a computer desk, then tossed a dustsheet at him.
Christian eased the extinguisher out of Tricia’s death grip and placed it on the ground.
“Where am I?” The young man asked, blinking in confusion.
“Up to your neck in trouble, boy. As usual.” The duke grabbed his son by the arm and propelled him past them and out of the door. The boy looked barely more than a teenager. His bemused blue gaze snagged hers when he passed and her sympathy welled.
The duke paused and seared her with his stare. “Not a word of this to anyone, Lefevre, or the woman’s mine.”
Tricia shrugged Christian’s arm off her shoulders the moment the duke and his son disappeared. As her fear receded, her anger flared. She hurried up the steps from the Institute’s basement and through the silent echoing Victorian hallway to the front door. Her legs felt weak, but she wasn’t going to admit as much.