Page 53 of Violet Legacy

Rieka wiped her eyes. A self-deprecating smile tugged at the edges of her lip as she turned her attention back to the room. “Sorry for crying on your really expensive shirt. I promise emotions aren’t contagious,” she sighed. “I think the adrenaline is wearing off. But seriously.” She held up her arm; the bracelet was a dull bronze. “Ignoring the killer monsters, how worried should I be?”

Dante blinked at the rapid change of topics. “I assume if it was lethal, it would have already killed you.”

Rieka stared at him, her eyes wide in surprise. “You need to work on how you deliver information.”

“How would you like to have me deliver the news?”

“Add something positive. Maybe a line about hope.”

This was not where he had expected the conversation to go. “You want me to lie to you?”

“Not lie. Soften the blow,” Rieka clarified. “Don’t you have a reputation for business deals?”

“My reputation is not based on how I deliver my decisions,” Dante said dryly. “May I see the bracelet?”

Rieka held out her arm without hesitation. She trusted him implicitly; he didn’t know if he should be honored or if she was naïve. But he was determined to keep her trust. He traced the underside of her arm, forcing himself to ignore the way she reacted to his touch. “Does it hurt?”

Rieka stared at him for a second before she shook her head. “No.”

Under the light, he could see the small insertions. They appeared surgical. The small thin bands disappeared into Rieka’s arm. They had no way of knowing how deep they extended without an ultrasound or x-ray. “You feel nothing?”

Rieka sighed. “Sometimes it pulses. It feels like a small electrical shock, but it doesn’t hurt.”

It was not a good sign. He would need to talk to Anhur or Aadya. “Anything else?”

“No.” Rieka’s heart raced. She was lying.

There was something else she wasn’t ready to share. He wouldn’t push it now. Not this soon after the attack.

She looked back at the door before her attention turned to the balcony. His room had been designed as a mirror image of Aldora’s, where Rieka had been staying. Rieka crossed her arms. Small goose bumps exploded over her skin, but she didn’t seem to notice. Dante pulled her closer. His thumb brushed her lips as her desire flashed across Rieka’s face. “You are safe here.”

She let out a breath. “I know.”

He wanted to keep holding her in his arms. See if he could ignite a bit of the passion he had tasted in the vault. But she had gone through enough. She deserved more.

“You should go to bed.” A small part of him died as he uttered the words.

He would not get any sleep that night, and it had nothing to do with trying to identify where the serpopards had come from or why the statue had been destroyed. It had everything to do with Rieka in his bed. He wasn’t an Atlantean who had ever denied himself what he wanted. And he wanted Rieka with an intensity that was just not physical. He wanted every part of her. Mind, body, and soul. That meant waiting. Something he had never done before.

“The journal belonged to my mother,” Rieka started. “It was her life’s work. She spent centuries searching for the tomb of Vandana, and everything she ever learned is within this book.”

“May I have a look at it?” he asked. His instinct was to demand to see the journal, but that wouldn’t work with Rieka. She guarded the journal as if it was the most sacred object she owned. Just like the pendant she wore.

Rieka hesitated. Conflicting emotions crossed her face. He could see the inner war she was having. “I’ve never shared it with anyone before. But I’ve spent years trying to decipher clues that would help me find where the tomb is located. Maybe you can see something I missed.”

Dante doubted it. Rieka was highly competent and very good at her job, but perhaps she was looking through the journal with an emotional attachment to the past. “What House did she belong to?”

Rieka gave him a sad smile as she handed it over to him. “I don’t know. I saw her every day, but I can barely remember what she looked like. Or what she smelled like. If I concentrate, I can hear her laugh. The light lilt of her accent—you could only hear it when she was concentrating or when she thought no one was around.”

Dante didn’t know what to say. Rieka spoke of a closeness with a parent he had never imagined possible. A relationship he never thought he would be envious of. He looked at the journal. It may be made of paper and leather, but it carried so many unknown emotions and associations for Rieka. It was precious to her, and he was determined to treat it the same way. He carefully turned the page. A small artist’s watermark, half-hidden, was stamped on every drawing. He had seen the signature before. “This is the same watermark as the one you identified on House Mestor’s forged statue.”

Rieka slowly nodded. “It is how I knew it was a forgery.” She tucked another stray curl behind her ear. “I don’t even know how old she was,” Rieka laughed. “She looked about thirty, but she had to be older. She once told me she remembered Egypt before humans built the pyramids. But that isn’t possible. Atlanteans don’t live that long.”

He blinked slowly. No, it wasn’t possible. “It may have been a fanciful story. Something to entertain you as a child.”

“Mom was a master storyteller. She had this amazing skill of weaving fantastical tales. It was hard to know what was real or invented. I spent more nights looking for monsters under my bed than a normal child.”

Dante imagined how inquisitive and full of energy a child like Rieka would have been. “And did you stop looking for the monsters?”

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