Able to breathe now, Elena inhaled shakily, exhaled. Once. Twice. Three times. Her chest still hurt, but her heart was no longer in danger of bursting in a bloody mess. You heard her as a baby? The idea was staggering.
I was apparently born with a kind of immunity.
Elena made herself release the stone, two dark red lines on her palms the only sign of how hard she’d held on. I’ve got things under control. I know you need to focus on the meeting.
It hasn’t yet begun—we’re waiting for Michaela.
Of course. She likes to make an entrance.
Attention returning to the Luminata in the courtyard when Raphael slipped away a few minutes later, Elena realized her pulse was still erratic. “Aodhan, can I ask you a question?”
“Yes, Ellie?”
“What do you think would happen if Caliane decided to sing again?”
A long pause. “It would either be a sign of great joy on her part—or the return of her insanity.”
“Yes.” Elena nodded quietly, her skin suddenly chilled. “That’s what I think, too.” She hoped for the former but was terrified it might end up the latter. Because if it did, then Raphael would have to attempt to kill his mother a second time around. No child should ever have to go through that.
In front of her, the slow dance of the Luminata began to speed up . . . and up.
17
Elena sat up in interest as she realized the two Luminata had pulled out weapons—long sticks with which they danced an intricate martial dance. Replace those sticks with swords, she thought, and they’d be killers. No surprise, not given what she’d already picked up from the way the older Luminata moved through the hallways.
And notwithstanding the other creepy things about this place, the fact the Luminata were warriors didn’t immediately negate their stated goal of luminescence. There was contemplation in the physical, too. On a more pragmatic note, these guys had given up sex, money, other vices and sins. They had to get rid of all that testosterone in some way.
Why not in combat?
. . . it’s possible Gian was already Luminata when he was involved with the unknown woman. And not just a brother—he’s been the Luminata for centuries.
Raphael’s words reverberated in her mind at the thought of vows and vices.
Right then, Gian made a particularly smooth move that had her releasing a quiet whistle. His hood fell back at the end of the move, hair of dark brown exposed to the morning sunlight.
The two men drew apart a few seconds later and bowed to one another, sticks held out to the side. The still-hooded male left via the external corridor to the left, but Gian turned directly toward Elena, telling her he’d been aware of her presence the entire time. “Consort,” he said formally.
Going with instinct, Elena smiled. “Just Elena.” If she wanted to learn Gian’s secrets, she had to earn his trust.
A responding smile that turned the leader of the Luminata from handsome to devastatingly so. “When we are alone, Elena then.”
Something in that statement raised the tiny hairs on her arms, made her fingers itch for her long knife, but she kept a smile on her face and got to her feet. “What’s it called? The martial art you were practicing.”
“Contemplation.” His eyes, pale and striking, held her own. “That is its purpose, to put us in a mental space where we have absolute purity of thought.”
Forcing herself to shake off her negative reaction to being watched with such unnerving concentration, Elena grinned. “Yeah, and you don’t sometimes fight just for the hell of it.”
Gian’s laughter was deep, that of a man who was delighted with his partner in conversation. “Ah, but that is our secret.” He held out the stick, suddenly just a handsome angel who happened to enjoy her company. “Would you like to learn? It takes hundreds of years to master, but I can show you the basics.”
Closing her hand over the smooth wood, Elena found it unexpectedly heavy. “I’m always up for learning new weapons.”
Gian kept scrupulous distance between them as he fetched another stick and showed her what he called “the first path.” Given the weight of the stick, the movements were difficult, even at slow speed. But Elena wasn’t an ordinary consort or a mortal—she was hunter-born and Guild-trained. She picked up the motions with a quick fluidity that had Gian giving her a look that said he couldn’t decide whether to be pleased or discomfited.
Ah, but I am a traditional man. I prefer my beauties without blades.
Given his views on women, Elena half expected him to call a halt to the exercise, but he upped the ante and the speed. Her breath began to come harder, but she didn’t falter. She’d seen Gian move, knew he could push it to a speed where she simply couldn’t keep up—she wasn’t that immortal yet—but he brought things to a smooth stop well before she reached the edge of her endurance.
“You are skilled,” he said, his face flushed from the exercise. “Even a Neanderthal can accept the beauty of such warrior grace.”
As a compliment, it was a good one. Even better was the self-deprecating smile that accompanied it. Only it no longer rang true to Elena. It was the eyes. Gian’s eyes never changed, no matter what the rest of his face did. And those eyes watched her as if he was trying to peel her down to the bone.
Not so much male admiration as a scientist with a bug.
“Thank you,” she said, wondering if she was just seeing such negative things in him because she knew he’d lied, if only by omission. “But you’re a master at this.”