Jessa wondered what country he had come from that he would believe one man could have so much power. Or was his conviction just another part of the ruse? “Whether or not he could, by keeping this secret, in effect you are helping Genaro protect GenHance.”
He studied her expression. “What do you think the authorities in this country would do if they discovered the true nature of the Kyndred?”
He sounded like a conspiracy-theory nutcase. That would explain why he’d brought her to an underground bunker. “They’d detain … these people. Test them to see just how powerful they are. Then they’d lock them up or try to use them.” She glanced down and let her voice tremble a little. “All right, they’d probably do the same thing Genaro is doing—harvest cells so they could make their own superhumans.”
“We do not protect Genaro,” Matthias told her. “We protect ourselves.”
She hadn’t expected him to admit that much. “You’re telling me that you’re one of them. One of these Kyndred.”
He nodded.
“But you’re not American.” Real dread washed over her now. “Are there others in Europe?”
“That I know of? Only me.” He turned around. “Come. I am hungry, and Rowan does not like waiting.”
“From what I’ve seen, Rowan doesn’t like much,” she told him as she followed him out of the room. “Does she have some problem with your bringing me here?”
“Ask her.”
Jessa recalled the open hostility on the girl’s face. “I don’t think she wants to talk to me.”
Matthias stopped her. “Rowan is very young and unsure of her place in the world. You are not. This makes her angry. She envies you.”
She almost laughed. “I’m not that old, and according to you, I just lost everything I had in the world.”
“No, you did not.” He opened a door, from which came the scent of tomatoes, garlic, and herbs. “You have us.”
Jessa walked into a large, well-appointed kitchen fitted with the latest appliances and two long granite-topped counters. Four leather-topped stools sat around a center island, where three place settings of Asian china had been placed. A long basket lined with a checked cloth held tiny, steaming rolls gleaming with drizzles of oil and grated garlic, and a colorful salad of field greens, sliced radishes, and shredded carrots filled a wide, shallow wooden bowl.
Rowan barely spared her a glance as she brought a steaming platter of linguine covered with a rich-looking red sauce to the table. “It’s not getting any hotter,” she told Matthias.
Jessa took the seat nearest to the door while Matthias sat on her right and Rowan hovered at her left. The young girl didn’t actually sit down once over the next forty minutes, but stood and held her plate as she ate, as if she were afraid someone would take it from her.
Jessa waited until she saw both of them sample the food before she took a small portion for herself; she ate enough to quiet her rumbling stomach but no more. She considered asking questions during the meal, as Matthias had suggested, but when she noticed just how much Rowan ate she completely forgot about it. The skinny young girl demolished three heaping bowls of the salad and half the basket of rolls before digging into the linguine. Only after polishing off her fourth serving of the pasta did she sigh and bring her arm up as if to wipe her mouth on the sleeve.
She stopped herself, reached for a napkin, and then caught Jessa’s fascinated gaze. “What’s your problem?”
She offered a tentative smile. “You have quite an appetite.” Before Rowan could snap her head off, she added, “This sauce is extraordinary—it’s so fresh. You must have made it from scratch. Are you a chef?”
“Christ, no.” She grabbed up the empty dishes and stalked over to the sink to rinse them.
When Jessa tried to finish clearing the table, Matthias caught her eye and shook his head. “Rowan,” he said aloud. “The meal was excellent.”
“Yeah, okay.” The girl kept her back to them and scrubbed.
Jessa picked up the dishes and, before Matthias could stop her, brought them over to the sink. “If you’re not a chef, you should be. I happen to love Italian food, and your sauce is one of the best I’ve ever tasted. Thank you for making it.”
Rowan took the dishes from her, hesitated, and then muttered, “You’re welcome.” She turned to Matthias. “You want coffee in the library?”
“Please.”
Jessa reluctantly followed him out of the kitchen. “I should stay and help her clean up.”
“Rowan would not allow it. When she cooks, she is …” He paused as if unsure of the right words to use. “Master and servant.”
“The kitchen is her territory.” Jessa stopped outside the one door she recognized, the one that led to the library where she had awoken. “Does she have an eating disorder?”
“It is her body that is disordered,” he corrected. “Food does not stay with her. If she does not eat like three men, she grows very thin.”
As Jessa followed him into the library, she thought of Vulcan. He described having a similar problem with fluids; he was forced to drink an inordinate amount of water every day or he rapidly became dehydrated.
“So Rowan is also Kyndred.” Thank God she wasn’t one of the Takyn; Jessa couldn’t imagine dealing with someone as surly and resentful as Rowan.
“You should know that she is,” Matthias said as he went to crouch in front of the fire and add another split log. “We are sensitive to each other.”
“I never said I was like you.” She went to the love seat and shook out the crazy quilt before neatly folding it. “You’ve made a mistake, and so did Genaro.”
“You still turn from the truth and hide behind this pretense.” He came over to her, took the quilt from her hands, and tossed it aside. “Why?”
Chapter 10
Being so close to all of Matthias’s muscle and intensity made Jessa want to run. She should have felt afraid or intimidated, and the fact that she didn’t made her feet itch to get the hell out of there. Why was she responding to him like this, as if some unseen energy between them were growing and soon would explode? Common sense told her to first put some space between them; she couldn’t maintain her charade of reluctant cooperation, not when she could feel his body heat melding with hers and smell the dark, compelling scent of his skin wrapping around her.
She’d move in a minute; there was something she had to know. Something that might explain all of it. “What do you want from me?”
“It is too soon for trust,” he said, “and too late for doubt.”
She couldn’t tell if he was trying to reassure her or goad her. Maybe he meant to do both. “Tell me.”
“I want many things.” A faint groove appeared in his cheek. “For now, be with me. Talk with me. Come to know me. You will not regret it.”
The timber of his voice was set to mesmerize, but she wasn’t giving in to that. Not until she knew exactly what had motivated him to drag her out of her life and down into his. “Why did you save me, Matthias?”
“You are one of us. All we have is each other.” He lifted his hand and skimmed his thumb beneath her right eye, tracing the crescent of thin skin beneath her lower lashes. “Have you never imagined being with your own kind?”
Her own kind. She would have laughed out loud had it not been so pathetic. There was no one like her, not even among the Takyn. Their unique abilities made them beautiful and strong and noble, and set them above other people. They were always doing amazing things with them, even in secret. Delilah had the ability to control and use animals, especially dogs, and had tracked and rescued countless people lost in the wilderness. Vulcan used his power over copper to create elaborate sculptures, which he donated to hospitals and museums, while Paracelsus kept an online site that constantly corrected the mistakes historians made about the past. Even Aphrodite, whose ability allowed her to instantly enslave any man she chose, had never used it to hurt anyone. She went out of her way not to.
Compared to the others, Jessa felt cursed by the shadowlight. It forced her to see the ugliness that existed in every heart, and had condemned her to spend the rest of her days alone.
His hand moved away from her face, and the cessation of the delicate abrasion made her flinch. This time the contact hadn’t pushed her into the shadowlight—but why? She couldn’t touch anyone without seeing.
“Jessa?”
Hearing him say her name enfolded her in a tangle of useless emotions and impossible longing. The man was built like a fortress, and he made the woman in her want nothing more than to collapse against him and hold on and feel his arms closing around her. Even as her logic argued against it, her body responded to the promise of his. He had gotten her away from Lawson; he had not harmed her; he would protect her.
All she had to do was give up everything that had kept her safe for the last ten years, and God only knew what else.
“I’m not like you and your friend. I live alone. I handle things on my own. I don’t need anyone else in my life.” She was laying it on a little too heavy; she sounded as sullen and defensive as Rowan. He would respond better to helpless but courageous. “Whatever abilities I may or may not have, they’re my responsibility. Not yours.”
“What if you could use them to help others like us?”
“What others like—” She stopped as Rowan came in carrying a tray with a stainless-steel thermal carafe and two colorful glazed mugs. Piled on a plate between the mugs were tiny triangular cakes studded with dried cranberries and walnuts.
“These are scones. I made them this morning. The coffee is decaf.” She set down the tray and surveyed them both. “I’m going to bed. Just drop the tray in the kitchen when you’re through.” She left before either of them could reply.
“She bakes, too.” Jessa went over and picked up one of the miniature tea cakes. “What does she do on her days off? Rescue people from burning buildings?”