A Siren for the Bear (Sarkozy Brothers Book 1) (13 page)

T
HIS
WAS
A
BAD
IDEA
.

Marek knew it, but somehow he seemed unable to stop himself. The drive from the mountains to LA had been long and tiring, his body weakened from the poison that was probably still filtering though his system.

He was pacing the floor of the hotel suite, debating whether to head to Carson's apartment or not.

His phone vibrated in his pocket and he retrieved it quickly, answering it the moment he recognized the number.

Aleksander Sarkozy.

"Sir," Marek answered the call, his tone respectful.

"Marek." The old man didn't speak much. He was a firm believer in not speaking unless the words he uttered were of some value. "I rang the house for you. Rex said you'd left for LA." The tone reflected his dissatisfaction.

It was a statement, but between the lines lay a question.

"I had to come."

"I hope you know what you're doing, boy."

Marek nodded. "I hope so too."

"The curse doesn't mean you're safe, Marek."

"I know, sir. I'll be careful."

"I'm not talking about your life, boy. I'm talking about her." The old man clicked his tongue. "What if you end up being the one to continue the line. There is still a chance, however slim, that your seed will take. What then?"

Marek cleared his throat. His grandfather had always managed to make him feel barely more than ten years old in his presence, and even a phone call made little difference in the effect.

"I know, Sir. I won't take it any further if it's not something she can handle."

"Boy. She ran from you. That's a sign that she can't handle it if ever I saw one."

"I don't think so, Sir. I think she just needs time to accept the truth."

"You think, or you hope?"

There was a gentleness to the old man's voice that made Marek sigh. "Hope, Sir."

Old man Sarkozy let out a pent up breath. "Very well, Marek. Do what you must. Just so long as you are aware that not everyone is accepting of your choices."

Marek stiffened. "Has Sara been complaining again?"

"Boy, you know that girl's been after you since she came into her change. It's not going to be easy for her to watch if this human girl accepts you."

"I don't know what to do with Sara. I can't make her stop hounding me. The woman needs to find herself another man."

"There aren't many that don't agree, Marek. Just be aware that she will spell difficulty for you. Whatever you do, handle her with care and respect. That's all we ask."

Marek's jaw tightened, but he managed to agree. "I will, Sir." Sara Sarkozy was a distant cousin on his grandfather's side. At one time, he'd believe her to be his first love. But that was before she became obsessed with him, obsessed with the idea that they would bring into the world a new generation of Sarkozys, free of the curse.

He'd distanced himself from her, but she always seemed to find a way close to him.

"Oh, and Marek," said the old man, just as Marek was about to hang up. "Delta Ops confirmed they have one of the Legion agents in sight."

"Will they keep me posted?" Marek asked, feeling a thrill of anticipation.
 

"I have given the instruction. You'll be kept in the loop, but they will bring him to us."

"But--"

"No buts, Marek. You're too emotional about them right now."

"I can handle it."

"No you can't. Your ego won't allow it. So stand down, boy."

Marek didn't fight him. He knew the old man was right. And the silence on the other end of the line told him he was waiting for Marek's agreement. Stubborn old man.

"I will, Sir."

"Oh, and one more thing."

"Yes, Sir?"

"Lukas was looking for you at the house too. They have the go-ahead for the dive. He'll let you know the dates soon."

"That's a relief."

"Are they sure it's there?" Aleksander asked, and Marek heard the same note in his grandfather's voice that he knew existed in his own when he spoke of the relic.

"As sure as the researchers can be without diving down there themselves." Marek understood his grandfather's hesitation. Believing that the cure for the curse lay within the belly of a sunken ship gave them hope. And hope on that scale was a dangerous thing.

People killed for that kind of hope.

S
ERENDIPITY
WAS
FULL
TO
OVERFLOWING
.

Adam was beaming at her from the bar like a proud father, his black eyes gleaming as Carson took her place behind the microphone.

And, for the first time in her performing career, she felt like throwing up. Was this some kind of second level nerves? The kind where she'd need to hurl before every performance? She'd heard of artists doing the same thing, and she'd always been glad she didn't suffer the same affliction.

Apparently, she'd been a little too quick with her gratitude.

The applause died down, the music rose, and she took her cue. She was about to sing the first line when she stopped, her throat closing as she saw Marek, seated in the front row, his eyes dark as he stared at her, his gaze hypnotic.

She cleared her throat and gave an apologetic smile, mumbling something about frogs and throats that drew laughter and another round of applause from her overly kind audience.

She averted her gaze, although the beating of her heart managed to affect her concentration. She sang, fully aware of his presence, knowing he was not ten feet from her, watching her every move, listening as intently as he'd always done, in every practice session with the band.

He'd never hidden his pleasure at hearing her sing.

What had he called her?

Siren.

The first song over, Carson launched into the second, the brooding lyrics complaining of broken hearts and ruined lives, cutting too close to her emotions. By the end of the song, her eyes had grown wet and the tears in her voice had brought responding tears to the eyes of her audience.

She received a standing ovation, and bowed while taking in the number of women dabbing their eyes.

Just great.
 

She was about to bawl her eyes out because her heart was breaking, and people thought it was just an amazing performance.

Taking a deep breath, she sang the next song, her eyes drifting to settle on his face, remembering his mouth and the things he'd done to her with it.

And she couldn't take it. Averting her eyes, she completed the set without looking back at him again, knowing that the sight of him hurt more than anything she'd ever felt.

More so because he'd been truthful with her and she'd laughed in his face. She'd accused him of being insane, of needing psychological help. And he'd continued to try to convince her he was telling her the truth.

So what was he doing here, watching her?

Maybe he'd come to sever the contract. That was likely it.

She swallowed the lump in her throat as her set finally ended and she left the stage. She had to pass his table and stiffened as she moved inches from his shoulder.

His hand was on her arm, and she felt a little bit of déjà vu. The first time he'd touched her, no, just brushed against her, she'd felt the ripple of awareness coursing through her. She'd never reacted to a man's touch that way before.

Not until Marek had touched her.

Now, her body thrummed with awareness, the skin on her arm hot to his touch. Her body was betraying her, responding so all-encompassingly to his touch. And he'd know it.

He was a shifter after all, wasn't he?

His shifter ability would sense it. Heartbeats and scents, probably.

She blinked, finding it odd that his species was something she managed to think about in passing without going crazy.

She looked down at his hand, then up at his face, trying to keep calm, trying to keep her emotions off her face.

"Nyx?" he said softly.

Carson shrugged his hand off. "Can I help you, Marek?" she asked, her voice cool and even.

"I need to speak to you."

She cleared her throat. "We may as well. I have something to say."

"You do?" he asked, fire flaring in his gaze.

"Not here," she said, walking off. She felt him get to his feet and follow her back toward the toilets.

Just last week, Adam had converted a small broom closet into a performer's dressing room. Probably the only place they could talk in private.

She opened the door and waved him inside.

The place was only large enough to accommodate a small sofa. A shallow shelf ran along the left wall, and currently contained Carson's makeup and handbag.

Marek closed the door behind her, and she turned to face him, realizing too late that this was possibly the worst place ever to bring him.

She folded her arms and said, "So, what was it you wanted to talk about."

"You first," he said.

Not convenient being a gentleman at a time like this.

She sighed, then sucked in a breath as he shifted his position, his chest brushing against hers. The backs of her legs smashed up against the sofa, and she had nowhere to go. So she stood her ground.

"I want to apologize for accusing you of lying."

H
E
RAISED
AN
EYEBROW
.

"S
O
you believed me?"

He couldn't believe she was actually admitting this. And now, when he'd come to force her to listen to him, to try to convince her that he was okay, that bear shifters weren't that hard to live with...

She shook her head. "Not at first."

"What happened to convince you?" he forced himself to ask.

"Ursus Major," was all she said.

She was glaring at him, her folded arms pushing her breasts into such prominence that he had to force himself not to get an eyeful.