Broken Heart 09 Only Lycans Need Apply (16 page)

“Does it really?” I asked.

“Not yet. But it should appear at your South Sudan dig site soon.”

The bedside clock informed me that it was just after eight p.m. That meant it was just after three a.m. in Egypt. “Shouldn’t it have arrived already?”

“There is time yet.”

“But you don’t know if it will appear.”

“We’re good guessers.” He stretched out his hand. “C’mon, Moira. It’s a brand-new night.”

•   •   •

Vampires awaited us in the kitchen of the Three Sisters Bed-and-Breakfast.

A pretty brunette and a younger version of an undead Pierce Brosnan sat in the kitchen, eating scones and drinking coffee.

Dove sat across from them, her own plate full of pastry. Apparently, she had no qualms about eating the food around here. Actually, I didn’t either because despite the witch’s propensity to drug food like she was entertaining Hansel and Gretel, she was a damned fine cook.

“If you’re wondering,” Dove said as she swallowed a mouthful of pastry, “a fairy wish allows all the undead people to eat anything they want within the borders of Broken Heart.”

Obviously, I needed the CliffsNotes version of Theodora’s books. I hadn’t considered the idea that vampires usually only drank blood, but here they were, eating pastries and drinking coffee like normal people. Or so I assumed. I didn’t have a good gauge for what passed as “normal.”

“Also, Theodora Monroe is the mother of Libby, who is a dragon. And she’s married to a vampire. Well, now he’s a half dragon, and alive-ish. But still . . . Theodora Monroe’s books are officially
not
bullshit.” She sent me a triumphant look.

I narrowed my eyes. “How many of those scones have you eaten?”

“One,” said Liar McLiarPants.

“I’m Eva,” said the brunette, offering me a kind smile. “This is my husband, Lorcan.”

Lorcan offered me a formal nod. “Good evening.”

“We’ll see,” I said.

He grinned.

“I’m Moira. I see you’ve met Dove. And her appetite.”

“Bad waker-uppers suffer breakfast penalties,” said Dove, primly blotting her lips with a napkin.

“Let’s get this party started, then,” said Patsy as she toddled inside with her husband close behind. They sat down and started loading up their plates.

Not wanting to be left out of breakfast, and slightly worried that Dove would eat all the damned scones before I could have one, I sat down and filled my own plate.

Eva waited until I’d finished coffee and two scones before asking, “Are you ready to get your memories back?”

“I have no idea,” I said.

She smiled. Then she rose and rounded the table. I turned my chair to face her. She put her fingertips to my temples and looked deeply into my gaze.

I saw her eyes go red, and then it was if a door had been opened. All the memories acquired in the desert tumbled into my consciousness.

I couldn’t decide if I was amazed or pissed off at Eva’s ability to lock my experiences away. Getting a download like that was somewhat disconcerting at first, but eventually the rush of images and attached emotions settled.

Eva turned to Dove and did the same un-glamour move.

I watched my friend’s eyes widen, and when it was over, she heaved a shocked breath. Then Dove looked at me. “We had a busy night.”

“No kidding.”

“Well, I can check that off my to-do list,” said Patsy.

I rubbed my temples. “Why on earth would Karn risk public exposure by confronting me at the college gala? The asshole nearly poked my eye out with a knife! He couldn’t have known I’d been glamoured. What if I had screamed or punched him when he introduced himself?”

“He understands the protocols of the Consortium,” said Patsy. “We don’t keep our policies secret. Unfortunately, the man’s not a dipshit. The odds were in his favor that your memories were wiped.”

This was scone-worthy news. I picked up another one from the serving plate and slathered it with clotted cream and blueberry jam. Eating my frustrations away was no doubt something a therapist would add to my “Reasons Moira Is Fucked-Up” list, but whatever. It was better than babbling incoherently while stabbing people with my butter knife.

Drake pushed another scone onto my plate, and I turned, giving him a questioning glance.

“I like watching you eat,” he said. He had that look in his eyes—the one that made me tingle and think naked thoughts.

I was unnerved and fascinated by the sexual tension that arced between us. I didn’t have a lot of practice with flirting. I was more of a “let’s just do this and move on with our respective lives” kind of girl. This approach made rejection less painful.

With my gaze on Drake’s, I lifted the scone and took a bite. Drake’s eyes darkened with what could only be called raw lust. He reached over and flicked a crumb away from the corner of my mouth. That small gesture sent electricity racing down into the tingly parts.

“Wow,” said Dove. “And I here I used a napkin.”

Everyone laughed.

Then a tiny werewolf howl echoed into the room and cut everyone’s giggles short. We all turned to Drake, who offered a sheepish (that’s right, I said it) grin as he removed his cell phone from his jeans pocket. “Darrius gave me a replacement for the one stolen from me,” he said, “and he has a stupid sense of humor.” He touched the screen and put the phone to his ear
. “Ja?”

He listened for a moment, and then his eyes widened. “We’re coming now.” He clicked the phone off and turned to Patsy. “It seems we do not have to go to the pyramid after all.”

“What?” she exclaimed. “Why?”

He glanced at me. “Because the pyramid has come to us.”

•   •   •

“Holy shit.”

The expletive pierced Dove’s lips, and echoed my own shocked thoughts. We stood at the base of a pyramid. Not a crumbling pile of stone that showcased workmanship and culture of ages past, but an actual, beautiful, complete pyramid. White limestone covered it like thinly spread cream cheese frosting, and the tip was covered in gold. That night in the desert I hadn’t had an opportunity to really study it, but here, in this field with the Oklahoma night sky stretched above it like a velvet blanket . . . it was beyond amazing.

“This is incredible,” I said. “I’ve seen renderings of what they were supposed to look like, of course.”

“Computer generated graphics are a poor substitute,” said Dove.

Patsy and her husband stood next to each other, and then to my surprise, although with not as much OMG, a dude sparkled into existence on the other side of Patsy. He was a good-looking, casually dressed gentleman with silvery-gray eyes, longish black hair, and a drop-dead smile. He reached out a hand toward me. “I’m Ruadan,” he said. “You’re a real blessin’, you are, Dr. Jameson.”

I blinked. A hazy childhood memory formed, the one so recently unlocked. A man with eyes like shiny nickels, sitting on the bed, placing a hand on my forehead, and whispering,
“Déan dearmad.”

“Do I know you?” I asked. “I do, don’t I?”

“I was a friend of your grandfather’s,” he said. “He wanted to protect you.”

“There’s a lot of that going around these days,” I said.

Something flashed in his eyes, almost like sorrow, and that made my heart turn over in my chest. “You look like Patrick and Lorcan,” I said. “Older brother?”

“Father,” he clarified. Then he said, “And who’s this lovely girl?”

“Dove,” she said, offering her hand. “Just Dove.”

“A beautiful name for a beautiful woman,” he said. He kissed the top of her hand.

Dove blushed.

I had never seen Dove blush. Not ever. Not . . . well, ever. I was so stunned by the redness tinting her cheeks, I couldn’t think of a single sarcastic thing to say about it. Even so, she looked at me and said, “Shut up.”

“You shut up,” I said, because I am obviously mature and articulate.

We all turned toward the pyramid and gazed upward once more.

“So, we go in, survive the traps, and . . . what?” asked Dove.

“Wake up two Ancient vampires who haven’t had human blood in three thousand years,” I said.

“Oh, is that all?” asked Dove. She shared a look with me, and I noted that she looked particularly young in just jeans, a T-shirt, and ballet flats, especially without the kohl eyes, red lipstick, and goth clothing that usually hid her fresh-faced looks. It was all camouflage armor, small ways she’d learned to protect herself from the world. She rejected the world first, so it wouldn’t reject her. I wasn’t so much into rejecting the world with my clothing choices. I mostly just flipped it off or, when needed, punched out anyone who annoyed me. I wore khakis, a T-shirt, and hiking boots—clothing provided by Drake. New clothes, in my size, that had been presented right before I took a shower. I also had a flashlight, a Swiss Army knife, and two bottles of water tucked into the various pockets. I didn’t have my usual excavation tools because (1) I hadn’t had the opportunity to bring them, and (2) I wasn’t actually excavating anything.

“Well, then,” said Patsy. “Let’s get to it.” She pointed at a small gold circle. The hieroglyph’s basic interpretation was simple enough: “Enter here.”

“You know what to do, Moira. You open it. We’ll follow you inside.”

Gabriel cleared his throat.

Patsy rolled her eyes. “Everyone else will go inside. I’m too busy being pregnant.”

I studied her expression, and decided she didn’t harbor the same knowledge that had been imparted to me via dreamland. I hadn’t mentioned the dream, not to anyone, especially not to Dove. She would’ve tied me to the bed and fended off anyone who tried to cart me into the pyramid with only her bad attitude and that blade she kept tucked in her boots. It was her bad attitude that was the more potent of the weapons.

In any case, I remembered the dream in detail, and knew, somehow, that it was real. At least, real in the sense of truth. And I’d made a promise. I remembered what the voice in my head said when I stuck my hand into the keyhole the first time.
Love will lead you. Be worthy
. I had no idea what that meant. Even so, I would enter the pyramid and be the first meal of Amahté and Shamhat. It wasn’t like I had a choice. I had opened the pyramid, and now I had to follow through with the whole sacrifice thing.

Yay, me.

I could only hope that Aufanie and Tark hadn’t lied about the ambrosia, or today I would be entering my last pyramid ever. “I will go first,” said Drake. He reached out his hand, but I stepped in front of him.

“The hell you will,” I said, looking at him over my shoulder. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Neither do you,” he said tightly.

“Oh, stop,” said Patsy, exasperated. “That’s the way it works, Drake. It’s her blood that opens the damned thing.”

He looked supremely irritated, but gave a short, quick nod.

I stuck my hand inside the hole. Something sharp raked my wrist.

We heard a rumble, and then a doorway appeared. It pushed back, inward, and then slid to the side. A blend of female and male voices invited, “Enter, chosen.”

“Step aside, Moira,” said Drake.

“She’s the one to go first,” said Ruadan. “She’s been chosen, Drake. You can’t change that.”

Ruadan looked at me. “Your destiny is what you make it, love. Remember that.”

“Fate can be a real bitch,” I said.

He laughed. “That is the truth, sure enough.”

I had every intention of getting out of this pyramid alive. Well, alive-ish. After snacking on some ambrosia.

I stepped inside, and smelled the dust of the ages in the suffocating dark. Drake followed, so close I could feel the warmth of his body against my backside. I had to stay in front of him, make sure he didn’t go around and set off the blood-drinking traps. I didn’t know if he’d be ejected out of the pyramid, too . . . or just get plain ol’ dead from trying. Sheesh. He really was as stubborn as Aufanie had said.

Behind me, I heard Dove gasp, and then her vivid cursing streak made my ears bleed . . . at least until the door shut behind us.

Drake and I turned around.

“That’s not good,” I said.

The door was completely gone.

“It only let two of us inside,” he said. “Why?”

“Well, I’m the chosen,” I said with mock haughtiness. “So you’re probably screwed.”

He snorted a laugh. “We’ll see. Let’s get through as quickly as possible, shall we?” Drake said, placing his hand on my shoulder. “Let me pass, o chosen one.”

Ha. As if. I slipped out of his grasp and move onward. The passage was so narrow that he wouldn’t be able to scoot around me unless turned and pressed my back against the wall. I heard his hiss of impatience, and then a string of German words that had the feel and tone of “fucking fuckety fuck.”

Then I heard the
whoom
noise made when a lit match strikes gas-soaked wood. Torches on either side of the wall lit up, one by one, stretching several feet down the hallway until they illuminated an intricately carved stone door.

“Ach,” said Drake. “Let me by, Moira. We don’t know the dangers here. It is better if I go first.”

“No, it’s not,” I argued. “I have more experience with pyramids.”

“Not this pyramid,” he said. “Move aside.”

“No.” I sprinted toward the door, hoping that the first trap wasn’t some sort of spike-infested pit, or spears spinning out of the walls in
Indiana Jones
fashion.

Drake cursed some more in German, and followed. I reached the door seconds before he skidded behind me. I studied the hieroglyphs, and puzzled out the meanings. I don’t know how much time passed, but as I crouched down to view the final set of glyphs, I heard Drake sigh.

“What does it say,
Liebling
?”

“Archaeology takes patience,” I said. I straightened, and peered at the carved hole in the middle of the doorway. “Basically, it’s a bunch of threats about being in this pyramid. Death-on-swift-wings kinds of stuff,” I said.

Drake stared at me blankly.

“Not a fan of
The Mummy
movies?” I asked.

He cocked an eyebrow.

“Ancient Egyptians often wrote prayers and threats on their tombs to protect their resting places. This one is a little different.” I pointed at the hole. “And then there’s this.” I encircled my finger around the images that surrounded the hole. “These are instructions. It says: ‘To know the beginning is to know the answer.’”