Spartan Resistance (17 page)

Brenden drew in a deep breath, trying to dismiss the errant thoughts. He instead reached for memory images of the woman he was dating…and her name failed to leap to the forefront of his mind.

His inhalation had drawn Mariana’s scent to him and it wasn’t something simple and flowery like he might have expected. It was mature, subtle and complex.

Just like the wearer
.

Mariana looked up at him as she tugged the tie tight. “There.” Her smile was small and it faded as he stood looking at her silently.

He realized then what was happening to him. It was wanting. Pure, unalloyed lust. His body itched to have her. How long had his instinct been driving him toward this moment? Not that it mattered. She was not his and never would be.

But gods above! He had not felt this powerful a pull toward a woman for a very long time. Months.
Centuries
, his mind whispered.

Mariana’s hands fell away from him. “I know you don’t want to do this, Brenden—”

“Don’t be stupid. It’s my job,” he said flatly. It came out more sharply than he intended, but without the harsh control he was exerting, his need would have emerged, revealing itself.

Mariana looked at him, her face calm. “I’m not stupid. You keep making that mistake.”

He cleared his throat. “I do,” he agreed hoarsely. “Is Wolffe picking you up? Where are you meeting him?”

“He’s waiting out the front.”

He stepped back. Away from her. “I have to stay inside a six foot radius from you at all times, but don’t let that affect your behavior. Pretend I’m not there, if that helps. After a while you won’t notice me, anyway. But don’t go anywhere I can’t follow.”

“I have to pee occasionally.” She didn’t seem at all embarrassed.

“Let me know when you must and I’ll clear and secure the area, first.”

“You mean, you’re going to go into the washroom, kick out every woman there and then stand guard at the door while I’m in there?”

“That’s
exactly
what I get to do,” Brenden assured her. “You’re a target now. Get used to it.”

Mariana licked her lips, considering him. She was wearing lipstick that glimmered. And some dark stuff around her eyes. Were they really that large? That limpid? Why hadn’t he noticed before?

“Very well,” she said. “If that’s what it takes. But I won’t drink a drop all night, if it will spare a lot of women a small heart attack when they see a giant Spartan in their private washroom.”

Brenden scowled. “I said you should behave normally.”

She shook her head. “There’s nothing normal about this night. Not at all.” She picked up a small beaded bag from the table next to her. It was the same blue as the dress. Then she turned without a word and swept out the room. She didn’t look back, either.

Brenden let out his breath and hurried to catch up with her.
Honor!
He reminded himself. She was his job now. Concentrate!

Was her skin really as soft as it looked?

* * * * *

Borghese Gallery, Rome, Italy, 2265 A.D.

The occasion was the launch of a collection at the prestigious and ancient Borghese Gallery on Piazzale del Museo in down town Rome, so it was only a short ride in the limousine, for which Mariana was deeply grateful.

Brenden sat on the narrow front bench and Laszlo sat next to her. She had spent some time that afternoon, in between Cybelia’s fittings and fussing, filling Laszlo in on the threats and the media attention she would generate if she went with him to the gala.

But when he had seen her heading toward the limousine, Laszlo had been on the verge of kissing her on the cheek. Then he spotted Brenden standing just behind her and hesitated.

“Brenden is my bodyguard for the night,” Mariana said with a sigh. “He says to pretend he’s not there.”

“Is that so?” A gleam grew in Laszlo’s eyes. “Very well.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her up against him. “Hello, beautiful,” he murmured and kissed her.

She knew he was kissing her only to aggravate Brenden. She knew it, but it didn’t seem to matter. When his lips touched hers, Mariana’s breath escaped and her body leapt. So did her heart. She had never reacted so strongly to being kissed, before. Excitement raced through her, high and clear and pure. She didn’t want the kiss to end. She didn’t want to think at all. She just wanted to enjoy more of this. Much more….

Laszlo pulled his lips from hers. Not far. Just enough so that he could look at her. There was a light in his eyes. Heat.

Mariana realized her arms were around his neck, that his hand was up high on her back, holding her to him. His fingers were warm. He was stroking her back.

“I want another one of those later.” She was breathless.

“Me, too.” He touched her lips with his once more. Lightly. Then he helped her into the limousine and arranged the long train of her dress so it wouldn’t catch in the door.

Mariana was almost startled when Brenden climbed through the door and settled heavily on the front bench. She had for a moment forgotten he was there. She could feel her cheeks heating. He had watched Laszlo kissing her. If the rumors were true, then with his super-enhanced senses he could tell how powerfully Laszlo’s kiss had affected her.

She thought of her bravado of a few moments ago, when she had challenged him about bathroom visits. Now he had watched her melt in another man’s arms. She lifted her chin, staring at Brenden, daring him to say anything.

Instead, he turned on the bench and watched out the window, scanning for potential threats. He was doing his job.

Laszlo picked up her hand, drawing her attention back to him. “When you said you thought you had a dress that would do, you weren’t exaggerating, were you?”

“The agency has very good resources,” she said. Even his hand around hers was making her nerves fizz and glow. She studied him, trying to understand. Laszlo wasn’t unattractive, but he wasn’t at all the type of man she thought she was attracted to. He was tall and that was most definitely in his favor. But he wasn’t dark-haired, or extremely well-built. He had green eyes, which were light rather than dark.

He’s not a vampire
. The betraying thought whispered in her mind and she almost jerked with the impact. Really? She was so enamored with vampires she would turn away a perfectly good man because he was human? Was she that shallow?

But she
had
been reluctant to accept his first invitation and it had nothing to do with his reputation, which merely made her more curious to learn what had drawn so many women to him in the past. Plus, he had asked
her
out. It had been hard to refuse, even though she had wanted to. Why? Because he was not vampire?

Because he was not the vampire she wanted?
 

Feeling almost ill with self-disgust, Mariana battled not to look at the man, the vampire, on the seat opposite her. She was with Laszlo and she had voluntarily made the choice to be with him.

Her body seemed to agree with the decision one hundred percent.

Deliberately, she turned herself to face Laszlo, putting her shoulder toward Brenden. She reached up and touched his face. It was craggy, the jaw sharply defined.

Laszlo smiled at her touch. “Not fair,” he murmured. “I can’t do the same.”

“You can if you want,” she told him.

“If I do, I might not be able to stop, so I won’t. Not now.” He turned his head so that her palm pressed against his lips and kissed it. Even that slight touch made her tremble. She was suddenly impatient for the end of the evening.

Laszlo looked at Brenden. “How real is the threat to Mariana?”

Brenden didn’t look at him. He kept his gaze on the road and their surroundings. “Are you asking if I’m decorative?”

“I suppose.”

“No, I’m not.”

Mariana swallowed. She had questioned the wisdom of what she was doing dozens of times already. Each time, she had remembered the heated anger that had touched her when the reporters in Macapá had asked their ignorant questions. If that was the level of understanding among humans, then
someone
had to speak out. Why not her? She had already put herself on the path, after all. She did understand vampires, more than any human she knew except for the very few humans who were privileged to work with them.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Mariana told Brenden truthfully. “I wouldn’t change my mind about this if you weren’t, but I’m glad you are.”

He glanced at her, his dark eyes unreadable. Then he turned silently back to scanning the road.

The art gallery was in the Borghese Villa and had been there for at least two centuries. There were hundreds of people gathered on the broad steps leading up to the graceful arches at the front of the building. The arches themselves were lit with spotlights from a dozen different places and the lights were playing across the front.

The media were in full force, standing behind rope lines with their recording equipment in hand. Laszlo helped her out of the car, while Brenden stood solidly to one side, watching everything and everyone with a suspicious scowl. They began to climb the steps, but progress was slow because everyone was stopping and talking to each other.

“Do you want to…?” Laszlo asked, nodding slightly toward the media.

Don’t flirt with them. Don’t try to deliberately engage. They’ll be suspicious if you do.
Deonne had been firm about that point.
If they approach you, answer their questions but don’t try to lead them. They will have watched the same footage we did. They
will
ask, but they’ll be testing you first to see if you’re the real thing. If you try to manipulate them like a professional would, they won’t cooperate.
 

Most of what Deonne had said that afternoon resonated with Mariana as common sense. She understood exactly what Deonne was trying to explain. So she took Laszlo’s arm. “Let’s just go in.”

They climbed the steps slowly, one step at a time, with long waits between. Brenden stayed level with them, on Mariana’s other side. He didn’t speak. Instead, Laszlo gave her a potted history of the artists who were being featured in the show, their styles and their strengths and weaknesses. Mariana had already researched the artists and the gala itself, but she nodded in the right places.

“That’s her! Mariana! Mariana Jones!”

“Laszlo! Bring Mary over!” came other calls.

Laszlo looked down at her. “That is your cue, I believe.”

“You don’t mind, do you?” Mariana asked him.

He shook his head. “I’ve never understood why the nets were so fascinated with my life. But if it helps you now, then fine. Use me. Fame is all an illusion, anyway. Here, let’s skirt passed these kind folk and go over to the rope line.”

The journalists standing at the ropes were all strangers to Mariana, even though Deonne had made her study mug shots of dozens of them. None of them had been in Macapá, but Deonne had also anticipated that, too. “The journalists in Macapá were political hounds, good at going after blood when they scent it. The media at the gala are society reporters. Their viewers want gossip and glamour and they know it. If you can provide both, they’ll be thrilled and you’ll be their next darling.”

Laszlo took the lead. “How are you all this fine hot August night?” he called out as he approached, Mariana’s hand firmly in his. “Deedee, you look lovely. Is that Isabella Creighton you’re wearing?”

All the journalists were smiling. Laszlo was well liked and Mariana had just caught a glimpse of a possible reason why.

“How was Evergreen, Laszlo? You didn’t stay long.”

“Alas, no. I had to return earlier than I planned, but that turned out to be a good thing.” He lifted Mariana’s hand and kissed the back of it, making her shiver.

“Mariana! Can you tell us who designed your dress?”

Mariana smiled. “Certainly. Cybelia Silver.”

“Cybelia Silver is the vampire designer?” someone asked.

Mariana knew they knew the answer to that as well as she did. She kept her smile in place. “Yes, she is. Cybelia has been following fashion and design her entire life. Five hundred years provides an unbeatable apprenticeship. I’m delighted to wear her creations and so pleased that she can now openly declare her profession to the world at large.”

“Vampire
whore!
” The scream came from higher up the steps and heads snapped around to see who was screaming.

Mariana flinched and looked up, too. She caught a glimpse of a woman with very white skin, pale blue eyes that bulged furiously and ash blonde hair, before the woman screamed again. It was an inarticulate and primal sound. Then the woman leapt.

At Mariana.

She backed up instinctively, but that was all she saw of the woman before Brenden’s huge body moved in front of her.

There were screams from everyone around them. Mariana tried to see past Brendan, but his arm snapped back, shoving her backwards. “Stay behind me,” he growled.

“Mother-fucking vampire lover!” The scream came from
behind
her. “Take this!”

Mariana started to turn. That was as far as she got. Brenden’s arms came around her and she was lifted up off her feet with the ease and power of an elevator and spun in a circle. She was mashed up with her back against him, his arms iron bands around her. She could feel by the way his chest and shoulders curved that he was hunched over her.

Shielding her.

He let out a gasp. Had someone hit him? What had “take this” meant?

Something hot and wet was soaking into her dress, around her knees.

Pure panic gripped the crowd around her. She could feel people pushing past, some of them tripping over her dress. Something snagged and tore.

“Brenden, get her out of here!” Laszlo shouted in a voice that carried. It had a whiplash command to it.

Brenden picked her up, his arm under her knees, the other behind her back. “Keep still,” he told her. “I’m going to jump.”

“Laszlo!” she cried.

“Rob will get him. Shh….”

She felt him gather his strength. Then the upward launch, followed by absolute black.

Brenden lowered her back to her feet as the dim twilight of the arrival chamber closed around them. He held her steady as she staggered, tripping over the hem of her dress. The fabric seemed to be clinging to her with dogged determination.