Mona Lisa Eclipsing

SEVENTEEN

I SAT THERE in shock, surrounded by my lover, and what—a demon?

What exactly did chosen mate entail? And that was just the first wave of confusion. More came as I remembered everything else Dante had said . . . everything he had been called.

Queen killer.

I had ignored Dante’s words during our capture, putting it down to the most outrageous and creative bit of lying I’d ever heard.

Everything I said is true.

I remembered his other wild, incredible claim: that I was this supposed Mona Lyra reincarnated. And that he had been the one to kill Mona Lyra.

Queen killer . . .

And that I—Mona Lyra—had taken his father’s life and cursed Dante with my dying breath.

It was a tale crazier than the most bizarre Greek tragedy. Unbelievable.

Everything I said is true . . .

“Do you wish me to leave?” Dante asked, snapping me out of the long silence I had fallen into.

Why did you leave me? I had asked him. And his answer: Because you desired that I go.

“If I say yes, what will you do?” I asked. “Jump out of the helicopter into the sea?”

“Yes, if you wish.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Dante.” My slight smile seemed to surprise him. “I’m not giving you up after all the trouble I just went to. The only way I’ll let you leave is if you want to. Do you?” I asked quietly.

“No.”

“Good, because I’m not sure I could give you up even then.” I wrapped my hand around his and felt his broad fingers close around my slimmer ones. “We’ll have to talk more about all those things you said, and fill in all those gaps in my memory, but going by my actions, I don’t think they’ll be insurmountable. In the end, I came after you, didn’t I?”

“How much memory did you lose?”

The question, and voice, drew my attention back to Halcyon. “A pretty large gap. The last thing I remember is working as a nurse in Manhattan. Nothing after that. Not even moving out of the city.”

“How do you feel?” Halcyon asked with calm, focused intensity.

“Fine—no injuries. Everything’s healed.” I was more aware of him now. Aware of a faint sensing of his presence, and an odd lack of sound and movement that I suddenly accounted for with a rapid skittering of pulse. He wasn’t breathing. Nor were there any heartbeats, none that my sensitive ears could discern. I sat there listening for a long time in vain. I was incredibly tired but on edge, finding, despite my lethargy, that I was simply unable to fall asleep next to someone who didn’t have a heartbeat.

We landed at the heliport in Cancun International Airport and found Chami awaiting us there.

“Milady, forgive me. I know you don’t remember us but . . .” The slender, curly-haired fellow who had displayed the alarming knack of turning invisible swept me up in an unexpected hug. “It’s good to have you back,” he said, releasing me. The man was much stronger than he appeared.

It was an odd thing being embraced so warmly by someone who was essentially a stranger to me. A stranger I had inadvertently caused harm to. “I’m sorry about before,” I said awkwardly. “About getting you injured.”

“No matter,” Chami said, brushing it easily aside. “You are here now. Safe.”

“Any sign of Roberto?” I asked. “The drug lord who took me?”

“Nope. More’s the pity,” Chami said, his eyes flashing with heat. “Would have liked to have gone a second round with that bastard.”

We made our way to the terminal for private jets and boarded a comfortable jet without difficulty. Without passports or any form of identification, in fact. Trusting in the men’s ingenuity and talent, I left all the details of finessing and compelling to them, too tired to do anything other.

With effort, once aboard the plane, I pushed back the drowsiness that clung to me like a sticky web. At Nolan’s simple question of “What happened?” I filled everyone in on what had happened up to our escape from Roberto. Dante took up the rest of the tale after that, while I lounged back in my seat and listened with half-closed eyes.

Even tired as I was, I was aware of everyone’s surprise on hearing about my nifty energy-blast trick. That seemed to be a new ability for me.

“What about you, Quentin?” Dante asked, turning to his brother. “Why are you up here instead of with your Queen?”

“Dad called me when things got screwed up, and I came down to save your ass.”

“Did you have your Queen’s permission to leave?” Dante asked.

“Quit playing the older brother. You’re only older than me by six lousy minutes. Of course I got Mona Maretta’s permission, but she’s not my Queen anymore.”

By Dante’s sudden stillness, I gathered that this was more significant than it sounded to me.

“You were only with her for several months,” Dante said. “What happened?”

Quentin shrugged. “Got homesick, I guess.”

“Did she abuse you?” The question was asked in a dangerously quiet voice.

“With you as my big brother?” Quentin said mockingly. “Don’t be stupid. She’s not that dumb. Nah, she was actually pretty nice to me. Just wasn’t what I thought it would be. Maybe I was too sheltered. Or maybe I just grew up with too much human value. She treated me well, but I didn’t like how she treated other people. Plus, I think she was starting to get tired of me in bed.”

“Already?” Dante said. “Maybe Dad should have concentrated on teaching you how to use your other sword more adeptly.”

Quentin mock-punched him in the arm with enough force to sway him back several inches.

“Hah! I’ll wager I’m more adept with that other sword than you are now. No disrespect intended you, milady,” Quentin said, casting a quick glance at me, “or any slur on what you may or may not have taught this lout yet. We’re just joking around.”

The sudden apology—and mention of intimate matters between me and Dante—caused a flush of embarrassment to sweep over my face. I waved my hand in a never-mind, just-goon manner. Thankfully Quentin did, pulling attention back to him.

“You know the saying—two’s company, three’s a crowd? Well, Mona Maretta didn’t feel that way. To her, the number three was just a starting point.”

The choked sound I made drew a few concerned glances my way. My cheeks had to be brilliant red at this point. I fluttered my hand again, encouraging all to ignore me.

“Anyway, I was starting to grow tired of just being her appetizer, and only a small part of it. And I think she was starting to tire of my declining to join in on the more adventuresome bed sport she favored.”

“She was kind to give you a choice,” Nolan noted impassively.

“I know,” Quentin said. “She could have forced me with a simple command. Probably would have, in fact, had I been anybody else’s brother.” He waggled his finely arched brows at Dante. “Anyhow, I didn’t like living like that, by her whim, watching her treat her people as if they had no rights other than what she allowed. Like I said, she wasn’t that bad, just uncaring at times. I’d already made up my mind not to renew my one-year contract with her. When Dad called, it just expedited things. Having it involve your reappearance”—Quentin flashed a sardonic smile at his twin—“was just extra icing. When I asked to be released from her service to come to my family’s aid, Mona Maretta dropped my contract faster than a hot potato.”

“Why would she fear Dante?” I asked. That had been what he’d been implying.

Quentin glanced at his brother’s austere face. “Let’s just say he established quite a reputation at the last service fair.”

“What did he do to earn such a reputation?” I persisted.

When no one answered my question, I turned to Dante. “Tell me,” I urged softly.

“A Queen caused you a grievous injury,” Dante said, his face carefully free of expression. “I killed her men in retaliation.”

So it was partly my fault, I thought. “Men, as in plural, more than one,” I noted.

Dante nodded.

“How many men?”

“Thirty in total.”

I absorbed the information in shocked silence. “So many?” I whispered. “Just yourself, against so many?”

Dante dipped his head. “It was a serious harm done against you. Done with malicious intent.”

Serious enough to kill thirty men for? “What did she do to me?”

“If you do not remember it, I would rather not speak of it now,” Dante said. He bowed his head. “Please, milady.”

“He is correct,” Prince Halcyon said quietly. “You can talk of such matters later. She is clearly exhausted. You should allow her to rest.”

Everyone deferred to the Demon Prince’s wishes and all conversation ceased. Dante moved across the aisle to sprawl his length across the bench seat and stare out the window, while Quentin and Nolan busied themselves reading magazines. Chami took out a cloth and began cleaning a wickedly sharp-looking blade; Aquila nodded at me gravely and looked away. Prince Halcyon simply closed his eyes, setting an example of the rest he wanted me to get.

Everyone was cooperating except for me. I tried sitting back and closing my eyes, but my tired brain continued to whirl with Quentin’s words . . . Could have forced me . . . with a simple command. Probably would have. . . had I been anybody else’s brother . . .

Were all Queens like that?

They said I was a Queen . . .

I succumbed to another yawn. My body wanted to sleep, but my mind wouldn’t shut down. Plus, I’d always been a nervous flyer.

After fifteen minutes of torturous pretend sleep, I opened my eyes and looked across the small cabin. My gaze touched on Quentin, his young and open face, the most normal, affable one among them. From there it went to Nolan, Chami, and Aquila, who had all come to my aid, who were supposed to be my friends.

My glance fell upon the dark, resting countenance of Prince Halcyon and skittered away, uneasy, nervous, despite the fact that I was, allegedly, the Demon Prince’s chosen mate . . . maybe especially because of that. How could I accept as fact this supposed betrothal—to a prince of Hell, no less—when I had no recollection of the feelings that had led up to it? The whole story seemed like empty fiction, make-believe.

As to the others, despite all their helpful aid and assistance, I didn’t know them. The only one I trusted here, the only one I knew, was a confessed killer—of me (or, rather, me in a former life!) and thirty other Monère men. Again, knowing something but not remembering it made it seem unreal. The only real thing was what I had experienced with Dante. Absurdly enough, he was the only one I felt safe and comfortable with.

I left my chair and made my way across the aisle. Dante swung his feet down, and I settled into the freed-up space beside him. Ignoring the closed expression of his face, I rested my head against his shoulder. “I’m totally wiped out, but I can’t sleep,” I whispered.

Dante’s stiff, surprised body slowly loosened and relaxed. His arm came around my shoulder, and his other hand stroked my hair in a tender, soothing caress. “That’s all right,” he murmured. “Just close your eyes and rest.”

Held by him, surrounded by his comforting scent, I did. I closed my eyes and felt the tension in me ebb and float away.

HALCYON WATCHED HIS mate fall asleep in Dante’s arms, so exhausted she didn’t stir as Dante lifted her up, turned sideways, lifting his legs back onto the seat, and settled her in a more comfortable sprawl across his chest.

The two were lovers again; their intermingled scent clinging to each other’s skin. He didn’t begrudge the comfort sought and given, then or now. Indeed, Halcyon was grateful for it even while still bleeding from the sword thrust of her innocent question. I’m sorry. You seem familiar. Do I know you?

Oh, my love . . .

It hurt even more than Mona Lisa’s wariness of him. To be forgotten—everything they had shared. That brief, warm touch of her love on his lonely existence.

Halcyon could likely, in all probability, restore her lost memory. A simple compulsion, a command to remember. But his demon presence had not stirred up the demon essence—his demon essence—in her. A curious thing.

There was no sign of demon bloodlust at all. Was it because she didn’t remember?

Memory—belief—were powerful things. Did she no longer react to him because of that lost memory? Or was she truly different now after Mona Louisa, the other dead Queen who resided in her, had been ripped out of Mona Lisa’s soul, and then remeshed together when the two of them, separate and apart, began dying. Had the experience physically altered Mona Lisa that much, so that the demon essence no longer held sway over her anymore? Was she no longer Damanôen, demon living? Or would that affliction return to her if she regained her memory? Or, another thought, if Halcyon used his demon powers on her, would that cause the weakened essence to grow strong within her once again?

Mona Louisa’s dead, entwined spirit had trapped Mona Lisa in NetherHell, the cursed realm of the guilty dead. Tearing Mona Louisa out of her had been the only way to save Mona Lisa. It had even been her choice. But it had been Halcyon who had had to inflict horrendous pain to do so. He still remembered Mona Lisa’s screams. Indeed, they replayed all too vividly in his nightmares. He had saved his lady and then lost her, because afterward she had feared him. Feared the remembered pain associated with him from that point on.

No. Even with the quietly bleeding wound of Mona Lisa not knowing him, not remembering what they had been to each other, Halcyon would not tamper with her damaged memory. She was wary of him, yes, but not fearful.

Dante, however, could restore her memory, his powers of compulsion almost as strong as that of a demon. Interesting that he, too, had chosen not to do so. But then, his advent into Mona Lisa’s life and his leaving had been filled with violence and tragedy, both then and now. He almost pitied the poor bastard even though he held treasure, the woman they both wanted, in his arms now. The tide could turn, not if but when she remembered. Halcyon had hurt her. But Dante had killed her.

And not just her but everyone she had once loved.