Now that her secret is out, Atia blood-bonded to Marcus
Vorenus the Sciari Lord must face the consequences, her
daughter won't speak to her and Marcus will no longer
pretend he doesn't love her. Once he steps down as Lord,
he intends to live with his wife. They give Cleo the space
needed to come to terms with what happened because there
are other important matters to contend with such as keeping
the Tyet of Isis from falling into the hands of the
Praetorians.
Cleo's sense of anger and betrayal will not
allow her to be near her parents, which is why she goes
solo to question a violent criminal. Cleo has been
investigating the disappearance of her friend and found she
was taken to the convent where they breed females for the
Praetorians. During the interrogation things go wrong and
Cleo winds up being saved by Dante who's also investigating
the same convent. Things would not be so bad if Dante
wasn't her father's successor, yet Cleo doesn't have much of
a choice, she has to work with him. Very much in touch
with her sexuality Cleo figures having sex with Dante would
be a side benefit to their partnership. Too bad Dante's
hot and cold approach is wearing thin but discovering his
secret would change the parameters of their relationship in
a big way.
WOW! A kick-ass self-confident heroine and an
alpha male with a side order of vulnerability practically
guarantee a mind blowing reading experience. The third
book in the Novel of the Order series packs quite a punch.
There are two romances and a suspense that's sure to keep
readers on the edge of their seats earning INFERNO'S KISS
keeper status. My favorite of the series.
From the author of the award-winning Assassin's Heart comes Book 3 in the Order of the Sicari seriesThe laws of desire... Dante Condellaire, heir apparent to the Sicari Lords, knows that being a true leader means sacrifice. For Dante it was relinquishing all erotic pleasures. But he never expected his willpower to be tested so fiercely by Cleopatra Vorenus, expert assassin of the Order, and daughter of the man he is positioned to succeed. The rules of battle... Cleo prefers working alone--until she meets Dante who shares her goal: to destroy a Praetorian stronghold where Sicari women are imprisoned for devious purposes. Bringing the mission off without a hitch pumps up more than their resolve. It sets off a sexual spark too combustible to ignore. Are all made to be broken. As their attraction flares like an inferno, the stakes are raised. So are the risks. Before the mission is over, Dante and Cleo will be plunged into a dangerous conspiracy where a traitor threatens the very foundation of the Order, as well as the fiery bond between Dante and Cleo--warriors and lovers now torn between duty and desire.
Excerpt
Chapter 1 “I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me.” Atia heard the angry confusion in her daughter’s voice and trembled at the wave of grief and fear welling up inside her. Never in her wildest dreams had she ever envisioned being backed into a corner so bleak and inescapable twice in a matter of hours. First Gabriel and now Cleo. She didn’t think she could bear losing both of her children in the same day. Images from the Pantheon flashed through Atia’s head. The vivid memory of Gabriel attacking his father and Marcus being forced to kill their son still filled her with horror. The terrible moment had played over and over in her head ever since their return to the safe house. Then there was Phaedra and her sacrifice. First she’d saved Marcus from certain death, only to save Lysander and lapse into a coma. She’d never seen Lysander so distraught, and with Ares’s help, he’d taken Phaedra to the Order’s private hospital in Genova. Outside the study window of the Rome installation, the city was starting to stir. But she wasn’t ready to face the new day. Nor was she ready to face the inevitable now. “Tell me why, mother,” Cleo’s voice was soft, yet inflexible. “Why didn’t you tell me I had a brother?” “Because it was too painful.” Atia knew the question was her chance to tell Cleo the truth, but her courage was wafer thin. “The Praetorians…” She looked at Marcus as her voice trailed away to nothing. His features were rigid with his own grief and guilt. A guilt she wanted to tell him not to feel. He looked at her for a long moment before he turned to Cleo. “The Collegium kidnapped Gabriel before you were born. He was two when they took him and trained him to hate the Sicari,” Marcus said with a quiet grief that tugged at her heart. Atia could feel the anguish and sorrow vibrating off him, but didn’t know how to comfort him. Perhaps she never would. Yet despite all he’d been through tonight, there was a strength flowing from him that bolstered her for what was to come. It reminded her why he was the reigning Sicari Lord. She wanted to reach out to him, but bowed her head instead with grief. The emotion battered every inch of as she struggled to retain her composure. The loss of Gabriel and all that might have been if she’d kept him safe consumed her with sorrow. She shuddered and an instant later, Cleo’s arms were wrapped around her. “I’m sorry, mother.” The simplicity of her daughter’s words and the warmth of her hug reminded Atia just how big her daughter’s heart was. Despite her tough exterior, Cleo had a soft side she didn’t display often. Now the heartfelt sympathy of her daughter’s embrace pushed tears against her eyelids, but Atia refused to cry. She needed all her wits about her for what was to come. Cleo released her and looked in Marcus’s direction. “I’m sorry for your loss, Eminence, and the manner in which you lost your son.” Cleo’s gentle sympathy made Marcus flinch. Atia drew in a sharp breath at the pinched look on his face. He’d been forced to kill their son, and it was her fault. She’d not done what she should have done all those years ago. As a result, her penance might very well be the death of her relationship with Cleo. And it was more than possible Cleo wouldn’t forgive her for hiding the truth. “Cleo…I need.” Deus, she didn’t know how to do this. Telling Cleo that her father was alive was the hardest thing Atia had ever done. “There’s something else I have to tell you.” “What?” Cleo turned toward her mother and the puzzlement on her beautiful face quickly became an expression of horror swept. “No. Please don’t tell me my father was a Praetorian.” “No, carissima, no.” Atia reached out and caught Cleo’s hands in hers. “Your father isn’t a Praetorian.” “Isn’t?” Cleo frowned. Atia tried to swallow the lump of fear closing her throat. “Your father isn’t dead.” “What?” Cleo’s voice was so soft, Atia almost wondered if her daughter had said anything at all. “I know I should have told you, but—” “You knew?” A dark silence filled the room as Atia studied her daughter’s stunned expression. With a slow movement, Cleo pulled her hands out of her mother’s, and Atia drew in a sharp breath. Fear speared its way through her as the shock on Cleo’s face slowly gave way to a cold, marble-like expression. Not even the sunlight streaming through the French doors eased the chill seeping its way through the study of the safe house. She’d expected outrage. Fury even, but not this icy silence. Cleo was never at loss for words. Never. Even as a child, her daughter had openly expressed her enthusiasm or dislike for anything and everything. Not even when Cleo had been hurting so badly over Michael’s betrayal had she been like this. Silent and completely emotionless. Atia swallowed the bile rising in her throat and frantically tried to form a plan of action. Her daughter’s silence was the one thing she’d not expected. Desperately, she tried to think of something that would force Cleo to break her silence. Deus, how she wished she’d done things differently. No. She’d done the right thing. Cleo’s safety had been the only thing she’d cared about. She would give her life for her daughter. The mantle clock over the fireplace announced the morning hour with six melancholy chimes. The sound penetrated the room like a soft death knell. Beside her, Marcus assessed Cleo’s mood with a deliberate patience that was frighteningly familiar even after all the years they’d been apart. The tendrils of his thoughts mixed with hers for an instant before she recoiled from the gentle, mental probe. He pulled his thoughts from hers with an unspoken apology. Fingers interlocked in a tight grip, Atia fought not to reach out and pull her daughter into her arms. She was certain doing so would only make things worse. “Cleo, I wanted to tell—” “Don’t.” The command was an angry hiss of fire on ice, and Atia flinched beneath Cleo’s harsh stare. “You lied to me.” “No,” Atia exclaimed. “Exactly what do you call it, mother?” The sneer in Cleo’s voice was a blade striking deep into Atia. “I never said your father was dead. I simply allowed you to believe it. It was to protect you.” It was a pitiful defense, and she knew it. “Protect me from what, exactly?” Cleo said coldly. “I have no abilities. Not even the fucking Praetorians would know what to do with me.” “They could…you could have passed on your father’s abilities to a child.” “Well those bastardi fixed that problem three years ago, didn’t they?” Atia didn’t look at Marcus, but her body was so attuned to his that she could tell the instant he went rigid at their daughter’s words. She knew she should have explained things to him before now, but she’d been consumed with the fear of what would happen when she told Cleo the truth. She’d felt too fragile to deal with anything else. Now it made her look even more deceitful. Her gaze shifted back to Cleo’s face, and she caught the brief flash of despair on her daughter’s face. Atia’s stomach lurch. Her beautiful daughter would never know the joy of motherhood. That had been snatched from Cleo’s hands the minute a Praetorian blade had killed Cleo’ unborn child and left her barren. But Cleo wouldn’t know the pain either. The pain that came from trying to protect your child. And Atia had done everything she could to protect Cleo. Since those few short hours in Marcus’s arms at La Terrazzo del Ninfeo more than thirty years ago, everything she’d done for Cleo had been done out of love. She pushed through her grief to find the strength to reach out to her daughter once more. Her son was lost to her forever, and now she had to fight to keep her daughter. Cleo hated it when anyone lied to her, and Atia had done that, albeit the sin of omission. She’d allowed her daughter to believe her father was dead. And it was a lie Cleo might never forgive her for. Marcus’s tall, imposing presence at her side only emphasized how much Cleo had to forgive. “I did it to protect—” “Who is he?” It wasn’t a question, it was a command, and Atia’s voice died in her throat as she saw the contempt she saw on Cleo’s face. With a shake of her head, she fought to find her voice, and the seconds expanded into a long silence before Marcus cleared his throat. “I am.” The quiet authority in Marcus’s statement made Atia sag slightly as Cleo’s anger and contempt gave way to shock again. Surely she could make Cleo understand now that as the daughter of a Sicari Lord her safety had been Atia’s only thought. Hands trembling, she reached out to Cleo, but her arms fell to her side as Cleo took a step back from her. The silent move of rejection was like a poison that spread its way through her limbs leaving pain in its wake. “Your father and I—” “Don’t say that.” As if suddenly remembering her place, Cleo turned and bowed her head stiffly at the Sicari Lord. “Forgive me, il mio signore, I mean no disrespect.” “We realize this is a shock, but I understand your mother’s motives, carissima.” Marcus’s voice was soft and level, but Atia heard the note of regret in his words. He had nothing to be remorseful for. This was all her doing. Atia briefly closed her eyes against the painful thought. If only things had been different. She looked at Cleo again, and the stubborn gleam in her daughter’s violet eyes only heightened her fear. Atia didn’t want to lose her. She’d already lost one child tonight. To lose another would be unbearable. Somehow she had to make Cleo understand her reasons for hiding the truth. “I didn’t tell anyone who your father was. Not even Ignacio. And I didn’t tell your…” She saw Cleo’s expression harden. “I didn’t even tell Marcus.” “So you chose to let me grow up without a father.” “I chose to keep you safe. And I’d do it again,” Atia snapped, her fear and frustration getting the better of her. “Safe from what? Every goddamn member of the Order is always at risk, what makes me so special?” “Because you are the daughter of a Sicari Lord.” Atia stepped forward to reach out to her daughter again. She tried to touch her cheek, but Cleo smacked it away. “I still had the right to know,” Cleo said in a tight voice. “And I had a duty to protect you,” Atia replied with determination. “Duty or not, Madame Consul. You lied to me. You lied to me about my brother, you lied to me about who my father is, and you allowed me to believe he was dead.” The formality of Cleo’s address made Atia sway slightly. An unseen hand settled on her shoulder to steady her. She waved her hand at Marcus to dismiss the touch. His offer of comfort wouldn’t ease her fears. “I was terrified of something happening to you, carissima. The thought of the Praetorians taking you the way they took Gabriel…it was unbearable.” Atia’s quiet statement sent a flash of understanding across Cleo’s face before her expression hardened again. It was so reminiscent of her father’s. “I can understand why you’d keep me in the dark when I was a child, but when I was older?” Cleo said fiercely. “I wanted to tell you, but with each passing day it became harder to do so. I knew you’d see my silence as having lied to you, and I was afraid.” “Afraid?” Cleo snorted with angry disbelief. “You’re fearless, mother. You take on Council members like a lioness does her prey. You chose not to tell me the truth because it was easier not to.” “It was not easier. From the moment you were born, I’ve lived in fear. If the Praetorians had known who your father was, they would have stopped at nothing to take you like they did Gabriel.” “So why now? Why not three years ago?” Cleo bit out. “You couldn’t tell me the truth then? The Praetorians don’t have any use for women they can’t breed.” “If I had told you then, would it have changed anything?” “Yes. No. I don’t know, but you should have told me.” Cleo’s voice echoed with confusion, and Atia ached to reach out to her daughter and fold her into her arms as she had when Cleo was younger. “Please, Cleo. I want us to—” She started to close the physical distance between them, but Cleo jumped back. “No.” Cleo snapped. “Not another word, mother. Now, unless there’s some other dark secret you’d like to reveal, may I leave?” Once again Atia leaned toward her daughter, but Marcus stepped forward to intercept her. The physical touch of his fingers digging into her arm silently ordered her not to continue. “We understand you need time to adjust to everything your mother has shared with you this morning.” Marcus’s voice was one of serene calm, but she couldn’t tell if it had any effect on Cleo. His voice softened even more. “I know how difficult this must be for you, Cleopatra. It wasn’t easy for me when your mother told me about you. But if you’ll give me the opportunity, I’d like to get to know you. All I ask is that you think about it.” Cleo acknowledged him with a sharp nod. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, and Atia thought she might say something, but Cleo simply wheeled about on one heel to stalk out of the study without a glance in Atia’s direction. The moment the door closed behind her daughter, Atia jerked away from Marcus and slowly circled the corner of the desk to sink down into the leather office chair. She’d lost her. Cleo would never forgive her for not telling her the truth. Head bowed, she closed her eyes and tried to think, but couldn’t. For the first time in a very long time she didn’t have a plan. Didn’t have any sense of what direction to turn. It made her feel lost and alone. “She’ll eventually see her way to forgive you.” At Marcus’s quiet statement, she lifted her head up to look at him. “No. She won’t,” she said bitterly. “You don’t know her like I do.” “You’re right, I don’t.” There was no accusation in his words. It was just a simple observation, but it filled her with guilt all the same. “She hates being lied too. It started when she was a child. Her best friend fell three stories when the two of them were playing on the rampart of the east wing at the White Cloud estate. I told Cleo her friend would live. The child died. She’s demanded the truth ever since. She can be very unforgiving.” “Then we’ll make her see you had no other choice.” “And do you believe I had no other choice?” She met his gaze steadily, remembering how furious he’d been when he’d learned of Cleo’s existence. “You did what I would have done. You protected our daughter,” he said quietly, but there was a flash of emotion in his vivid blue eyes that worried her. “I can’t fault you for not telling her truth.” “But?” “You should have told me, Atia. I had a right to know that I had a daughter. I could have watched her grow up from a distance. You denied me that small joy.” “If you want me to say I’m sorry, I can’t.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t risk you taking her from me.” “And yet you risked her life in attempting to raise her alone thinking no one would discover your secret. I could have helped protect her.” “Her life was at risk no matter what course of action I took,” she bristled with resentment. “I did what I thought best for my daughter. I won’t apologize for that.” “Our daughter.” The fierce intensity of his words emphasized he was still angry that she’d hidden the truth from him. Like Cleo, he would have a hard time forgiving her. And the fact that she wanted his forgiveness frightened her. It showed how quickly he was becoming a part of her life again. “Our daughter.” She nodded with resignation. Eyes closed, her fingers rubbed at her temple. Another headache. They seemed to come so often anymore. A gentle, unseen touch stroked her forehead, and she sighed at the invisible caress. “Why are you so certain, Cleo won’t forgive you?” At the quiet question, she raised her head to meet his puzzled gaze. “Her concern for you last night at the Pantheon demonstrated how much she loves you.” “Cleo is like you. She has a stubborn streak. When she makes up her mind about something it’s difficult to convince her otherwise.” “Then perhaps she’s met her match in me.” Although his gaze was somber, there was just a hint of amusement curving his lips as he watched her. It stirred something deep inside her that helped ease some of the grief still assaulting her body. She closed her eyes at the memory of Gabriel’s death and how close Marcus had come to joining their son. A tear squeezed its way out from under her eyelid, and a harsh oath escaped Marcus. Her eyes flew open in surprise at the sound, and she saw Marcus move quickly to pull her up out of the desk chair. The moment his arms wrapped around her, she burst into tears. A shudder went through him, and she knew she was shedding tears for both of them. The grief she’d experienced the day the Praetorians had taken Gabriel from them had been different from the pain she was feeling now. Then she’d been filled with terror for Gabriel’s life and her own. She’d killed one Praetorian before the second one had dealt her what should have been a deathblow. Until Cleo was born, she’d wished thousands of times that the Praetorians had killed her that horrible day. It would be better than living with the fact that she’d failed Gabriel. Failed to do her duty. She’d not had the courage to take her son’s life that day. She’d allowed herself to hold onto the hope that she could defeat the bastardi that had surprised her and their bodyguards. But she hadn’t. And the Praetorians had laughed at her as they’d dragged a crying Gabriel from her arms. Like her, they’d been certain she was as good as dead. They’d taunted her with departing words about how Gabriel would become one of them. It was a memory that haunted her every day. The bastardi had deliberately left her to die knowing the last few minutes of her life would be spent agonizing over the fate of her child. She was the one to blame for Gabriel and the fact that she’d lived—if Marcus ever learned the truth, he’d never forgive her. She’d lied to him. She’d told him she’d been unconscious when they’d taken Gabriel. Even if she’d had the strength to do so, she could not have killed their son just to keep the Praetorians from taking him. Suddenly, she wished she were far away from Rome. She gently pulled out of his arms, grateful he’d not attempted to probe her thoughts. Her ability to keep her mental shield in place was sorely limited at this point. If he really wanted to know what she was thinking, he would have no difficulty breaking through her thoughts. The realization terrified her. To face his condemnation so soon after Gabriel’s death heightened the deep-seated fear that had never left her since the day of their son’s kidnapping. Afraid her expression might reveal more than she cared for him to see, Atia turned away from Marcus and brushed away the wetness on her cheeks. “What are you afraid of, mea kara?” His voice was a soft caress on her senses. His beloved. The endearment enveloped her with warmth. It made her feel treasured. Safe. And it emphasized her vulnerability where Marcus was concerned. She had always wanted to tell him the truth, just as she had wanted to tell him about Cleo. She simply hadn’t ever found the courage to do so. Her inability to explain her mistake only emphasized the fact that she’d never stopped loving him. She trembled as his hand caught her chin and he forced her to look at him. There was a frown of concern on his face as he studied her. She pulled away from his touch and shook her head. “I’m not afraid, Eminence.” She winced at the dark cloud of irritation that swept over his features. “With your permission, I’ll take the Tyet of Isis back to White Cloud. It’s not safe here in Italy.” “Agreed,” Marcus growled. “I need to speak with Dante before we leave.” “We?” She hadn’t meant to sound so sharp. “Yes. We,” he said in a firm voice. “I wish to examine the documents that are in the artifact.” The minute he mentioned the artifact, she stiffened. The thought of working closely with him in studying the antiquity was alarming. She swallowed the knot in her throat. “The Order has several researchers, including me, who are extremely knowledgeable about the Tyet of Isis.” “Perhaps, but I wish to examine the parchment as well. My memories of my past life as Tevy may prove useful.” “But—” “No arguments, Atia. I’ll not be put off in this matter.” His mouth thinned slightly with determination. “I intend to study the parchment with you. But that’s not the only thing I plan on doing. I also intend to claim what is rightfully mine.” “And I told you that I’m not your property.” A sharp hiss of air blew past her lips. “The blood bond is one of mutual agreement.” “Which you agreed to thirty-six years ago next month, if memory serves me correct.” His words made her jump with surprise. He remembered the day of their blood bond. His eyes narrowed. “Did you think I would forget? We belong to each other, Atia. And I’ll go to Tartarus and back to make you see that.” The intensity in his voice made her even more apprehensive. He was acting as if everything between them was settled. It wasn’t. And his arrogance in assuming so irritated her. Her gaze fell to the paperwork on her desk. Work. It had always been a sanctuary, it would be again. She sank down into her chair and brushed several papers aside to find a pen. “Forgive me, Eminence. I have work to catch up on.” Her dispassionate comment pulled a sharp hiss of air from Marcus. “You would try the patience of the Carpenter himself, Atia,” he said harshly. “You always found it easier to hide from your problems than face them. I see nothing’s changed.” “I’m not hiding from anything. As Prima Consul I have responsibilities I cannot avoid, and unlike you, I don’t have someone waiting in the wings to help me perform those duties.” She didn’t bother to look up at him as she spoke. A moment later, she felt him at her side as he came around the desk. The moment the palm of his hand cracked loudly on the desktop in front of her, she jumped. As he jerked her chair around with his other hand, she retreated deeper into the soft leather as he bent over her. “I’m willing to give you time, carissima, but nothing has changed since the other morning when we watched the sun rise over the city at La Terrazzo del Ninfeo. I said you were mine, and I meant it.” “Deus, but you are an arrogant son of a bitch,” she snapped as she violently pushed the chair and herself away from him to stand. “What makes you think you can walk back into my life and simply demand the right of blood bond? I’ve built a life without you, and as difficult as it might be to accept, I’ve been happy without you.” That wasn’t exactly true. She’d learned to adapt and find what happiness where she could. She didn’t dare tell him how many nights she’d lain awake through the years wishing he were lying beside her. Something she’d been doing nightly since their initial meeting in the Santa Maria sopra Minerva. But it changed nothing. What they’d had in the past had cost her dearly. And she was too tired—too old—too scared to start over. She tightened her jaw and glared up at him. His vivid blue eyes immediately narrowed as he studied her face. It was that assessing look that always managed to see more than what she wanted to show. But over the years she’d had lots of practice hiding her thoughts from others, even more so since becoming Prima Consul. With a vicious grunt of anger, he took a step toward her, and she immediately retreated. Something flashed in his eyes that made her want to reach out to him, but she forced herself to remain still. “You said not to long ago that the past is always with you. It’s with me as well. It would serve you well to remember that,” he said harshly. With one last hard look in her direction, he turned away and strode out of the study. Left behind, Atia watched as the door closed behind him. He intended to have his way, and she was suddenly of a mind to let him do exactly as he wanted. She closed her eyes at the thought. Marcus could be persuasive when he wanted to be. In the few short years they were together, she’d invariably given in to him when they argued. Even when he’d become leader of the Absconditus, he’d never forced her to do anything despite the fact that his command was virtually law. He’d simply seduced her with words. And his touch. The memory of the last time they’d made love caressed her thoughts. Cleo had been the result of that union. And now everything hung in the balance. Just as it had when Gabriel had been kidnapped. The heartache of that event had driven a wedge between her and Marcus. It was the only time Marcus had ever deserted her. She’d needed him in those days and weeks after Gabriel had been taken from them. But he’d shut her out. He’d carried a burden of guilt that wasn’t his to carry. Perhaps she would have been able to tell him the truth if he’d not left her. She shuddered as the memories rushed at her with the fury of a raging Praetorian. Legs weak, she sank back into her chair. Perhaps Cleo was right. Maybe she didn’t know how to tell the truth. But then the truth was never as easy to reveal as her daughter thought. Her fingers brushed across the papers on her desk. And she was anything but fearless. She was a coward. That was the real reason she didn’t want Marcus back in her life. She didn’t have the courage it would take to face him and the truth. Like Cleo, it was unlikely he would forgive her sin. She closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair trying desperately not to let the tears flow. She failed, and in the silence of her office, she sobbed for what might have been and for what could never be. Read additional chapters at Monica Burns Website.
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