“It’s not like that.” The boy clings desperately to Leona’s hands as she tries to shake him off.

  “Yes, it’s not like that,” Nathaniel says, his eyes moving rapidly from left to right as he translates the waves into images that he watches like a fast movie. He can feel Leona’s attention settling on him.

  “Serena Gheorghe came to his place one night to demand that he stopped bothering you, Leona. She knew about his harassment.”

  “When? When did she come to see you?” she demands from the boy.

  “About a month ago.” Armando points at Nathaniel. “What is he doing, is he reading my memories?”

  “Sort of,” Leona says.

  “What the fuck....” The boy’s jaw slackens.

  “Keep still,” she says. “Let him do his thing. This way, I’ll trust you. No offense, but otherwise I’ll doubt everything you say.”

  “Serena Gheorghe knew about the kid’s harassing you long before you told her,” Nathaniel continues evenly. His eyes move faster and faster as waves of energy turn to images that run before his eyes. “He laughed in her face and told her he knew her reasons—she was in love with you.”

  A spike of emotion hits Nathaniel from Leona—the temptress is stricken.

  “She was in love with me?” she repeats.

  “Yes,” Armando says. “Principal Serena Gheorghe is a lesbian, Miss Ignat. And she has a mega crush on you.”

  “That’s why she was so damn angry with me when she thought you and I were having an affair.” Rubbing her palms on her knees, Leona looks around, bewildered. “While I thought she was your secret lover.”

  “When in truth,” Nathaniel explains, “she was driven insane with jealousy, because she wanted you, Leona.”

  “But,” Leona says, struggling to gather herself, “what about Tudose’s letter? In it, he threatens Armando with breaking it about him and the teacher. And that he should watch his pup-pup.”

  “That’s because Serena Gheorghe’s plan backfired,” Armando clarifies. “Namely, I blackmailed her in order to keep her sexual preferences a secret. Rumors would have been enough to fuck her up. Tudose saw us, got the wrong impression.”

  “Why would he jump to such conclusions?” Leona says.

  Armando lowers his head, interlacing his fingers nervously. He bites his lip a few times before he goes on, his voice low with shame. “Because of the pup-pup.”

  “The pup-pup?”

  “That’s how he referred to my little secret.”

  His little secret hits Nathaniel. It’s quite something, he must admit. “Oh...” he reacts.

  “What? What is it?” Leona’s eyes dart from one man to the other. Armando sinks his head lower.

  “May I?” Nathaniel asks. Armando nods, and Nathaniel senses his relief that he doesn’t have to voice it himself.

  “To make the long story short,” Nathaniel says, “he sleeps with older women for money.” He pauses as the boy’s next thought comes to him. “He’s a handsome young man, they say to him. But his teenage acne means he has to sell himself cheap.”

  “My God,” Leona breathes, her eyes stuck to Armando. She feels for and with him, Nathaniel can tell. They’re bonding right now in a way that spears Nathaniel through the heart—is Armando a kindred spirit to Leona now? Basically, the are both abused children.

  “It’s why he works out,” Nathaniel translates the kid’s next thought. “A better built body raises his value on the market.”

  “And how did Tudose know about this secret of yours?” Leona asks Armando, struggling with her shock.

  “He fixed me up with some older hens,” the kid says, finally lifting his head to look at her. “Life in that school is as dirty and ruthless as life in prison, Miss Ignat. Everybody does dirty business with everybody, with a few exceptions. Like you. I’m really sorry for all the dumb shit I said to you, Miss Ignat, I really am.” He gives her a once-over. “But know that, with you, I would have really enjoyed that stuff.”

  Nathaniel’s brain is about to blow up. He grabs the boy’s shoulder and squeezes so hard that it causes Armando to twist, grimace, and hiss.

  “Don’t talk to her like that. Fuck it, don’t even think about her like that.”

  “Nathaniel, relax,” Leona pleads, reaching to him with her hand. She places it softly on his wrist, causing him to loosen his grip. “It’s been blow after blow for me as well, it’s possible that my abilities are acting crazy. I haven’t exactly been focusing to rein them in tonight, I have to say.”

  Nathaniel looks into the temptress’s eyes. Her abilities. Yes, of course. It’s what must be messing him up as well. Feelings he’s never known before are twirling in the pit of his stomach, something like elation and anxiety and inexplicable anger. All of them emotions he’d never experienced in his own flesh. All he’s had over the centuries have been resonances of other people’s feelings, echoes that bounced off the walls of his mind, but never settled into his own body.

  “But do you realize what this means, Nathaniel?” Leona continues, raising one of her bad-girl eyebrows. “It means that we have our killer.”

  “We do?” he whispers, still immersed in his thoughts.

  “You still doubt? Things are as clear as they’ll ever get! Serena Gheorghe killed Pavel Tudose. Think about it. He had become dangerous to her in so many ways. And he offended me to death in her office only hours before.” She looks away, fidgeting uncomfortably. “If she really was into me that way, it could have been the hell of a trigger. Plus, she heard my curse loud and clear, so she fulfills that criterion as well. We need to see her ASAP, Nathaniel.”

  “Maybe we should think this through, plan things first,” Nathaniel says softly.

  “Actually, I’m with Miss Ignat on this,” the boy dares. “I broke out of prison. If Serena Gheorghe is behind everything that’s happened, then she’s the one who set me up, too. As soon as she gets word that I disappeared she can have my brothers....” He can’t say the last word, looking pleadingly at Nathaniel. “Please, you said you could solve my problems. I could use some solving now.”

  If there’s one thing Viscount Nathaniel Sinclair could never resist, it’s the plea of a child in distress, which is what Armando Gabor truly is. Yes, he should be ashamed of himself for how he treated Armando—like a rival. In truth, he and Leona are both children compared to him, Nathaniel, who’s a centuries old genetically engineered superhuman, and who has no business dabbling around in the petty little emotional troubles of humans. His role is to watch over them, protect them and guide them into becoming the perfect versions of themselves that the human race is basically programmed to evolve into.

  Nathaniel rises to his feet, looming like an enormous shadow over the still seated kid, and hitching his phone from the pocket of his priestly black jacket. He presses the right keys and holds the device to his mouth.

  “Get me a car.”

  CHAPTER X

  Curses

  LEONA

  Leona expected Serena Gheorghe to live in impressive quarters. But this sure is a whole new level of “impressive.” Looking up at the tall, dimly lit windows, it seems to be a penthouse on the top floor of a gothic-looking building by the sea, not far from the deserted Old Casino.

  “Okay, I’ll try the intercom,” Armando says, and starts walking toward the entrance. They figured Serena Gheorghe wouldn’t be surprised by Armando’s popping up at her place, which would gain them easier access to her.

  But, to everyone’s surprise, there’s no need for the intercom. The entrance door is unlocked. Nathaniel holds it for both Leona and Armando, and then guides it softly back into the lock. The entrance hall is dark and chilly, and their breath seems to bounce off the lonely walls.

  Leona rubs the goose bumps on her arms, looking at Nathaniel. She can only distinguish his form in the shadow as he leads the way.

  “I think someone made it here before us,” he says, his voice low. He seems to be sniffing the air like an animal. “Stay close behind me.”

  He slinks with the ease of a panther in the darkness despite his enormous bulk. He reminds Leona of a ninja, dark and smooth and deadly. Armando stays close behind her, causing her to glance over her shoulder.

  “I have your back,” he whispers. He touches her waist as they move forward up the stairs, forcing Leona to increase pace and put distance between them. He catches up.

  “What, you don’t think you need extra protection? What if the stalker is here, hidden somewhere, and attacks us from behind?”

  “Nathaniel would pick up on his presence,” Leona throws over her shoulder.

  “I don’t trust this Hulk either. He went fucking crazy when he saw us together.” Armando leans in closer, his breath touching Leona’s skin. “I think he wants to fuck you as badly as I do.”

  “One more word, and I’ll kick you in the balls,” Leona hisses under her breath.

  “Yeah, Armando, one more word....” Nathaniel’s voice is deep but low. By now they’re almost on the top floor. They follow Nathaniel’s sleek moves, their steps barely making a sound.

  “Remind me, why didn’t we take the elevator?” Armando whispers to Nathaniel from behind Leona.

  Nathaniel hushes him, moving slower and stealthier, and apparently listening hard to noises that might come from Serena Gheorghe’s apartment. Leona decides to answer the boy, hoping he’ll shut up afterwards.

  “If someone did get to Serena before us, they might still be here. The elevator would give us away.”

  “If they’re Upgrades,” Nathaniel says, “your whispering will be enough to get their attention. Keep quiet.”

  Serena Gheorghe’s door is ajar. Nathaniel stops, narrowing his eyes.

  “What?” Leona’s eyes glue to him, trying to gage his thoughts from the expression on his face. “What is it?”

  “Fuck!”

  He springs towards the apartment, Leona and Armando following. They hurry down a hallway that opens into a large living room, where they find the high window open and the soft drapes waving in the breeze. The scent of rain and wet sand wafts almost pleasantly into the room, but one thing is eerie as heck—Serena Gheorghe is sitting in an armchair with the back to her new visitors, facing the open window, still as a corpse in a horror movie.

  Nathaniel treads carefully as he approaches her, minding his every step as if he’s walking on shards. Then Leona hears the crunch of glass under his boots and she realizes that the window isn’t open—it’s broken. She looks around as she begins to get the big picture. There are shards everywhere, way into the room and beyond Serena’s armchair. She spots a big stone on the armchair’s right side, Serena’s hand hanging above it. Something is dripping off her fingers....

  “Blood,” Leona whispers. The room tilts with her, her knees go numb, but Armando catches her before she hits the ground.

  “Get Leona out of here,” Nathaniel tells Armando in a low, even voice. He’s reached Serena and placed himself in front of her, his muscular shape blotting the moonlight, his bright eyes inspecting the woman. “The window exploded in her face. She’s slashed bloody.” He lifts his eyes, meeting Leona’s. “One thing’s for sure—she’s not our killer. She got killed herself.”

  A cry rips from Leona’s throat, It’s all my fault screaming inside her skull. Just earlier today she thought Serena should be “slashed bloody” for framing her. Could it be that she spoke her thoughts out loud without realizing it? Could it be that she only needed to think her curses, for only a second?

  The need to get away takes over Leona. She struggles free from Armando’s hold and runs down the stairs, all the way to the entrance and out into the wet night. The rain stopped, but chill and humidity go through her flesh, making her cold to the bone. She begins to shiver, becoming aware that she’ll soon need shelter.

  Too far now from where she started out, Leona picks the only point of reference close enough—the Old Casino, which seems to rise from the foamy waves like a deserted castle. For a moment there she thinks of Maleficent’s keep in ‘The Sleeping Beauty’ cartoon, only surrounded by a dangerous sea instead of rocks. Hardly a place you’d want to be, Leona realizes as she runs across the wide promenade towards the entrance, but anything is better than where she’s been before.

  There’s a big, rusty sign to the side, creaking in the wind—“Do not enter! Danger of collapse!” It’s what they’ve been saying about the Old Casino for years now, but they still allow tourists in. Leona never really took them seriously.

  She pushes the door, her goose bumps rising at the ear-jarring screech. Inside the main hall, chunks of iron-pierced concrete lie on the floor, paint and plaster hanging from the exfoliated walls. A few steps in she finds the grand stairs with two side-wings spiraling up toward the first floor on either side, neglected, bone-white like the skeleton of some long extinct beast. But the shell-shaped, enormous glass window facing the sea is breathtaking, reminding Leona of the Titanic’s wreck. The Old Casino is no less splendid; no less dramatic; and no less scary.

  Bracing herself, Leona starts up the stairs, debris crunching under her steps on the dirt-encrusted carpet. As she turns right towards a side-wing by the huge shell-shaped window, she stumbles over a stained mattress and a crumpled quilt, probably left there by a homeless someone. She looks around, hoping wildly to see a person, or at least a stray dog, a stray cat, anyone with a soul that isn’t related to the nightmare her life has turned into. But all she hears is the flapping of a bird in the hollowness above her. She catches the glimpse of its wings beyond the chandelier hanging precariously from the ceiling on the now visible first floor.

  It starts to pour outside, fat raindrops pattering hard against the window and against other places that send echoes down the grand stairs. She deserves to feel like this, cold and alone and guilty as hell, Leona thinks.

  She sits on the mattress, rocking back and forth, telling herself terrible things. Her hair is not dry and not wet, clinging to her forehead and her neck. With jittering fingers she reaches for the quilt, deciding she doesn’t hate herself that much. She needs a little bit of warmth, just a little bit.

  “Leona.”

  It’s Nathaniel’s voice. Deep, rumbling from his big chest like the voice of a god speaking from the depths of the Earth.

  “It wasn’t your fault. Sweet girl, it was not your fault.”

  Leona looks up to see Viscount Nathaniel Sinclair hunkering down in front of her, and taking her hands between his enormous palms. They send spikes of heat all through her icy skin. His silvery eyes sparkle at her from under black eyebrows, making a jaw-dropping contrast. This time she allows herself to stare at him directly, using the chance to take in every detail of his face. His eyebrows are shaped like arrows, pointing slightly downward towards his nose, giving his face a touch of sexy aggressiveness. It also makes him look always serious, and always off-limits.

  She should yank her hands away, punishing him for it. For being unattainable, for making her writhe in impossible desire on the inside. But no. That’s not what she really wants. She wants to punish him by making him crazy with lust for her. And you know what? Since the world is caving in, she might as well go down with it, and take what she wants along. She wants to be crushed against the boulders of this man’s humongous body.

  “Leona, what are you doing? That’s not why I’m here.” His voice is still kind, tolerant, but Leona knows that’s about to change. It’s going to change because she won’t stop when he asks her to. She’s gonna try until he either rejects her violently, or finally sticks his cock into her full-force, even if it rips her apart.

  Yes, this!

  Her reason no longer works. Appetite is now the only thing steering Leona Ignat.

  She bites her lower lip as her fingers claw into the black sleeves of Nathaniel’s priestly jacket, massaging his forearm muscles through it, moving upward. Her touch is greedy, and saliva fills her mouth.

  “I want you so badly,” she whispers, her eyes hooded. “You’re fucking mouthwatering, Nathaniel.”

  “Leona, stop,” he breathes. “This isn’t you.”

  Leona gives a short, bitter laugh. “Oh, this is me. This is the most authentic version of me. And this me wants to be your lover.” She throws her head back, grinning hopelessly, splaying her fingers over his biceps for all she can get. “Your slut.”

  She opens her legs, moving one hand to her fly and opening it with smoothly moving fingers before he places a stopping hand on hers. Her eyelashes have turned into a heavy hood over her eyes, desire pumping all through her veins.

  “Please, Nathaniel,” she whispers. “If you won’t have me, just do it with your hand.” By God, did she just say that? Did she actually say it?

  Nathaniel is looking down. All Leona sees now through the shield of her eyelashes is the black top of his head, his soft, shiny black curls.

  “I don’t do this, Leo.” He doesn’t sound angry with her, he’s just...detached? Uninterested? Of course, tens, no, hundreds of women must have tried to turn him on over the centuries. And yet he stayed celibate. She doesn’t stand the slightest chance, there’s not a trick in the seduction book that hasn’t been tried on him.

  Disappointed, she lets go. Her fingers relax off him, but then a strange, completely new sensation ripples all over her skin, all through her body. She feels her skin cells open like flower buds, releasing pheromones as they would pollen or perfume. A scent of ripe grapes envelops her, firing up the memory of a vineyard in her mind, where she used to climb into the cauldron with other children and squash the grapes barefoot years ago. Has the scent followed her ever since then? Or has she always carried it? These are the last coherent thoughts that she has.

  Soon Leona is all feeling and instinct, no thought. Her mind is blank as she lies back on the steps, the crusty carpet scraping her skin where it comes into contact with it. She stretches her arms above her head, offering herself to Nathaniel and imagining that everything she feels on her body, even her clothes, is his touch. Her legs still open, she moves lasciviously toward him, unwilling to even try and control herself. She’s been chained for years, now she’s desperate to break free. Her fly is open, the metallic buttons pushing softly into her mound as she moves, and the thick seam between her folds, making her go creamy down there.

 

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