Rurik knelt before the window into the tomb, removing the stones one by one, brushing away the dust of a thousand years. Concentrating on his work, and all the while, along the edges of his mind, he was aware of Tasya Hunnicutt. He heard the clicking of her camera as she recorded his movements. Listened to her voice as she recorded notes on his progress. Felt the heat of her body as she knelt beside him.
He didn’t want her here.
Every bit of research he had done on Clovus the Beheader told him the warrior had been nothing better than a medieval serial killer: a cannibal, a savage, a bully who scorched a path of destruction across Europe.
Traps? Yes, for all that Clovus was most certainly burning in hell, and had no use for his plunder there, he would have made sure no one else would ever have a moment of pleasure from his plunder. Working here was nothing more or less than waiting for the next blow to fall, and if Rurik weren’t careful, Tasya would be the next one lying dead on a slab in the church.
At the same time, he rejoiced to know they labored together again. He would keep her alive, and somehow make her pay for making a fool of him. Make her pay with her lips and her body and her mind, over and over, until she had no strength to walk away again.
As he eased each stone away, opening a larger and larger door into the home of the dead, he kept his attention away from the treasure chest. The placement was suspect. Why put a treasure where it would be so easily seen by any casual grave-robber? A thin sheet of hammered gold covered the box, and the brass lock held a key, waiting to turn. The treasure chest was a lure.
"Wait, Rurik." Tasya turned and handed Ashley, their assistant, the camera. "Step back carefully and take pictures of the project as a whole. I want a wide frame of the walls, the path, and the hole we’re opening here."
"Right." Ashley sounded glad to move back. She must truly frightened.
As he placed his fingers on the next stone, Tasya laid her hand over his, and spoke softly in his ear. "Don’t pull that one loose."
He turned to look in her eyes.
The bright blue had turned gray and grave; she knew something he did not. "It doesn’t feel right. Step away, and pull it with a stick or a grappling hook."
It doesn’t feel right? What the hell did that mean?
"Why should I listen to you?" Why should he listen to a warning issued by a woman concerned with nothing but herself and her career?
Tasya's hand clenched on his. "It’s not like I give a damn whether you live or die. But I am not anxious to see another man dripping blood while he hangs on the tip of a sword."
"Charming."
"Right. So what have you got to lose?" Her sarcastic tone belied the intensity in her face. She was sure. So sure.
And while he wanted to dismiss her, he had seen his mother, the most prosaic woman in the world, clutched in the jaws of a powerful prophecy. On that day less than two weeks ago, his life had broken in half. Again.
A man learned from his experiences. Rurik would not dismiss Tasya's warning, but he would use the opportunity to discover more about her, and about her past, the past about which she never spoke.
Moving with care, he removed his hand from the stone. He turned his palm within hers, and grasped her fingers. "Is there something you want to tell me?"
Tasya shrugged and looked away. "I have a feeling," she said in a low tone. She pulled her hand free, and he let her. She avoided his gaze, not wanting to give him an opening to question her about her intuition, as if he would while Ashley stood behind them, camera in hand, recording every movement and word.
"Ashley, get the grappling hook," he called. As Ashley scurried up the path toward their storage shed, he smiled at Tasya. "Alone at last."
Her gaze flashed to his, then away. "Don’t."
He relished in the upper hand. She had abandoned him, run without a word, without a note, without a call. He had awakened from a long night of making love to discover a cold bed and not a sign of the woman he’d so carefully, craftily courted and claimed.
Now here they were, face to face, alone, and she desperately wanted to avoid an intimate discussion. What sweet revenge. This was a resumption of the chase, but this time, he didn’t bother with subterfuge or subtlety. This time, she knew he was in hot pursuit, and she knew he was pissed.
Naturally, being Tasya, she tried to take command of the situation. "This is not the time or the place to discuss personal matters. We have a job to do."
"I agree. We’ll discuss our personal matters later." He allowed his gaze to wander from the crown of her head to the toes of her scruffy running shoes, touching all the important points in between. He smiled, the smile of a sultan approving of a new purchase. "This time, it will be difficult for you to run away."
She flushed a painful red. "I did not run."
"Like a scared rabbit." He spaced the words, taking care to emphasize each syllable. "Look at you. You can’t even lie about it successfully." He laughed softly, with an edge of menace. "I intend to take possession of what is mine."
She leaned toward him, her chin jutting. "I should have let the trap take you out."
"Would you save the world and let me go to hell?" he mocked.
"From where you’re sitting, I promise, it’s short trip."
"But Tasya, I’m taking you with me … everywhere I go."
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In a little more than a week, TOUCH OF DARKNESS, book 2 in my Darkness Chosen series, hits the shelves, and just for you, here is a brand new excerpt!
