Lara listened carefully to Zip's entire speech, not interrupting him once.
The hacker had settled into his own environment, a small prefabricated barrack he'd stuffed, of course, with computers and laptops, antennas and cables, screens and monitors, fans whistling and roaring trying to refresh the suffocating air saturated with machines – and he didn't seem to be bothered by it at all.
When he finished, Lara glanced sideways at Kurtis, who had leaned against the closed barrack door, his arms folded across his chest, and a harsh, absent mood. He'd not uttered a single word.
"You approve of this?" She asked, surprised. It was easy to address him when the subject to discuss was not about them... about their problem.
"No," Kurtis muttered. "But he's right. It's our best chance."
"So that's what it's all about." She turned to Zip. "Does Selma know?"
"Not yet, but I'll tell her right away." The geek replied. "We need your approval first, babe. Otherwise we're fucked."
Lara remained silent, studying him closely.
"What's up?" The Afro-American mumbled.
You being that serious creeps me out, Lara thought, but she said instead, "If Anna gets hurt..."
"...I know, I know. You'll kill me." Zip sighed and glanced sideways at Kurtis. "I care for the little monster. This is some serious shit, babe."
Yes, he definitely gave her the creeps.
Lara shifted and crossed her arms. "Not sure he's after Selma, or what his motivations are. He could have done this a long time ago. Selma's vulnerable, she's always been helpless, and all he has to do is sneak into the Archaeology Department and snoop around her papers to see what she's up to. None of this explains why a professional like Schäffer waited so long to get his hands on it." Zip opened his mouth, but Lara raised her hand to stop him and continued. "He's not after me either, for he refused to attack Anna. He could've kidnapped her and demanded a ransom for her - but he's not touched her. Not interested. Zip, that man's not after us."
"Whatever." Kurtis said suddenly. Lara turned to face him. The look on his face was grim. "Schäffer's a loose end. I hate loose ends."
"I wasn't done." Lara replied. He remained silent. She turned back to Zip. "Of course he's a loose end, and I don't like having him around. Neither near nor far, really. That man worked for our enemies, served that insane Giselle, put a pistol to Marie's head, handed Selma over to that butcherer, murdered Ivanoff, and tortured Kurtis for months." Behind her, Kurtis slightly raised his eyebrows at the mention of himself. "I want him dead. So tell me what to do."
Zip nodded, and began to expose his plan.
(...)
Anna loved fairy chimneys.
As magical as their name might seem, they were in fact nothing more than capricious rock formations in Cappadocia, born from a geological process of millions of years, the hardened ash from volcanic eruptions transformed into the basaltic tuft, and then slowly shaped by erosion. During the time of the Roman persecutions, the Christians had fled from Caesarea to the present Göreme, where they built their houses and churches excavating in the easily malleable tuft. An immense network of complex tunnels and galleries swept through them, forming authentic underground cities, such as Derinkuyu, Kaymakli... or Eden, the ancient city of the Nephili, also called Tenebra, which had until then been ignored - but not for long anymore.
The girl enjoyed running around the galleries, followed closely by a troubled Selma who was terrified of losing sight of her, though she knew and not only from Lara, that she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. The reason was to prevent her from storming into a private house or hotel, which, despite her care, she did several times.
However, the thing wasn't that serious and after a long walk, Anna sat outside in front of the rock formations, took out her sketchbook, and began to order her pencils next to her. Selma, relieved, took advantage of her sudden calm mood to go and buy some drinks.
Anna thought drawing rocks would be easy, but nope. The girl nibbled on the pencil, frustrated, as she looked at her sketches. These, instead of the fairy chimneys, looked like... "Turds." She mumbled. "Or dicks, maybe."
She felt the urge to tear off the sheet, make a ball of paper and throw it away, as she always did when something didn't come out as expected – which was 99% of the time - but then she thought that maybe her father would laugh at it - and why not, the poor man needed to laugh a little lately.
She smoothed her fingers over the edge of the sheet she'd already begun to crumple, and suddenly a shadow covered the sun. Anna thought it would be Selma, but when she looked up, she met a middle-aged man, much older than her father, who was staring at her. "How are you, sweetie?" He said in Turkish. As the child stared at him, he repeated, "Don't you speak my language? Oh, shame. I'd have liked to talk to you - and tell you've very beautiful eyes. Has anyone ever told you how beautiful your eyes are?"
Anna slammed the sketchbook shut and began to pick up her pencils, but the shadow didn't move. "Where are you going, sweetheart? Don't bother. You can go on. What were you drawing?" He leaned toward her, as if to touch her, but then she stood on her feet and the man stepped back, bewildered. "Wow," he said. "You're brave, aren't you? Pretty and brave, yes ma'am. As I like." He reached out to take her arm, but then the girl's voice froze him.
"Touch me," she said in perfect Turkish, "and I'll break your teeth, you filthy pig."
The man stared at her open-mouthed. Anna had her blue eyes fixed on him and an otherwise calm expression on her face. After recovering from the impression, the man laughed. "Well, well! You're a naughty little shit, aren't you...?"
"You know? My mother taught me how to handle old creepy pedos like you. I usually ignore you - but today I feel like smashing in your mouth." She took a step towards him. "Come, come, come closer." She jerked her arm forward. The man winced and stepped back. "C'mon! What are you waiting for? Hold me." Anna raised her eyebrows. "You wanted to, didn't you?"
The man hesitated - he wasn't used to girls reacting that way. Behind Anna, he caught sight of Selma, who was hurrying toward them, looking worried. He'd missed the chance. And if he was not at all interested in adult women, the girl's attitude had definitely discouraged him. He turned and walked away quickly.
"Hey! Where are you going?" He heard that little bitch scream behind him. "I thought you liked my eyes!"
Selma stopped beside Anna and looked worriedly at the man walking away. Then she looked at the kid, who had sat back quietly and opened her sketchbook again. "Anna!" The Turkish archaeologist exclaimed. "What happened?"
She shrugged, focusing again on her drawing. "Nothing, Aunt Selma." She said, and nibbled at the pencil absently. "Nothing, really."
(...)
Jean Yves was standing before the entrance to Loanna's tomb, sweating like a pig and looking frightened at the LV symbol engraved on the stone arch. He hesitated, his eyes narrowing in the scorching sun. Finally, he sighed and entered - alone - in the dark.
It wasn't his style, dammit. It was Lara's, and Kurtis's, and even the little child who was totally like them. Not him. He was a scholar, a wise man. Nothing good came from bookworms acting like adventurers. For example, that poor Romanian professor, Ivanoff, who had ended with his brains spilled for getting involved with things too big for him.
And he would end up the same, at that rate.
Sighing again and vaguely controlling the trembling of his legs, Jean stumbled forward as he rummaged in his pocket and took out his flashlight.
He knew they were there, motionless, silent, but even so he flinched when the crown of light illuminated the wardens.
There they stood, immobile, the three skeletons in the Middle-Ages armor of the Order, standing, erect, patiently waiting. It was a frightening sight, the skulls smiling in the gloom, the empty sockets, the slight crack of some bone involuntarily rubbing against their armor.
Dead and alive at the same time. Forever on watch.
Good thing he was an archaeologist and used to skeletons. Well, and at that point, even the walking ones.
Jean stood in front of the Lux Veritatis and cleared his throat.
You can not pass. The voice rang in his head before he'd time to utter a single word. We will only open the way to...
"... to Anna Heissturm." Jean wasn't very good at pronouncing the girl's real surname. "I know. You said it many times. But as it happens..."
We will only make way for Anna Heissturm. Bring her here.
"I'm on it." Jean Yves cleared his throat. "Lara will come soon and take the girl with her, you'll see. But right now..."
No one enters the sanctuary of the Amazon without the Daughter of Light allowing it. Give us Anna Heissturm.
"Well, as it happens, Lara's also the Amazon, so..."
We honor the new Amazon, her sacrifice and her gift to the world, the Daughter of Light, Anna Heissturm. But only she will open the way. Bring us the Daughter of Light.
"What do you want with the poor kid, she's just a child..."
Only to her we will tell. Bring her to us.
"You're a brainless and stubborn bunch of bones." The Frenchman grunted, irritated. Turning, he strode away. "I will come back. With the girl. And then we'll see."
There was no answer. Immobile, the Lux Veritatis kept jealously guarding their position.
They had all the time in the world. Time meant nothing to them.
(...)
The plan was clear long before Selma returned from the long excursion with Anna and collapsed, exhausted, into one of the plastic chairs in Zip's barrack as the girl ran to show the drawings to her grandmother. During that interval of time, Lara, Kurtis and the hacker informed her, in low voice, of everything.
She listened to them gaping. Finally, she said: "So, I'm gonna present my thesis in the middle of a trap to hunt that... that killer. Who's the bait, me?" She turned to Kurtis. "That's how you get your revenge, huh?"
"We're all bait, Selma." He answered laconically, ignoring her last statement. "Even Anna, who wasn't even born when this shit begun."
The archaeologist blinked for a moment. Then she stared at Zip, who looked away, uncomfortable, and finally at Lara. "You're silent. This show must suit you fine."
"It's the least you can hope for, Selma". Lara shrugged. "You should have told us beforehand what you were up to. And yes, it works for me."
"Of course it works for you, Lara. You're crazy." Selma turned to Kurtis again, "But you, risking your child's life... I didn't expect that from you."
"Hey, princess, stop it." Zip mumbled. "Don't provoke him. I had a hard time convincing him to let you do it. Now you do your job, and the rest of us pros will take care of shit, okay?"
The Turk nodded slowly, then said, "I want things my way. I want to read and defend the thesis as I wrote it. I want the presentation and the night gala. And I want the act of honor and the memorial to the Lux Veritatis. We'll expose the remains in an exhibition and then bury them in a monument in their honor, as I have already arranged with Heritage." Kurtis's jaw tightened. Lara could clearly see he was biting his tongue. "You can only take the remains of Konstantin, if you want."
"No, you can have him." The former Legionnaire acidly remarked. "Your grotesque circus won't be the same without the main actor."
"You're a jerk." The Turk let go suddenly. Zip winced.
"Enough, Selma." Lara stared at her. "You're losing your manners."
"I'm doing this for him and his fucking people!" The archaeologist exploded, pointing to Kurtis. "All this is for him, to give justice to him and his dead!"
"My dead can fuck off." Kurtis replied. "I care about the living. The last thing I need is people uncovering shit from the past. Do what you want," he said, looking at Selma, "but don't even dare to mention me, my mother, or Anna. The others can do whatever they want as well." And separating from the wall, he left the barrack and closed the door with a brutal slam.
Selma winced and closed her eyes tightly. Then she took a deep breath and faced Lara. "What on earth have you done to him? He's unrecognizable!"
(...)
Kurtis strode across the dusty courtyard in a wave of fury and punched the barrack door with the human remains, smashing it against the opposite wall.
He regretted almost instantly losing his temper in front of Lara, speaking to Selma in that way, and above all, because a few steps from him was Anna, near the tables with the skeletons, staring at him open-mouthed and her sketchbook pressed against her chest.
His anger melted like ice in the summer. He tried to speak, but the girl let out a long whistle that interrupted him. "Wow, what the hell?" She looked down at the notebook and said, "I was gonna show you some crap I drew, but maybe later." She slipped by his side, to pass by, when she noticed her father's warm hand on her shoulder.
"Anna..." he began, but suddenly the girl frowned and turned abruptly to the tables full of skeletons. "What was that?" She murmured.
"What?" Kurtis said, looking at the bones.
Anna was still, staring at the tables. Suddenly, she opened her eyes wide and paled. "Oh, shit."
In other circumstances he'd have scolded her for swearing, but Kurtis sensed what was happening. "What's up? Tell me what you see."
Anna blinked. "I... I don't see anything. But..." She winced, released the notebook which fell to her feet, and covered her ears with her hands. "Oh!"
Her father's hands gripped her shoulders and spun her around. She found herself face to face with him, the ex-legionnaire leaning over her. "Anna, tell me what's going on." She could see his lips moving and feel his deep voice, though she couldn't hear him - not with that rumble in the head.
"Oh!" Anna shouted again. "Tell them to stop! Tell them to shut up! They're talking all at once!"
"Who?"
With a trembling finger, Anna turned and pointed to the skeletons. Then, in a vulnerable and childish reaction, she hugged her father's waist and buried her face in his chest.
(...)
"And what did they say?" Lara asked, crouching in front of her daughter. The girl was sitting on her bed, with a bowl of hot soup in her hands, because she couldn't stop shivering. She'd been clinging to Kurtis's hand for a long time, but at last she had let him go.
Anna studied her mother for a moment, then glanced at her father. He, sitting next to her, nodded. "They said Go to Egypt, Mom."
For a moment Lara didn't even pay attention to what Anna had said, upset by that exchange of glances. An absurd, irrational pang of jealousy formed in the pit of her stomach and twisted her guts.
Anna had quietly consulted Kurtis before talking to her. She'd asked permission from her father to speak to her, her mother!
Instinctively, Lara bit her lower lip and tried to control her anger. Being jealous at that point was stupid, she knew. Anna had always been attached to Kurtis, in a way she'd never been able to be with her own daughter. There was a special connection between father and daughter long before she manifested the Gift. Perhaps it was precisely the Gift, that latent magic, or genes, or blood, or love. Lara had learned to love the flesh of her flesh and blood of her blood. Kurtis had loved her since she was just a possibility.
She'd naturally accepted it had to be this way, and in fact that special connection between Anna and Kurtis made things easier for her. A part of her would never get used to motherhood. A part of her would never achieve it. She had accepted it.
That was why it was utterly absurd and utterly foolish to feel jealous, at that moment, of that exchange of glances. But she was jealous - and that infuriated her.
"Go to Egypt." Lara repeated slowly, trying to focus on the message.
"Yes," the kid murmured, and put a spoonful of soup into her mouth. "Yuck! Who made this? Auntie Selma?"
"And what else?" Lara asked.
"They said many things." Despite complaining, Anna was still taking the soup. "All of them talking at once, voices tucked in my head." She looked at her father again. "You sure I'm not mental?"
Kurtis nodded slowly. A slight smirk crept into the corner of his mouth - then faded.
"So, they want me to go to Egypt – because the Amazon awaits me. The old one, Lady Loanna, not you, Mom. And they call me Anna Heissturm." She smiled crookedly. "Sounds cool as hell."
Lara sat up slowly. "Jean Yves will be mad with joy. Today he called again asking me to take you there."
"Uncle Jean wants it; the dead want it... what are we waiting for?" Anna swayed her legs happily. "Those things can't hurt me, can they? You told me they weren't attacking Dad."
"They attacked me." Lara grunted.
"But you went in to raid their tomb, Mom. As always."
(...)
That night and without waiting for anyone, Kurtis sat alone by the campfire to do the watch. He was still thinking about everything: the reckless plan to catch Schäffer, the damned dead Selma was trying to dig up and now talking to her daughter, and calling her to Loanna's tomb.
And Lara. Always Lara.
There was nothing he could do about it. But the fate of his daughter made him anxious. What did those damn dead want from her? What horrible truth did they want to reveal to her? Why they were calling for her?
Would they never have peace?
If only Lara cooperated... not having her on his side tore him apart. He needed her. He needed her strength, her conviction. He needed her queenly air and her absolute self-confidence, the certainty that they would handle things, the certainty that they would solve everything. Her unshakeable faith in herself.
And he wanted her again in his arms, goddammit, and to kiss her on the mouth, and make love to her. But she didn't love him anymore.
She didn't love him.
He couldn't bear it.
The flames danced in front of him for hours. Then, exhausted, he fell asleep without realizing.
(...)
He thought he had everything under control, that he was prepared. He was wrong.
After all, he had many years of experience behind him. They called him Demon Hunter, but demons were not the only thing he hunted. Navajo blood and brutal training had made him one of the most dangerous predators on the planet - even though he himself didn't know it, and if anyone had told him, he would've laughed.
Kurtis knew how to move in the shadows, anonymity was his shield. He was good at erasing his trail and eliminating evidence, or witnesses, for what mattered. Even so, he didn't trust himself. He was not a fool. This adorable creature, the British explorer, Lara Croft, was also a predator, and though not a discreet one, she was also dangerous - and lethal.
One wrong step, and he would be dead. And though dying at the hands of such a woman would be an honor - considering all the filthy things that had tried to kill him for years - Kurtis had no intention of dying at her hands. His plans were different.
Luckily for him, the woman was going through a difficult phase. She must have been tired, or depressed, or both at once, for it was easy to follow her and even anticipate her. Strange. Kurtis even allowed her to see him more than once, to the point she began to suspect.
Risky, he knew it. But still within his plans. Still under his control.
He wasn't even surprised she was able to enter the sanctuary of his Order under the Louvre, and return with the precious Obscura Painting. Kurtis could have intervened, offered his help. After all, to take over the Painting, it was necessary to deal with its author, the deceased, but still furious Brother Obscura. Any initiate in the Order knew that. The guardian's spirit would fight bitterly against anyone trying to touch the Painting – unless it was a fellow brother, of course.
Kurtis could have helped. Instead, he waited for her at the Louvre.
He didn't trust her in the slightest. As it should be.
For starters, the plan was simple. Wait for her to come out – he'd no doubt she would. He didn't know her, but he was sure. Lara Croft always came out. Even when a pyramid had fallen upon her in Egypt, she had managed to return. She would come.
And then, surprise her from behind and, at gun point, steal the Painting. Without hurting her. Nothing. Not a scratch. Not even a blow to make her unconscious and protect himself.
Only a beast would strike such a creature, and though he was basically such, he still had certain moral standards. At least with her - with a woman who, he knew perfectly well, would have no qualms about breaking all his teeth with a punch.
Don't hurt her. Don't hurt her.
His first mistake was to be so self-confident. The second, to underestimate his nature as a man, that primary sexual impulse he knew so well, the pulse of life, of any male belonging to a mammalian species.
That meant to think with the cock, as they said in the Legion.
For years, Kurtis had learned to tame his body, not to be carried away by his sexual impulses. Self-control. It had been easy after the Order's brutal training. And in addition, the image of his mother about to be raped by Cabal's hitmen had never completely abandoned him. He would kill, he would torture, he would beat and do many other despicable things - he had done them under orders and also for money. But he didn't sexually abuse anyone.
He wasn't a rapist. He'd never been, and he never would be.
Besides, not that he needed it. He didn't have to chase women - they came to him. That's why, although his voluntary self-control had aroused some mockery among his companions in the Legion - always competing for sexual deeds, as usual in men - such mockery ended when discovered that, indeed, women came to him willingly, and more than that.
Handsome Trent, of course.
At the Cafe Metro he'd gone mute and dry-mouthed when she was close, which never happened to him with any other woman - but she was not like any other woman.
There were no women like her. Just her.
That's why it was a terrible mistake to rely so much on his self-control. Because she wasn't like anyone he'd ever held in his arms, or under him, or over him.
She was unique.
He thought he had everything under control, that he was prepared. He was wrong.
He'd barely touched her when he got carried away by instinct. The most primal.
(...)
A hand touched his shoulder. He jumped and sat up, his hand already on the gun and the safety switched off.
Lara was in front of him, frowning at him.
"You were asleep." A delicate smile appeared one her lips. "Caught you off your guard."
His eyes reddened, Kurtis looked around. It was still black night. He grunted and ran his hand over his face.
"First time I've seen you sleeping on a watch." Lara said, amused. "You must be really tired."
He stretched and shifted, murmuring: "Well, I'm awake now."
"No, go to sleep. I'll replace you."
He stared at her, whereupon Lara raised her eyebrows. "What? We've always taken turns for night watch. What's wrong with you?"
"Thought you didn't want to be at my side."
Lara frowned. "What's the point now? You want me to replace you or not?"
Kurtis stared at her in silence for a moment. Then he got up. "Alright." He murmured. Thank you, he thought - but he didn't say it out loud.
He walked to his barrack in the darkness, not looking back.
(...)
He'd barely touched her when he got carried away by instinct. The most primal.
It was impossible for that tough woman, her hands harsh and battered by the squeezing of gun triggers, the reloading of firearms, and the climbing of protrusions and rocks, to have such warm, soft, peachy skin - like the skin of a queen.
But she had it.
He felt his desire for her increase when he pressed the Boran barrel on the back of her head and noticed how she tensed, how she realized, slowly, horribly, she'd fallen into his trap. He approached her from behind, took her arm, moved the gun's barrel to her temple. She turned her face, tried to look at him. He forced her again to look forward, pushing her gently with the cold barrel.
No, sweetie. Not yet.
Good Lord, such soft skin she had. Before he realized what he was doing, his large, warm, rough hand was sliding down that silky arm in the direction of the pistol she held in her left hand, took it from her and then... caressed her.
The fuck are you doing, Trent?
At least he had the decency to move his hips away from her buttocks. There was no way to control what was burning down there, but at least he'd prevent her from noticing. At least he'd retain that piece of dignity.
He was no pig. Or at least, he didn't want to be. But it was very difficult to resist that temptation.
He felt her skin prickle as his hand slid delicately across her belly to her opposite hip - her skin was even softer there, like the belly of a goddess. He took the other gun out of the holster and dropped it, always pressing the barrel against her head, always on guard. She was tense, throbbing, he could hear her shaky breathing.
He'd have given anything to know what she thought. But among his many powers, reading the mind wasn't one - not that he complained. That mystery, after all, was the sweetest torture.
He was surprised to see the woman's jaw tense with fury as he opened her backpack and pulled out the Painting. Of course, man. She wasn't a damsel in distress, not even a spoiled child, as some said. She could handle that unwanted touch, that indecent proximity, that erotic contact. But she couldn't handle being robbed of the fruit of her effort.
Kurtis reminded himself that he was standing before an expert killer and had just unleashed her anger, if he hadn't done so before.
He had to go back now, to leave her, to quit. He already had the Painting. She was unarmed - at least, concerning guns. He must move, walk away, let her be for the moment.
Instead, he found himself pressing the Boran's barrel harder against her chin, forcing her to lift her head slightly - so he could observe her better, so he could smell her scent better – sweat and leather and gunpowder, stagnant water and dirt, not a feminine scent at all, but her scent nevertheless – a scent that was driving him nuts.
The fuck are you doing, Trent?
Jesus Christ. What a woman. What an unique creature. The taut skin of the cheekbones, the thin line of the jaw, so feminine, the delicate neck, and above all those lips, though tight in a gesture of fury, that mouth he was dying to kiss, to bite until it bleeds.
And all the other things he'd like to do to her - going through his mind in an instant.
Never been a good idea to think with the cock. He knew it.
In spite of which, she managed to catch him off guard as she spun around like a top, with the elegance of a ballerina, the long braid whipping his face suddenly, and faced him defiantly.
(...)
He heard the crack of the barrack's door long before he was wide awake. He didn't wait for the shadow to hover over him, but jumped immediately from his cot, grabbed the figure by the arms and knocked her down on the bunk, immobilizing her with arms and legs.
"Oh!" Shrieked the figure with a shrill voice. "Geeez!"
Kurtis groaned in frustration and sprang away. Then he groped in the darkness and turned on the light from the lamp.
Blinking sleepily, Anna was sitting on his cot while rubbing her wrists. "Wow!" She said. "That was cool as fuck! You gotta teach me!"
"Anna," interrupted Kurtis angrily, "never do that again. I mistook you for an attacker. I could have seriously hurt you."
"Yeah, but..."
"You hear me?"
"Yes," she sighed. "But..."
"No questions."
"Alright."
Kurtis took the child's arm and looked at her wrist, where he'd grasped her. It was swelling. "You're gonna get a good bruise." He muttered, furious with himself.
"Won't show it to Grandma Angeline." Anna laughed, and winked, amused. Lady Croft hating Kurtis was a sort of private joke between them, but this time the ex-legionnaire wasn't in the mood. Anna watched him move to a corner of the barrack and open a medipack. "Oh, c'mon Dad, it's nothing!"
"Why did you come in like that?" He said, ignoring her. He returned with an ointment for the injury and began to spread it around the girl's red wrists.
"Mom's on watch, so I assumed you were asleep. Didn't want to scare you."
Kurtis snorted.
"Gotta tell you something, Dad."
"Tell me."
"I didn't tell the whole truth."
Kurtis stopped massaging her wrists and stared at her. "About what?"
"A-about the talking skulls."
"And why not?"
The girl bit her lower lip. "I-I didn't want to worry you."
"Anna."
"Yeah I know." The girl sighed, lowered her head and swayed her legs uncomfortably. "Gotta be careful. Gotta be smart. But..." She stopped.
"Anna."
The girl breathed a couple of times. "Don't tell Grandma Marie."
"I won't." Kurtis moved a strand of hair from her face.
"Grandpa Konstantin told me something."
The hand that caressed her hair stopped. "How do you know it was him?" He asked, not looking at her.
"His voice was like yours, Dad. Although he sounded older."
"And what did he say?"
Anna leaned forward, cupped his hands around his ear and whispered a few words to him. Kurtis remained motionless for a few moments. Then he relaxed. "Don't tell anyone else."
"Not even Mom?"
"Especially not her." Anna raised an eyebrow, but Kurtis grabbed her arm. "Promise me."
"Okay, okay, I promise." The girl sighed. "You're still mad at her, right?"
Kurtis looked away. "I'm not mad at her. Now go to sleep."
"Dad..."
"Go to sleep, Anna. We'll talk tomorrow."
Even she knew how much Kurtis' patience could be abused. She sighed again, got up, and went to the door. But before she left, she turned to him. "I want to go to Egypt, Dad. I want to know what the sentries want." She raised a finger then. "I'm warning you now so you both don't fight again because of me."
"No one had a fight because of you, Anna."
The girl smiled, revealing her row of white teeth. She was pretty when she smiled. She looked so much like Lara. "Liar." She said fondly, and got lost in the darkness.
(...)
When he had her in front of him, looking directly into his eyes, recognizing him immediately, his saliva dried in his mouth again. But he was quick, and even under those circumstances he didn't let her win. Quickly he propped the barrel of the pistol on the woman's shoulder, to remind her who was still controlling the situation.
However, something unexpected happened at that moment. She lost all interest in resisting.
Neither in his wildest fantasies, nor in his most intimate dreams, could he have imagined such a thing. That this dreamy woman, mastering his thoughts for years, the one who took his breath away, looked at him that way. As if he were the only thing left in the world. As if he were... everything.
Her eyes had a hazel-brown colour, surprisingly warm and expressive in a woman who had a reputation for being cold and relentless. That glance caressed him like soft fingers, like a gust of fresh breeze, like a fleeting kiss. The coral lips parted, revealing the dampness inside, and he heard her breathing quicken.
And then she leaned toward him.
It couldn't be. It wasn't possible.
It was a trap. A trick. Clever girl. Very clever girl.
He imagined himself giving in. Pulling away the gun. Taking her in his arms. Kissing her, surrendering to her, devouring that mouth whose warm breath he could almost breathe now, biting those lips, sliding his tongue inside her mouth.
Why not. And if it was a fucking trap, let her kill him. Let her execute him. There was no better way to die in the world. Hell, for years he'd been about to die a thousand slow and horrible ways, at the hands of nauseous beings.
Kissing her on the mouth and then dying would be a damn privilege.
Of course, it would be a pity, because he'd not have the chance to make love to her.
Again, thinking with the cock, Trent.
Sanity prevailed. He had not survived so long by getting carried away by impulses. He hardened his face and pressed the Boran barrel harder against the woman's shoulder, stopping her when her face was already approaching dangerously close to his. Her eyes, fixed on his mouth, on his lips, rose again, confused, to his eyes. He felt his heart exploding.
That didn't look like a fucking trap. That looked real, fucking real. She was genuinely confused.
Had she been about to kiss him? For real? Willingly?
He read the disappointment in her eyes and with that, the truth.
Jesus fucking Christ.
Against his will, against his desire, against the ardor of his body and his soul itself, Kurtis slowly drew back, leaving her nailed in place. She looked down, confused, and returned to her position, still not freed from the spell, the disenchantment, the frustrated desire.
No, not like that, he cried. If that wasn't an illusion, if he could really have this woman, he would not do it this way. Not a kiss at gunpoint, not between two strangers, not in the middle of a museum full of mercenaries, he suddenly remembered, led by his fucking ex-boss.
Few things in the world he had wanted as hard as he now wanted that woman. But he would not have her that way, not by force.
He was not a bungler. He was a seducer. He wanted her, but he would have her willingly, as he had the others. She would come to him on her own, because she wanted him, because she desired him with all her strength.
He would have her this way, or he would not have her at all.
I'll be back, he told her mentally. I will return, and we will resume this.
He summoned his faithful weapon again, already freed from the wave of fire that consumed his body. He smiled confidently, relaxed.
He even felt like playing.
Before he turned to flee, he knew she would run after him, trying to reach him.
Come, beauty.
Let's play.