tried to convince herself she wasn’t insane. To stay in the room with this man, who’d assaulted her only minutes earlier—it was stupid and dangerous. But the stakes she was playing for were so high; high enough that she’d been willing to risk her life in order to discover the truth. And the feeling she got from Brennan was not, oddly enough, danger. It was sadness. A vast, unbearable despair. He hadn’t even noticed the tears streaming down his face as he’d held her. The lace of her bra was still damp. Her cheeks heated at the memory of his face on her chest.
He’d said he was sorry. He’d mentioned a curse, and it had been the truth. Now she would listen with one hand on the door, ready to escape, in case she didn’t like what she heard. She could do that much. She could risk that much.
She nodded again, and Brennan began his story. An almost unbelievable story—totally unbelievable to anyone but her—that began in ancient Rome. She studied him carefully as he told her of his “drunken debauchery” all those years ago. Every line of his body echoed his remorse. He sat with his head bowed, shoulders slumped, and hands clasped together and resting between his legs. How he’d failed in his duty, forsaken his honor, and been the worst man ever to walk the planet, according to his story.
Any journalist worth the ink in her printer would have dismissed him as dangerous and deluded, or at least any journalist who couldn’t tell truth from lies merely from hearing the words. An unpleasant idea occurred to her and she interrupted him right in the middle of “alone with an innocent maid.” Maybe she could no more distinguish truth from Atlanteans than she could from the vampires. She hadn’t been in the fabulous ancient city long enough to experience any outright lies, or so she’d thought at the time.
“Hmm. Seems you hesitated a bit over the word ‘innocent, ’” she pointed out, not mentioning how the word had sounded a warning in her mind.
He hesitated, clearly thrown off. A muscle clenched in his jaw, and she got the impression he was gritting his teeth against another wave of the craziness that had swamped him before. When he’d assaulted her. Adrenaline pumped through her, leaving her nauseous as she edged closer to the door and tightened her grip on the handle.
“I—No, that was my error. She was an innocent lass.”
Her senses jangled. Not anywhere nearly as harsh as “nails on chalkboard,” but not nearly as mild as “gentle wind chimes” on her personal Tiernan Butler scale, either. She was definitely sensing something; if not lies, then at least deflection.
“They defined innocent as something different way back then?”
A dark flush rose in his cheeks. “I am aware of no difference in definitions. However, her innocence or lack thereof is not relevant to this story.”
Another tingle. Still, not enough for corroboration. She needed a baseline. “I need for you to lie to me.”
He lifted his head and stared at her, his green eyes widening. “I beg your pardon. I thought you just said that you need me to lie to you.”
“That’s what I said. I’m a journalist, and I trust my instincts,” she said, fudging a little herself. “I need to know if they work on Atlanteans. Tell me a lie, and say it like you really believe it. Like you’re trying to make me believe it.”
“But if you know I’m lying—” he began, his eyebrows drawing together.
“I know, I know. It sounds stupid. But I think at this point you owe me one.” She deliberately wrenched the door handle down. “Unless you’d rather I just leave now.”
Something dark and deadly shimmered in his gaze before he looked down at the floor again. There was a silence for several seconds, and she thought it signaled his refusal. Then he looked up at her again, and his face had changed. Hardened. The heat in his gaze was almost tangible, and she could feel its weight on her skin.
“You want me to lie to you? As
He’d said he was sorry. He’d mentioned a curse, and it had been the truth. Now she would listen with one hand on the door, ready to escape, in case she didn’t like what she heard. She could do that much. She could risk that much.
She nodded again, and Brennan began his story. An almost unbelievable story—totally unbelievable to anyone but her—that began in ancient Rome. She studied him carefully as he told her of his “drunken debauchery” all those years ago. Every line of his body echoed his remorse. He sat with his head bowed, shoulders slumped, and hands clasped together and resting between his legs. How he’d failed in his duty, forsaken his honor, and been the worst man ever to walk the planet, according to his story.
Any journalist worth the ink in her printer would have dismissed him as dangerous and deluded, or at least any journalist who couldn’t tell truth from lies merely from hearing the words. An unpleasant idea occurred to her and she interrupted him right in the middle of “alone with an innocent maid.” Maybe she could no more distinguish truth from Atlanteans than she could from the vampires. She hadn’t been in the fabulous ancient city long enough to experience any outright lies, or so she’d thought at the time.
“Hmm. Seems you hesitated a bit over the word ‘innocent, ’” she pointed out, not mentioning how the word had sounded a warning in her mind.
He hesitated, clearly thrown off. A muscle clenched in his jaw, and she got the impression he was gritting his teeth against another wave of the craziness that had swamped him before. When he’d assaulted her. Adrenaline pumped through her, leaving her nauseous as she edged closer to the door and tightened her grip on the handle.
“I—No, that was my error. She was an innocent lass.”
Her senses jangled. Not anywhere nearly as harsh as “nails on chalkboard,” but not nearly as mild as “gentle wind chimes” on her personal Tiernan Butler scale, either. She was definitely sensing something; if not lies, then at least deflection.
“They defined innocent as something different way back then?”
A dark flush rose in his cheeks. “I am aware of no difference in definitions. However, her innocence or lack thereof is not relevant to this story.”
Another tingle. Still, not enough for corroboration. She needed a baseline. “I need for you to lie to me.”
He lifted his head and stared at her, his green eyes widening. “I beg your pardon. I thought you just said that you need me to lie to you.”
“That’s what I said. I’m a journalist, and I trust my instincts,” she said, fudging a little herself. “I need to know if they work on Atlanteans. Tell me a lie, and say it like you really believe it. Like you’re trying to make me believe it.”
“But if you know I’m lying—” he began, his eyebrows drawing together.
“I know, I know. It sounds stupid. But I think at this point you owe me one.” She deliberately wrenched the door handle down. “Unless you’d rather I just leave now.”
Something dark and deadly shimmered in his gaze before he looked down at the floor again. There was a silence for several seconds, and she thought it signaled his refusal. Then he looked up at her again, and his face had changed. Hardened. The heat in his gaze was almost tangible, and she could feel its weight on her skin.
“You want me to lie to you? As
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