Page 16 of Fallen Star

I force myself to look away, to break eye contact before he sucks me into a spell I can't escape from. I notice my untouched drink with relief and reach for it, avoiding Dean and his inescapable pull. I take a long swig of it, delighting in the play of flavors dancing on my tongue, as an icy hot sensation coats my throat and stomach and settles into my blood and bones, making everything feel more relaxed.

"I'm not on holiday," I remind him, composing myself. "I'm on a job. You said we could help each other. What did you have in mind?"

He nods, uncrossing his legs, and stands. "Very well. Let me show you." He walks across the room to his desk and reaches into a space that looks empty. There's nothing there, but his hand lands on something that he pulls out. As he does, a secret drawer appears.

"Neat trick," I say, trying to suss out the magic behind this.

He nods his head. "An easy way to keep secrets hidden."

"And yetInow know your secret," I say.

"Youareone of my secrets," he says, holding eyes with me until I feel the weight of his gaze in my marrow. My pulse increases and skin flushes. A tingle of electricity runs up my spine and my head fills with thoughts of him. Of me. Of the two of us entangled under the moonlight, bodies joining together in ecstasy. This time he breaks the connection first, releasing me to breathe again.

I suck in air, crossing my arms over my chest and shivering at how intense that experience was. I find my voice, but it feels far away and pinched. "I don't understand."

He pulls a black velvet bag out of the hidden drawer and walks back, gesturing for me to join him on the loveseat.

I tip my goblet to my lips and drain the remnants of the blue liquid before sitting next to him. Our thighs brush together and a thrill of pleasure rushes up my leg, stealing my breath once again.

My visceral response to him makes me angry as it overlaps with my memories of the night my parents died. Maybe it's unreasonable. Maybe I need to have an open mind. But the trauma lives in my blood and in my gut and I can't make it disappear with wishful thinking or noble intent, so I sit with both emotions warring within me as he uses his long, elegant fingers to pull something out of the velvet bag.

I gasp when I see what he holds in his hand. A gently curved cream white stone that pulses with a preternatural light. He places it in my hand, and if there had been any doubts at all about its authenticity, they are gone.

I feel into the artifact, seeing its history, seeing how it would fit together perfectly with the piece I found in Israel and subsequently lost to my traitorous partner. "How do you have this?" I ask.

"It came into my possession about twenty years ago. A piece of the Fallen Star of Nirandel. Do you know the legend?"

I shake my head, transfixed. I never knew the name. Only heard the rumors of its power and that important men wanted it found. I've had my own reasons for hunting these pieces.

"Nirandel is one of the Nine Worlds, some say it's the original world of the dragons, the birthplace of the Ancient Ones who went on to create the other eight worlds and all who dwell upon them. In Nirandel, their stars are not like the stars of earth. They are special, and they almost never fall. When they fall on their own world, they are harvested with great care and made into sacred objects of power that are protected and used only by those who have the deepest respect for the power they wield. This is the first star to have fallen, at least in part, onto earth, and no one knows why. Every Star of Nirandel that falls is unique and possess its own special properties. This one is an ancient star, but has only been seen or talked about relatively recently. Many speculate as to what its powers are, but none know for certain. Not until the star is reformed with all its pieces."

My throat tightens, because I know what dark powers this star will possess once it's complete. I know it's a very bad idea. I'm just not sure if I can trust the man next to me enough to give him such dangerous knowledge.

I hand back his shard. "So there are other worlds, then. Besides this one and earth."

He nods.

"Have you been to them all?"

"No. Some aren't inhabitable. But I've been to most."

The things he must have seen. For a moment I have a twinge of jealousy at his life, at the artifacts he's collected and places he's seen. The history he's lived through. But none of that is worth sacrificing your soul for, I have to remind myself.

He places the shard back into the velvet bag. "I have one. You had one, which is now probably in the hands of Global Tech. I'm guessing by its shape, that leaves two more."

I nod. "Yes. There are four pieces," I confirm, shifting my eyes so he doesn't see the other truth I withhold from him. I stand, walking around the room again, avoiding eye contact with the prince. "We can't let Global Tech get their hands on any more of the pieces, and we have to get back from them what they have."

"We?" Dean says, a flirtation in his voice.

I sigh. "You know what I mean. This artifact has power, even in its current form. Too much power." I can feel it under my skin, even now, even without touching it, pulsing, vibrating with energy begging to be used. And I know what it can do. The temptation to wield this power would be too great for anyone. Even me. Maybe especially me.

To distract myself from dark thoughts, I let my hand glance over the shelves of history, closing my eyes as I soak in the stories each piece tells. I'm learning more about his world, and my own, in these few minutes of discovery, than I have in years of excavations, and it humbles me and pulls at an ache in my chest. Towards the end of one shelf, tucked in the back behind a grimoire, I notice a shallow bowl, simple in design, filled with water. I wander towards it as if pulled by a magnetic force. As I stare into the water, forms appear in the reflection, and then, I am swept away by the visions that consume my mind.

I'm home, in our expansive dining room, sitting at the table, smiling. I'm an adult, much the same as I am now, only both of my parents are present. My dad is flipping pancakes and making a joke about penguins, and my mom is cutting fresh fruit. He leans over to kiss her head as they work together in tandem, their orbits connected, their bodies in sync. They're older than I remember. My father has graying temples and they both hold deeper laugh lines and a few new worry lines. I watch as they move as one, my heart full. I've never been this happy, not since I was a child. The sun is covering the world in a spray of orange and red hues and the smell of the ocean wafts in from the open windows that overlook a view to die for. But my eyes are stuck on my parents. Alive. Happy. In love. And with me. My dad serves the pancakes and my mom places a bowl of fruit on the table. They join me and we eat together, sharing stories about our day, our work, our plans. My mom and I have a dig together, one my dad will be joining in between movie shoots. My heart is near bursting with joy, and I know I can happily stay in this reality forever. This is what my life was meant to be like. This is where I must stay.

I help clean up after breakfast and my father sits at our grand piano to play a tune while my mother sings and laughs. I join in, catching the melody, though I didn't inherit my mother's melodious voice.

Then I hear my name being called from a great distance, as if through water.