Titanium (Amber trilogy Book 2) Page 3

  Logan blinked and picked up the bottle from the floor. “Bugger.”

  ***

  The huge guard that let them inside was dressed up as a Roman soldier, including a helmet and breastplate. Drake wasn’t sure what he had expected entering the Victorian villa that had once been vacated by Amber’s grandmother, but it sure wasn’t reggae music in the back that suggested palm trees and coconuts or a legionnaire.

  “Oh, goodie, draconis wanting to party,” the Roman said after giving them a look of disdain.

  Drake knew that the identical red dragons on their chests gave away their identities, just as he had meant. According to Gregor humans weren’t allowed at a phoenix party.

  Logan gave a low whistle when he saw two scantily dressed blondes in white see-through togas, holding cocktail glasses. For the first time that night a smile appeared on his face.

  “We’re here to see Benedict,” Drake said before his brother lost their mission out of sight.

  “All these hunky, gorgeous muscles for Benedict?” a cheery voice suddenly sounded from behind him.

  Drake tightened when he smelled a hint of smoke and slender arms hugged him from the back. Phoenix! His heart started to frantically pound when he realized that, after a year of searching, he was finally on the right track.

  “I’m Christina,” the girl introduced herself while her fingers drummed on his arm on the rhythm of a Bob Marley song. “France, during Maria de Medici.” When they looked at her questioningly she added: “Born in France, during Queen Maria de Medici’s reign.”

  Her friend was draped halfway around Logan. “Silly. These are only inferi,” she lisped to Christina, while spinning on her legs. “You don’t formally have to introduce yourself to them.” However, she didn’t follow her own advice because she promptly said: “I’m Dagmar. The Carolingian Empire, during Charlemagne. Why does Benedict always get the hottest men? It wouldn’t kill Matteo to arrange them for us once in a while.”

  Logan brushed his thumb over her pouting lips. “The night is still young and who knows what tomorrow might bring, my piña colada? Why don’t you come to the Oasis tomorrow? It’s ladies’ night. I’m Logan, by the way, and this is my brother Drake. England, during Elizabeth II,” he said with a wink.

  Drake removed the hand brushing over his nipple and impatiently looked at the guard.

  “Through the hallway into the ball room and then take the first door to the right,” the centurion said.

  They entered the hallway which was decorated with marble columns and vines. Each column contained a bust or other piece of art that probably belonged in a museum. Every now and then they passed a chaise lounge where costumed couples were sitting. Before them they had bowls of fruit and bottles of wine. Above the laughter of partygoers, reggae beats and the sound of waves crashing against the shore filled the air.

  “Before you’ll sharpen your claws again, I just got to say this,” Logan started softly, after they they passed the nth couple in a toga and laurel wreaths.

  “I don’t want to hear it.”

  “Yeah well, tough. I’m going to say it anyway,” Logan said when they were standing at the end of the corridor. “You have seen every specialist there is. No coma patient in the history of coma patients has had as many exams and second opinions as Amber. It was all useless. If this appears to be another fluke, you should let it go. It’s time to cut your losses and move on with your life.”

  “You sound like Kincaid,” Drake said, annoyed.

  “Don’t compare me with that jackal,” Logan growled. “Did you even listen to a word I just said?”

  Drake grabbed his phone from his back pocket and read the message on the screen. “Yeah, give up, continue with my life,” he said absently.

  “Not that my opinion means much to you,” Logan sighed.

  He looked his brother straight in the eyes. Logan was just as damaged as he was, though he would never admit that. Whereas his upbringing made Drake find outlets for his anger, it had made Logan jaded. “You’re wrong. I do value your opinion, but you don’t know what you’re talking about. You never loved a woman before. That’s safe and I get that. It was like that for me too before I met her.”

  Logan rolled his eyes. “Please. You’re not going to spin me a tale about hearts and unicorns, are you? Before you know it we’ll be braiding each other’s hair and putting on nail polish.”

  Drake ignored his snarky comment. “You just saw those two phoenixes. For the first time in a year I caught a break. I’m finally closer to someone who can tell me how to wake Amber. Someone who can give me her father’s name.”

  Logan scratched his oiled pecs. “Don’t you think if her father had wanted to wake her, he would have already done that? Apparently he’s perfectly fine with his daughter’s status quo as Sleeping Beauty in a hospital bed. Have you forgotten what Amber’s grandmother said about her dad before she fled? She described him as a mix between Atilla the Hun and Vlad Tepes.”

  Yeah, but who really liked their in-laws anyway? “Tonight I’ll find out his name and when I call for him he will show up.”

  “Ya think?” Logan said in a rhetoric tone.

  Drake opened the door to the ball room and was bombarded with reggae beats. The room looked like a painting from Rome during Caligula that had come alive. It was filled with plush benches with people spread all over them. Below the faint glow of the crystal chandeliers he spotted more phoenixes, some dryads and even a few goblins. Waitresses dressed in golden tunics walked around with large fruit platters.

  Logan tapped his arm and nodded to a bench in the corner. Before them sat Amber’s best friend Pinky in a hot pink dress that barely covered her legs. She was flanked by two male phoenixes feeding her grapes.

  Drake managed to draw her attention and pointed at an alcove a few feet away. Her eyes widened when she saw them.

  “What are you two doing here?” she asked when she joined them.

  “Sure, the best defense is a good offense, buttercup,” Logan said as his eyes slid over her in appreciation.

  “I could ask you the same,” Drake said.

  Pinky combed a hand through her black bob-line and waved at the men waiting at her couch. “Probably the same as what you’re doing, but with more style,” she said. “Leather studded pants and covered in oil? Really?”

  “You should leave. I’ve heard these parties can get out of hand very quickly,” Drake warned her. “I don’t want to have to tell Amber her best friend got hurt on my watch.”

  “On your watch?” Pinky sputtered while poking a finger in his chest. “I don’t need anyone to watch me, you Neanderthal. You’re not the only one trying to wake her. Neither are you the only one having a plan to accomplish that. In fact, my plan beats yours. After all, it’s far more clever to collect information than to butcher goblins like a dragon off his leash.”

  Drake blocked the bloody images appearing in his head when he was reminded of Turnpike. “They got what they deserved,” he hissed. “They took her from me.”

  Another poke followed on his chest. “And what’s your excuse for hardly ever visiting Amber? You know what happened to her family. You, above all people, should support her instead of avoiding her like she’s last year’s shoes. Or are you afraid of losing your grandfather’s approval if you visit a dryad as a Kincaid?”

  Her accusations cut right through his soul. His brother remaining silent also said more than a thousand words. But they didn’t understand. “Not afraid.” Then he admitted: “I just can barely face her.”

  The fierce look in her eyes dissolved. “Romulus and Remus over there just told me there are two ways to awaken a newly inflamed phoenix.” She gave the men another wave. “Well, actually there are three, but option one—the natural way—could take between a year and a century. The second way is to wake her with her phoenix parent, which would be her father. The most usual way, however, apparently is that she’s woken by her promesi.”

  Drake’s inner dragon hissed when h
e heard the hated word. “The promesi is not an option.”

  “Not gonna happen,” Logan said at the same time. “We met the chap at the hospital. He couldn’t care less if she woke after a century.”

  Pinky crossed her arms, looking puzzled. “If you’re not here to ask for his help, then why did you come? You do know this is Matteo Lancaster’s house, right? Amber’s promesi?”

  Drake and Logan looked at each other, surprised.

  Pinky cast her eyes to heaven. “Unbelievable. You don’t even know which phoenix nest you walked into. Amateurs,” she huffed and walked away.

  Logan followed her trail, the interest in his eyes unmistakable. “Forget it,” Drake warned him. “She isn’t one of your usual airheads. She’d eat you alive.”

  “Speaking of forgetting. I wonder why your reliable source, Gregor, forgot to mention this is the house of Amber’s promesi.”

  Drake was wondering the same, but he simply shrugged. “It wouldn’t have mattered if he had. Nothing could have kept me away,” he said and opened the door to Benedict’s chambers.

  ***

  They were welcomed by scarlet walls, teak furniture, and a loud burp. Right in the middle of the room, stood a half-naked man dancing while drinking from a bottle of rum. He wore purple briefs with a dinosaur print, yellow flip-flops, and a straw hat. He was staring at a painting with two naked men, someone with a crown of laurel, a monk, and a devil.

  “All hope abandon, ye who enter here!” Laughter and another burp. He stumbled to the bedside table next. A few books dropped to the ground when he plopped down onto the table.

  For a phoenix named “the Bonker,” Drake thought he looked harmless.

  Benedict waved his bottle at the painting. “That’s Dante and Virgil in Hell, Lola,” he said to his right shoulder. “A masterpiece of Bouguereau. As usual, Matteo keeps the best pieces for himself. The tightwad.”

  Logan wrinkled his nose at the smell of alcohol and sweat permeating the room. His leather pants made a creaking sound when he squatted before Benedict.

  Benedict buried his fingers in Logan’s long strands of blond hair. “You’ve built yourselves a god from silver and gold. Dante knew what he was talking about.” A hiccup and then he started murmuring “I Shot the Sheriff.” He once again smiled at his right shoulder. “You like this song, don’t you, Lola?”

  “Brilliant. He actually is bonkers,” Logan scoffed as he pushed away Benedict’s hand that tried to cup his arse.

  The phoenix rose up unsteadily on his feet. “No, Benedict is as mad as a hatter.” He ticked the rim of his hat. “Because of all the mercury in my hat,” he whispered as if sharing a secret with them.

  Logan got up on his feet. “Of course. How could I have missed that?”

  “Oh, yeah. I shot the sheriff. But I swear it was in self-defense,” Benedict babbled to the ceiling.

  Drake quickly took the titanium handcuffs from his back pocket and clasped them around Benedict’s wrists.

  “Cuffs? Sexy!”

  He pushed Benedict back on the bedside table. “This will keep you here until you tell me what I want to know.”

  The phoenix cast a disappointed look at Logan. “You’re not here to spoil Benedict?”

  “No, Logan only spoils himself,” Logan said and leaned against the wall. “Tell my brother what he wants to know and you can return to your imaginary girlfriend. You know how women can be when left alone for too long.”

  Drake grabbed a marble candleholder from the ground. He wasn’t leaving without getting what he came for.

  Benedict placed his hands on his neck and crossed his legs. “You want to torture Benedict? Dear child, I’m over seven hundred years old and have survive the Spanish Inquisition. The Grand Inquisitor himself waterboarded me in his damp, mold-filled dungeons.” He sounded proud. “Sometimes I almost miss that old monk. He could make you feel things, as if your soul got ripped from your body. Of course, once I finally was Awakened, I showed his acolytes the true gates to Hell, when I burned them to ash.”

  “I’m not interested in your biography,” Drake said. “Give me the name of Amber O’Neill’s father and I’ll let you go.”

  “Is that all?” Benedict sounded bored. “Her father is William O’Neill. A simple human.”

  “Do I look like I’m in the mood for bloody games?” Drake bashed the candleholder against Benedict’s head. “William O’Neill isn’t her biological father. Tell me who he is!”

  Logan cursed and pulled him away from Benedict. “Take it easy. He can’t talk if you bash in his skull.”

  Drake turned away, slowly breathing in and out. He felt the walls coming at him.

  “Listen to the divine Apollo,” Benedict coughed, while his eyes roamed over Logan’s six-pack.

  “They say you can catch more flies with honey,” Logan said slyly. “Does this apply to phoenixes as well?”

  The phoenix grinned. “Benedict doesn’t fly, he traces; that is, without titanium cuffs. Although tracing in or out of a phoenix’s bedroom is impossible even without the cuffs. I accept your proposition, though.” He cleared his throat. “Lola wants me to introduce myself. Benedict Costa De La Fuente, Rome, during His Holiness, may he burn in hell, Pope Boniface VIII.”

  Drake told himself to be patient, keeping his body in his human form to prevent from bursting out of his pants. He didn’t plan to leave this place buck naked. “What do you want?” he flat-out asked.

  Benedict shook his head as if he wanted to cast cobwebs from his brains. “After one comes two, and only after two comes three. You start at three, draconi. Wrong, wrong, wrong.”

  Fucking fuck! Drake barely kept his anger in check, pushing away his claws which almost popped out. He was wasting time here. He lifted the candleholder again, but his brother stopped him.

  “Logan Stark, England, during Elizabeth II.”

  Benedict nodded, looking pleased and pretending not to have noticed Drake’s threat.

  Drake prayed for patience. Maybe Benedict wasn’t smart enough to understand that he had been about to crack his skull. Or maybe a bashed skull indeed was only a slight discomfort to him compared to what he was used to. “Drake Kincaid, England, during Elizabeth II,” he said through clenched teeth.

  Benedict pointed at the painting before them. “I want that.”

  That’s it? “No problem.”

  “I wouldn’t touch it if I were you. Matteo guards his art as well as a dragon his gold. The last time someone stole from him was during the French Revolution. The idiot thought to actually get away with it during the chaos. Goblins…” He shook his head and sighed. “Of course he ended up in the Catacombs. Never heard from him again. No, I want to be able to show the painting off without ending in a hellish prison.”

  Drake pondered his options. “In two months I turn twenty-one and will receive an inheritance. I’ll buy you the painting then.” According to his grandmother’s lawyer he would never have to want for anything ever again.

  Benedict scratched his lean ribs as he grabbed a purple scarf from the floor. “Don’t you think I would have already tried that, draconi? If I’m the guardian of genealogy archives, Matteo Lancaster is the Scrooge McDuck of antiques. As generous as he is with his wine and food, he’s that much of a tightwad concerning his precious art collection. You don’t even have a clue concerning the masterpieces he owns, which humans think can be found in a museum.” He longingly gazed at the painting. “No, you will have to find another way.”

  “Two months,” Drake repeated. “Give me some time and I’ll bring you the painting on your terms.” He would find a way. He always did.

  Benedict nodded and looked at Logan, his eyes filled with desire.

  Logan chuckled and shook his head. “Take the deal, crazy frog. That’s all you’re gonna get.”

  The phoenix beamed. “How can Benedict leave it at that when his future lover already has picked out an endearment for him?” he asked and looked back at Drake. “Give me a dragon promise and
we have a deal, draconi.”

  He should’ve known the phoenix would demand a promise Drake couldn’t renege on. “Deal. But I want his full name,” he added.

  “You can easily google it,” Benedict said, twirling the scarf around his neck. “The man you are looking for was the Bill Gates of his time, which was a few millennia ago. He made his fortune among others by buying burning houses. When a house was on fire he arrived with a hundred firemen and made an offer to buy it. If the owner refused to sell he just let the building burn to the ground. A phoenix buying burning houses. Hilarious, don’t you think?”

  Drake got a bad feeling about where this was heading. Kincaid’s lectures about ancient dynasties and powerful men left open the option for just one name.

  “How about that. The guy you’re looking for is filthy rich.” Logan gave him a pat on the shoulder. “You could have done worse for an in-law.”

  Benedict grabbed a bottle from the floor. “Actually, you couldn’t have done worse. Despite your ridiculous idea of torturing me, I’m going to give you lads some free advice. Stay away from him. The man you’re looking for is one of the oldest amongst us and lacks certain qualities such as empathy, sympathy, and forgiveness. He only cares about power.” He burped and sat on the edge of his bed.

  “Maybe you should reconsider the promesi option,” Logan mused.

  The phoenix nodded profusely. “You’d have a better chance going after Matteo’s pupil Namaka than Amber’s father if you want to twist Matteo’s arm. Unless you want to end up in pieces, of course.”

  “I know who her father is,” Drake said, feeling deflated.

  “Marcus Licinius Crassus.” Benedict confirmed his suspicion, saluting with his bottle. “He still owes me a hundred quid. For the richest man ever alive he sure doesn’t carry much cash with him.”

  Why couldn’t her father be some sympathetic phoenix who collected stamps? No, of course it had to be a despot of a Roman statesman. He contemplated the effects this would have on his search when his phone vibrated. He smiled when he read Benn’s message.