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Book of Secrets Books by RJ Scott Oracle RJ Scott Special Offers The Oracle Collection

Oracle - The Complete Collection by RJ Scott - Out Now

Oracle - The Complete Collection includes Oracle and Book of Secrets for a special cover price of $4.99. That's a saving of $2.49 if the books were purchased separately.

The Books

Book 1 - Oracle

Love, adventure, an empath & an ancient relic that could destroy the world.

Alex Sheridan is a thief, able to steal even the hardest to reach antiquities. Luke MacKinnon is a professor of ancient languages.
When they come together to locate the Oracle, it is because both men have targets on their backs. Can love blossom when each day could be their last? And, how can they survive the evil that wants the Oracle?

Book 2 - Book of Secrets

Kidnapping, adventure, drama and the fight for eternal life.

Alex is making good on his promise to put things right; retrieving items he had stolen, and returning them to their rightful owners. It's dangerous work, especially since he lost his most useful Oracle-given powers.
When Luke is kidnapped by a man intent on finding the secrets to eternal life, Alex has to make a bargain with the devil and break steal an item from the private library at Windsor Castle. Will Alex be too late to save the man he loves?

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Reviews for Oracle

Rainbow Book Reviews - "....Using an existing legend like the Oracle of Delphi and re-interpreting it with a paranormal angle, giving it a modern slant, and adding characters I cared for from the very beginning made this story a joy for me to read. The balance between action/adventure and romance is really good, letting both parts of the story shine. If you like mystery and intrigue in your romances, if you enjoy a plotline that will keep you in suspense, and if you prefer to read about characters who are real and human in their reactions, then you will probably enjoy this books as much as I did. Bring on the sequel, RJ!..."

Top 2 Bottom Reviews - 4/5 - "....The book explores the concept of life and relationships controlled by fate and how life is directed when destiny, rather than free will, controls the paths taken. From the introduction to the conclusion, the plot held my attention with a blend of romance, suspense, conflict, and action. The climax of the story and its resolution were emotionally satisfying and well developed. The story, as a whole, was well paced and tautly written...."

Boy Meets Boy Reviews - 4/5 - "....This was what was fun about this story, some really good adventure but not so much action that you’re dragged away from the romance or the mystery, the elements were balanced well....

....I’ll definitely be reading Book of Secrets, the continuation of the story and would highly recommend Oracle, it was a great read I really enjoyed...."

Hearts on Fire Reviews - 5/5 - This was a great read with likable characters and a good pace. Alex Sherridan is a thief with paranormal abilities but no memory of his youth before age 7. He was washed up on the shores of Greece with scars carved into his body, which he later had covered with tattoos along the lines of the scars. Luke McKinnon is a linguistic scholar hired to interpret ancient Greek scrolls in an an attempt to discover the Oracle at Delphi. When he meets Alex with his tattooed scars and abilities their lives become intertwined with the help of the gods. I recommend this book to anyone with an open mind.

Reviews for Book of Secrets

Hearts on Fire Reviews - 5/5 - "....I got the HEA ending with just enough mischief to make this story a highly entertaining read. I recommend it highly to any paranormal fan. If you missed Oracle, now is the time to pick up both books and lose yourself for a weekend...."

MM Good Book Reviews - 4/5 - ".... Having Alex’s powers come back gradually was a well thought out plot and to have it woven into an impossible theft was exciting and very interesting. Linking Luke into the mystery was brilliant and adding a figure from Alex’s past was an added bonus. ... I have to recommend this to those who love the mystical and the magical, some great action, a touch of angst and a very happy ending in unusual circumstances....."

Rainbow Book Reviews - "....As a sequel, this is a great book because it picked up on the characters and their stories, and answered many of the questions I had at the end of the first book. But I think it would work even as a standalone story, with enough riddles, quirky characters, and grand mysteries to keep me entertained....."

Literary Nymphs Reviews - 4/5 - "....Then there’s the theft at Windsor Castle. It’s pretty obvious Ms. Scott did a great deal of research about its history and layout and the same goes for DaVinci’s works. It’s all nicely integrated into the plot and adds a nice sense of realism. With this manuscript theft comes new characters, some ultimately good and others bad. As you might guess, Alex’s powers don’t stay gone forever but come back gradually and without explanation. It’s handled well but there are still questions about his powers that have been left unanswered. I can only hope that at some point in the future Ms. Scott will work those into a plot. So, if you enjoy an action packed, danger filled story with a smooth plot and a great paranormal component then I suggest that you give this new release a try...."

Dark Diva Reviews - 4.5/5 - "....As a fan of Ms. Scott, I eagerly await anything that she writes as I know that I will not be dissatisfied. Book of Secrets is a different style of writing as compared to her other popular series, but none the less, just as well written. At times I found my heart beating wildly as we were led on a racing adventure and then smiling pages later. Mystery and suspense meld with ancient history and mythology, a combination that would intrigue any reader; especially this reviewer. I can only hope that Alex and Luke will speak through Ms. Scott in the near future as a book three is definitely in order. If you are a fan of Ms. Scott and have yet to read this series, do not let it pass you by. You will not be disappointed...."

Excerpt - Oracle

Prologue

When he was nine, Alex Sheridan, the boy with new parents and no memories, disappeared.

The bullying had started on hour one, of day one. The new boy with the curious accent and stilted English carried strange scars on his body. Some said he had gotten them in a fire. Others suspected that he had done them to himself. Alex never deliberately showed the scars to anyone, but physical education and the changing rooms meant even he couldn't keep all his secrets hidden.

There was a group of boys—bigger, stronger, and crueler than Alex could ever be—that made his life miserable. Their favorite torture was to corner him and taunt him and pinch him and he would cry. He was crying for the pain and the humiliation and for the utter terror that coursed through his thin body. He never told anyone; his new mom and dad could well send him away and he didn't remember where he even came from. What if it was worse than here? What if the scars were from some terrible monster that clawed and bayed and wanted his blood?

"No sense in hiding in here, freak." Tim was the eldest and by far the meanest of them all. He was broad and tall for a ten-year-old and he thrived on the attention that making Alex cry got him.

"Which stall is he in?"

"Did he run in here?"

"Try the end one."

Alex curled into a smaller space, his feet up on the toilet, the door shut and locked. The lock itself was loose and could not actually keep out a group of kids intent on finding their target. He was crying so hard that there was no sound, only soul-destroying shaking that wracked his body.

Please. Please. Help me. Leave me alone.

He chanted ove and over.

Someone find me and help me.

They were coming closer. Alex hadn't thought of what door to enter but it was the farthest point and the last cubicle.

They found him.

"You in there, freak? Gonna make sure you don't run again." Tim's voice was backed up with boisterous laughter and Alex could picture every single one of them banging on the door. The burning in his stomach was so painful he pulled his legs up tighter hoping to make it disappear, but instead the intensity increased. The prickle of pain travelled down his legs and through his arms and his vision blurred. He couldn't see anything properly, and his fear grew and grew as everything turned hazy and grey. He was dying here in the bathroom. Dying as sure as being hit by a car or falling out of his bedroom window. His head pounded as the door rocked and the lock started to loosen from its tiny ineffectual screws.

No!

Alex rocked and shut his eyes tightly as the lock splintered from the flimsy wood and suddenly the boys were there. Tim and his friends who made Alex's life a living hell were far too close. Forcing his eyes open to see them, he braced for the first blow. But nothing came. Instead Tim was peering into the cubicle with a puzzled expression, and behind him his friends were looking over his shoulder straight at Alex.

"Where is he?" One of the less timid friends thought it a good idea to question Tim. Not a good idea as Tim swiveled on his feet and pushed the boy back.

"Fucking freak locked the door and crawled out under it."

"So where is he?"

"We'll find him."

The noise of the boys, a bickering laughing group of hate, dissipated and finally Alex was left alone in the cubicle. The heat in his skin and the prickle of pain in his veins was manageable now.

Why didn't they see me? They looked straight in at me, but right through me, as if I wasn't here.

He checked his arm, the faint scar that wrapped its way down to his wrist and the shapes of letters or designs that stretched when he flexed his muscles. The burning wasn't inside him, it was in the scars.

Was he invisible? Why didn't they see him? He could see himself, so why couldn't they?

"Something inside me," he murmured. It kept me invisible to them.

He clambered down from the toilet, grimacing at the dampness on the seat of his pants. He crossed to the mirror and stared.

There was nothing in the mirror. No gangly young kid with snot and tears marking his face. Nothing.

Slowly he breathed. In. Out. In. Out. And gradually his form returned. Not in a freaky way where his face appeared then an arm, no this was slow and steady and one minute he wasn't there, the next he was.

Years later, his first lover, Edward, would ascribe a name to this party trick that left Alex exhausted. He called it phasing and said Alex was almost stepping into another time stream for a while, into a different plane.

So that explained that.

What it didn't clarify was the way Alex could alter physical processes or mess with mechanisms. Neither did it give reasons for how Alex could see inside people, into their heads and their hearts and perceive what was really inside them.

Through touch he was able to feel them.

Which was why, besides Edward, he never really touched anyone unless he could put into place mental barriers strong and steady enough to stop the overwhelming flood of information and emotion.

Because this flood? It terrified him and it hurt.

Chapter 1

Now

"She's beautiful," Alex said. He looked up at the façade of the British Museum and couldn't help smiling. Whenever his work took him away from the US to England he was struck by the splendor of the place in front of him and the nature of its design. There was a comfortable familiarity in its white columns whenever he stood there in its shadow.

"She is," Edward said softly. He moved to stand beside Alex and waited. He was always happy to allow Alex a few minutes with the view in front of them. Alex didn't need to have empathic senses to see his lover was still firmly focused on the plan for tonight in his head. Edward was the worrier, the one who ensured plans were intricate and timed to perfection. What Edward saw when he looked at the museum differed greatly from his own view. Where Alex noticed beauty and architecture and glimpses of dreams that plagued his sleep, Edward observed opportunity and thievery. Not that Alex didn't also appreciate how much money could be made from a well-timed lift of an artifact. He was, after all, one part of the two-man team that was responsible for the removal of many a relic from behind glass. Thievery was his livelihood. He wondered if the criminal streak ran in his family, his real family, like it did in Edward's.

Edward's own great-great-uncle had been responsible for the removal of artifacts from all over the world to place in the cold halls of the museum, including being part of the team responsible for the Elgin Marbles debacle. It was a point of controversy whether museums should be allowed to possess artifacts taken from other countries, and the British Museum was a notable target for criticism. A point Edward chose not to focus on in his determination to get the job done.

"Are you ready?" Edward asked.

Alex flexed his thoughts and scanned the façade once more, and with a blink he nodded. Yes. He was ready.

Alex knew the exact positions and security measures surrounding the Elgin Marbles, the Benin Bronzes, and the Rosetta Stone, three of the most disputed objects in the museum's collections. He and Edward would both have liked the high of lifting any of those items but thievery on that scale simply wasn't practical. Fencing high profile goods such as those would be fraught with the problem of getting caught, something neither Alex nor Edward cared to entertain. He cast a quick look at Edward who was looking directly at him with fondness clear in his expression.
Edward de Chauncey, Earl of Enstone, was dressed to the nines to blend in with his contemporaries, and he looked stunningly handsome in the black and white. Slim and spare, he was the epitome of sophistication and British reserve. He fit in well at these gatherings where people with money paid a premium to attend private viewings.

Where Edward was comfortable in his tux Alex was just plain miserable. Damn thing was killing him. Tight and restricting, the jacket felt maybe a little too snug across his broad shoulders, the trousers stiff and unyielding. He wasn't born to wear these things; he was born to wear jeans and T-shirts in hot Californian sunshine, not penguin suits in the frigid English weather. It wasn't as if the getup kept him warm either as he stood and stared at Edward.

"Alex. Quit with the staring. Freak," Edward said. The words were uttered under his breath with little heat, and he grinned that wide grin that Alex was so fond of. He turned almost immediately to mingle with other wealthy patrons who were waiting to move inside, slipping effortlessly into the role society placed on him. Alex smiled at his lover's words and pulled himself out of his musings. Slipping a socially acceptable expression firmly down over his face, he moved to stand at Edward's side, the faithful partner, the other half of the successful antiquities company Azure.

He was fiercely proud to accompany Edward, his lover was so handsome, so confident, and so very clever. Tonight Edward's short hair was spiked and gelled to perfection and his dark brown eyes, framed with sooty lashes, were alive with expectation. They were a team in life and a team at work. Alex always deferred to Edward in matters of social niceties; he was the expert at getting them into places, using his name and his connections. It was once they were inside that Alex took care of the rest.

As the crowd of patrons moved into the museum, Alex followed Edward's example; he nodded and air-kissed, laughed flirtatiously with society matrons, blushed when people commented on his cute American accent, and all around sold himself as slightly simple and wholly innocent. Every second that he talked though, he catalogued things in his head, things people would never consciously realize, let alone categorize. Details of jewelry and its worth shuffled into discreet sections in his mind even as he skimmed the rooms for cameras and security, already completely aware of escape routes, windows, and obstacles. There was an ability ingrained in him to know at every given instant the way his surroundings were laid out.

Edward had always envied Alex's skill in that arena, commented on it, and called it Alex's special ability, with the emphasis on 'special', which always earned him a shove when he said it.

Edward's position in the complicated British aristocracy gave Alex that all-important social 'in' that a smart boy from California didn't automatically have. After all, it wasn't everyone who had after-hours access to the British Museum, nor, in particular, to the reading room and the new exhibition that was the evening's centerpiece and target; The First Emperor exhibition. Dedicated to China's Terracotta Army, it was a special showing, a one-off, for a limited time. The object he and Edward had been tasked to obtain was only in the building for two occasions; yesterday's royal visit, and the evening champagne reception for those who could afford it, in other words, for people who knew people.

"Edward, my dear boy, how the devil are you?"

Alex stiffened at the words from behind him and sighed inwardly. A florid, portly man who always looked down at Alex like the young American was a bad smell under his nose, Lord Arriseth was something akin to Alex's nemesis. The old aristo certainly disapproved of his godson Edward's relationship with this 'foreign man', as he described Alex, and never failed to remind Alex of the fact. What concerned Alex was that even with the distinct superiority complex Arriseth held like a blanket around him, he still spent an inordinately long time staring at both Alex and Edward. Alex couldn't get a true or clear sense of why the man did. Alex had long ago consigned it to the fact that the older lord was well and truly in the closet and lived vicariously through his godson and the hick lover from California. Alex tensed, but then caught Edward's pleading gaze for peace just before the older man determinedly placed himself between Edward and Alex, effectively cutting Alex off.

Alex really didn't know why Edward worried that he would rise to Arriseth's goading, he would never actually say his piece to the blustery old fool. Especially considering that Edward was Arriseth's godson. Added to which Arriseth was actually the one who had supplied the couple with the rare-as-gold tickets for the evening's event. What made Alex smirk was the fact that Arriseth's family had risen fewer than three generations ago from its roots in Greece and Spain, which made him one of the foreigners he so detested. Thoughts like those kept Alex amused during boring receptions and stuffy teas. Those, and the tingle of excitement at what he was going to achieve when the time was right, while the stodgy and unknowing milled and preened. He could feel the energy sparking inside him, the focus he needed to accomplish tonight's lift coiling tightly along his spine.

Alex tuned back in to what Arriseth was saying. "So I said no, because, really it simply isn't done, you know. Oh, and some chap with some Scottish surname is here tonight, some kind of expert on ancient languages. Bennington says he's here to do some translations on the location manuscripts sent over from the Chinese embassy."

Half listening to Arriseth and his name-dropping, Alex scanned the crowd on the steps around the exhibits, finding the usual people: a few celebrities, London's elite, and him. The absurdity of the situation made him laugh; if they only knew the real Alex they would throw him out, way out, of this rarefied air. Curious about what others might be discussing he moved toward a group standing in a side aisle, a shadowed alcove filled with statuary and artifacts. He had an hour to kill, may as well find out what was happening around him, see what information he could pick up, drink his glass of champagne, and flirt a bit with society matrons.

He'd taken only three steps when something struck him as not quite right. A sensation started as a prickle at the back of his neck, a singular pressing awareness that someone was watching him. Alex settled his breathing and placed the champagne flute on the nearest table. Using the action as a cover he looked carefully around him. Alex had grown accustomed to being watched, since he didn't tend to blend into crowds.

Somehow though, this felt distinctly different; this was that kind of speculative observation that made Alex's awareness rise as soon as he sensed he was the center of someone's attention. He caught Edward's gaze; Edward who was staring at Alex with concern, a nervous-looking Edward who frowned at the faint uneasiness that Alex was sure showed on his face. Alex shrugged and smiled; don't worry, both his expression and his body language relaying reassurance to his partner, and continued his inspection of the room.

His gaze finally focused on the shadows flanking, and partially obscuring, the last exhibit in the tour. A tall figure leaned against the column two to the left of the exhibit case. The same prickle of expectation slid across his shoulders even as Alex made his way toward the person observing him, picking up two champagne flutes from a passing waiter and sliding into the shadows easily. He nodded in recognition of the other's stare and offered his counterpart the second flute of champagne. Without a word the man nodded, placed the empty glass he had been holding on the rear corner of the display table, and accepted Alex's offering. Not a word passed between them as they each sipped a measure of the Brut, appraising each other as they did so.

"Good turnout," Alex offered neutrally, endeavoring to get some sense of the man who stood there, attempting to decipher what caused the tingle of awareness inside him. He was tall, maybe only a few inches shorter than Alex's six-two, and broad-shouldered. He had loosened his tie and there was a disheveled look about him. Alex sensed some discomfort in the man, but other than that there was nothing. It was confusing. He couldn't get a proper sense of the man in front of him, couldn't see more than vague shadows of the person he was. There was no chance of getting any more specifics without touching him. Because he was intensely primed to finish the evening's task swiftly and successfully, he knew it wouldn't be a good thing to distract himself by attempting to get a clearer reading. Instead he focused on the physical and on the man's expression. With deep brown eyes, smoky eyelashes, and skin kissed by the sun, the man was stunning to look at. He had nicked himself shaving and the small mark marred his otherwise flawless skin. His nose held a small indentation where Alex assumed glasses usually sat, and he was staring right back at Alex throughout the entire appraisal.

"Very good turnout," brown-eyes returned, just as carefully, sipping at the champagne and leaning back against the column again, his face in the shadows. The voice was as American as apple pie and had the lazy tone of a southern boy. Interesting.

"Alex Sheridan." Alex took the initiative, holding out his hand in greeting, automatically raising and strengthening his barriers to the potential overload to his senses a casual handshake was likely to cause. The man didn't hesitate; his gaze focused on the proffered hand, moving slightly out of the shadows to take it firmly.

"Luke MacKinnon," he introduced himself, grasping Alex's hand. He paused in the handshake then twisted Alex's wrist to examine the beginnings of the markings peeking out from under the white shirt cuff.

"Interesting tattoo, Mr. Sheridan," he commented, releasing Alex's hand.

Alex shrugged, allowing his shirtsleeve to fall over the worst of the black lines. He wasn't ashamed of the tattoos climbing and twisting across his skin. Far from it, they were stunning in design and a part of him. However, Luke's soft American voice had sounded far too interested, indeed, almost possessive. Now was not the time for Alex to be making a show or to draw attention to himself. That single touch during the handshake was enough for Alex to feel a small amount of something about this Luke.

A hesitant mix of suspicion and questions hovered inside the brown-eyed man. Then when he'd twisted Alex's hand and had examined the very end of the tattoo as it rested on his wrist bones, it was a sensory shock. Alex could almost taste the suspicion rise in the man. It was unnerving, and Alex went for the same answer he gave anyone who commented on his tattoos.

"College pledges," Alex said, tapping his little finger against the crystal flute. Not that he had actually ever attended college for any more than a year. "Misspent youth," he added as the other man leaned back against the pillar, retreating once again into the shadows. Luke MacKinnon's gaze had moved from interested and alert to closed.

"You should come see me before I leave London," Luke said. He inclined his head, indicating thought. "I can suggest many more tattoos in the same ancient Greek vein. If you want to relive your misspent youth, that is?" His voice was colder than the cautious civility he had displayed before, his eyes still in shadows, and his mouth set in a straight line.

Alex felt a shiver run down his spine; this guy had seen what—three inches of the tattoo that wound around his entire torso, and with only those to go on he had pinned the language as Greek, and added to that, actually identified it as ancient Greek?

Not only that, but as a touch empath, Alex had felt the change in MacKinnon's demeanor like a cold thud against his chest. What had caused MacKinnon's posture to stiffen and his beautiful deep brown eyes to narrow? It wasn't a reaction Alex had seen before in others he had touched, no one usually flinched when he came in contact with them.

"If you will excuse me, I need to find my partner," Alex offered.

Luke nodded. Evidently he wasn't saying anything else.

After placing his still-full flute on the display table alongside MacKinnon's empty glass, Alex pulled himself to his full height, murmured a polite, socially neutral good evening, and left without a backward glance. He could sense Luke's gaze following him and he frowned slightly. He needed a clear head and within ten seconds Alex refocused on the task at hand. He had a job to do.

Looking down at his watch, the tail of his arm and wrist tattoo touching the platinum band, he snapped his concentration back into the room and away from the very perceptive man in the shadowed corner. He had fifteen minutes to achieve what had taken days to plan; the item he intended to 'acquire' was particularly well protected with security measures that could prove difficult. The inevitable 'crowd mingle' at events such as the current one provided an excellent opportunity to slip away unnoticed. He rejoined Edward, made his excuses to search for the men's room and, seeing the spark of amusement and excitement in his lover's eyes, hesitated for a heartbeat.

A successful 'relocation', as Alex termed it, was guaranteed to result in a night of heavy lovemaking. The passion for the edge, both of excitement and of fear that Alex possessed, translated well into lust. Edward knew his part, did his bit, leaning in to bite a kiss into Alex's lips, and as Alex pulled back he saw excitement mirrored in Edward's eyes. With a soft smile that promised much, Alex patted Edward firmly on the chest and left the main hall. For a moment he rested against a wall, clearing the last of the crowd's noise from his perceptions and trained his attention ahead.

He successfully navigated the labyrinth of corridors linking the main hall to both the restrooms and the quiet, distant room that held the items he had really come to see: the manuscripts found in the tomb of the emperor. In particular Alex was interested in the scroll detailing the building of the tomb. It lay hidden away in a safe in side room 104A, awaiting translation. Alex came to a halt outside of the restrooms, both looking and listening for the sound of anyone approaching. Then he focused his internal energy on the camera that was scanning the hallway in sweeping, regular movements. Tracing back he could envision the wires inside that connected it to the wall. He nudged gently with his mind and watched as the camera turned away from him on a slow arc. Cautiously, he eased down the corridor and around the corner to the end door, marked Authorized Personnel Only, with its palm print-activated entry keypad.

Carefully, Alex placed the flat of his hand against the keypad, feeling the tension of awareness in the small of his back and the pit of his stomach as energy surged from him and into the mechanics of the door, overriding alarms with binary assurances his handprint resided in the appropriate database. The snick as the door opened sounded loud in the empty corridor. Alex froze, listening again in case someone had heard and was rushing to arrest him. Since he heard and sensed nothing he slid inside and pulled the door shut behind him.

Locating the safe took exactly forty-three seconds, then several more to disengage the security, maybe ten seconds to view and withdraw the item. The precious jeweled carvings and other items inside were ignored. As he left the room he half folded then slid the flat papers in their protective covers into his inside jacket pocket, hiding them in a fake lining that meant no one could see them at a casual glance. In exactly five minutes and seven seconds, if anyone had been counting, Alex Sheridan returned to his place at Edward's side, insinuating himself into small talk and smiling and nodding in all the right places. Only the quick squeeze of Edward's fingers around his betrayed his lover's emotions.

Within half an hour the couple had made their excuses and had embarked on the trip home. Alex smiled as Edward let out a 'yes' of complete excitement as Alex floored their small convertible and sped away from the museum. Alex felt little guilt at what he and Edward did; ninety-five percent of their business was legitimate, inside the law. As for the final five percent: the 'relocations', the acquisitions, the items not for public display, to be spirited away to private collections, well, if he used his strange powers to make money, sue him. Alex had everything he wanted, money, a fantastic home, and the love Edward gave him.

One day Alex might be able to lower his barriers and love Edward as deeply and completely as Edward loved him. He wished he thought of Edward as more than just a friend he loved.

One day.

Listening to his lover talk at him over the noise of the engine was calming and wrapped him in security, and he felt the lust build inside him as the high of adrenaline started to flood his body. He took a hand from the wheel, grabbing for Edward's hand and returning his smile. Life was good, damn good.

"Do you know how much I want you right now?" Edward said with a low growl, moving a hand to rest on Alex's thigh, his fingers close enough to put pressure on Alex's already hard sex.

"Jeez." Alex squirmed as Edward played with the zipper of his dress pants, slipping those damn clever fingers under the black material, smiling as he found Alex commando.

"Tonight, I am gonna make you scream, Mr Sheridan."

Chapter 2

Luke McKinnon, driven by his innate curiosity, watched the small sports car leave the museum's parking area, his attention drawn to the dark-haired American, the one with the tattoos on his wrists.

He had only ever seen symbols like the man had on his skin once in his life. They'd been lines and circles on ancient parchment in a translation for the Acropolis Museum after finds were unearthed at a dig at the Acropolis. Early words belonging to a time long since passed. Luke really doubted it was some kind of college pledge that resulted in that kind of pattern inked into a man's skin.

Luke had never seen someone like Alex before, physically intimidating, broad in the shoulder and chest, wearing a suit that must have cost quite a bit more than Luke's off-the-rack effort curving to every inch of his muscled body. Despite his high cheekbones, his blue eyes, and the sheer perfection of his features, he was exactly the kind of man Luke usually avoided; men with polished arrogance about them that only wealth could buy, aloof in their own worlds.

The scholar in him had been itching to pull up Alex's sleeve, to see how far the marks went. The man in him was wondering at the rest of his body.

But this Alex's reaction had been a voice dripping with ice. The tone was firm, surprisingly soft but inflexible and refusal had radiated from every line of his body. Luke was left feeling cold and shaky, like he had been physically shut away by a slamming door. That was the really interesting bit. More correctly, Alex Sheridan was interesting and, before returning to the soiree and the schmoozing he hated to his core, Luke resolved to find out more about him and about his tattoos.

He rejoined the gathering, glancing around to see who was where. Lord Arriseth was on his cell phone, and his entourage was hovering, waiting for him to return, seemingly unable to carry out simple conversations without the aristo. Luke deliberately crossed to the other side of the room and was immediately drawn into several long-winded conversations about the artifacts he was here to examine, all the time his thoughts returning to the intriguing tattooed man who had left.

Unintentionally, and despite his best intentions, he found himself close to the one person he had been trying to avoid all night, Lord Arriseth himself. The older Greek was not on Luke's list of favorite people. He might fund quite a few of the digs Luke was involved with, he might even be the one financing tonight's little get-together, but it was always done with that superiority only titled aristocracy seemed to possess.

"This is Professor MacKinnon, my expert." Lord Entitled pulled him into the inner circle of his close friends, comprising a collection of other titles and a few tabloid personalities. Luke nodded in response to the greetings, trying not to bristle at the term 'my expert', and listened as Arriseth expounded on Luke's skills with translations and solving puzzles. The conversation turned to the scrolls from the Emperor's collection, which meant Luke at least could contribute to the conversation, holding everyone's attention for a good twenty seconds. To be fair, they were here for the kudos of attending, not for breaking codes on a sealed scroll, but it still grated that they were stopping him from just getting on with his translating.

The very minute the discussion changed to the subject of yachts and Monaco, Luke made his excuses. He couldn't even afford to look at yachts let alone own one, and he tried to avoid Arriseth for the remainder of the evening, hiding back in his alcove for a while and observing. It was what he did best.

He slid his cell phone from his pocket when he was bored and walked the perimeter watching for signal. As soon as he had enough, he Googled Alex's name. A couple hundred hits returned, mostly society papers or magazines that specialized in tracking the rich and famous. Alex wasn't the famous one. Apparently that would be his business partner in an antiques company, Viscount Edward DeChauncey, third cousin to the Queen twice removed or some such link.

They looked happy and successful and in one article it was implied they were more than business partners. Luke thanked the heavens that his gaydar was still apparently working after years of non-usage. Checking the kind of antiques they specialized in was interesting. In his experience, companies such as theirs had a niche market that they focused on: art, precious gems, furniture, or a particular time period. However, Azure Antiquities, with one address in Los Angeles and another in London, seemed to have an eclectic mix of everything and anything. They appeared to specialize in locating one-off items on request. Interesting. Luke wondered if they actually made any money out of that. Nothing of what he read on any of the hits explained the lettering on Alex's arm, though. Maybe back at the university, if he used their systems, he could find out more.

"Luke?"

Luke startled and looked up. Someone had found him lurking in the Egyptian exhibit. He started to defend himself then realized it was only William Walton. William was his connection at this museum and the person who had contracted him to begin to decipher the scroll markings.

"Hi, William," he said. He didn't bother to hide the relief in his voice.

"Can I hide with you?" William asked with a smile. He held out a wine glass full of deep ruby red liquid and smiled. "I brought a bribe."

Luke took the glass gratefully, although he knew to limit himself to no more than a few sips. Red wine played havoc with his mental processes. He tasted the thick raspberry-scented fluid as it coated his tongue and slid down his throat. He couldn't stop the groan of satisfaction that left him. Finally he was able to talk and William was standing, ever so politely, waiting for him to finish his orgasmic connection to the grapes.

"Why do you need to hide?" Luke asked politely.

"Too much money out there"—William gestured back the way he had come—"and not enough sense." William grumbled the words with a grimace. Aristos and others with disposable income were what kept museums in general flush with enough money to attract exhibits. The British Museum may well be an old, established, and well-respected place, but even it had to bend with the times.

Luke knew exactly where William was coming from. Too often people at gatherings like this were collectors. The people were the bane of Luke's life, buying up items like they had the right to hide away history that belonged to all.

"I'm not really a people person and I'm just itching to get to the scroll," Luke admitted.

William's eyes lit up. "Would you like to see it now? No sense in wasting your time hiding behind this sarcophagus and slowly getting drunk."

Luke pushed back the instant surge of excitement. He had been told he would need to wait until tomorrow. "Would that be okay?"

"I have the code. She's my baby." Determined, William took Luke's wine and placed it on a small table. "Let's go."

Ten minutes later, staring into the safe where the papers had been, William looked confused.

"They're gone."

"Gone?"

"Not here."

"Has someone removed them for analysis?" Luke tried for helpful and instead came off as the guy who stated the obvious.

"You don't understand. I'm the only one with the access code."

They stood silently while William rested a hand on the safe door and forlornly stared into the space where Luke assumed the scroll had been.

Finally William shook his head. "I think we've been robbed."

Luke was sure there was another explanation but didn't say anything. Why would anyone take a scroll yet leave the other, probably far more precious items, in the safe?

That didn't make any sense. No sense at all.

Excerpt - Book of Secrets

Chapter 1

"The best way to remain in the museum after it closes to the public is to be inside before it closes," Alex Sheridan said. He paused for a moment to allow Chris to have his say but the other man said nothing. Alex was relieved Chris didn't immediately argue but he also wasn't entirely sure how he was going to manage the feat he had just stated as fact. He just had the feeling that if he said the words convincingly enough then he would be able to find a way to make this happen. Chris Samuels, his friend, ex-US Army lieutenant, and now mastermind of their little team, probably imagined every worst-case scenario possible. That was just what he did.

Chris sat back in his chair and crossed his legs at the ankles. Tapping a rhythm on the table in the restaurant, he narrowed his gaze.

"I've done the Ashmolean before, you know," Alex added helpfully. Griff snorted a laugh and Alex turned to look at the man sitting next to him, wondering if he should issue a snappy comeback. How else was he supposed to say it?

Griff shook his head and looked away at the waiters walking quietly between tables with plates of cakes and sandwiches and pots of hot water for tea.

"You've done it?" Chris said. His tone was derisive and his voice carried a note of laughter. "Is that what you call stealing from one of the oldest museums in England? And was that before or after you fell in a pit of fire and lost all your freaky powers?" Chris asked the questions casually but there was a hint of warning underlying them.

"Chris has a point," Griff added. "You may well have 'done the Ashmolean before' but we keep coming back to the fact that if you go for this today you will be going in blind."

Alex turned back to look across the street from their table in the Randolph Hotel. The Ashmolean Museum was a gorgeous building, almost as pretty as the British Museum in London, with columns inspired by ancient Greece. Tourists of all nationalities grouped around the museum, the hotel, spilling onto the busy road and posing for photos while chatting excitedly. Alex couldn't hear them, merely see their wild gesticulations and the smiles on their faces. Here inside the hotel everything was subdued and quietly respectful with a rarefied air. Around twenty people sat scattered in informal groups around the high-ceilinged room. There were no more than one hundred steps between here and the museum, and Alex could picture each footfall in his mind. The carved marble in his jacket was a heavy enough weight to remind him of what was at stake to make his observations of distance and obstacles acutely relevant.

"Can't you, just this time, walk in and simply place the thing where someone in authority can find it?" This came from Griff who, based on the tone of his voice, still couldn't comprehend what drove Alex to do what he did.

"I took it in stealth, I want to replace it the same way," Alex said. He was completely aware of how stubborn he sounded. Not even Luke completely understood why Alex pushed himself into situations like this. How could he explain that he felt alive when he danced with danger and the risk of discovery? Or that, at the moment of replacing the item he had originally stolen, the flood of memories of how he used to be was like the high from some drug.

"So what do you plan to do?" Chris interrupted his thoughts. He and Alex had talked about everything at length. Quite possibly he was the only other one who really got the rush of adrenaline. As a black ops soldier he'd been in war zones where even breathing was damned dangerous. He knew.

"Play it by ear. Visit and decide where it goes, then hide." Saying the words made everything appear so matter-of-fact.

"You make it sound so simple. You're six foot two and it's not like you blend with the crowd. They have extra security on Guy Fawkes Night and probably some kind of watch list."

"I've never been on any watch lists. Whatever I stole no one ever knew it was me," Alex defended. That was true. Still, before the fire and the loss of all his 'powers', for want of a better word, he could have walked into any museum and moved cameras, played with people's heads, even disappeared into what Edward had called 'other space'. Now he was stuck just being normal and no one outside of his head could understand the frustration.

Griff stood in a flurry of motion and with a barely hidden sigh of exasperation. "Let's just get on with it," he said.

At a more leisurely pace Alex stood and stretched tall. The restaurant was set up for afternoon tea and it was quiet enough for their small corner to be private but it was a different matter outside the old building. Stepping out into St Giles, dodging buggies and camera-wielding tourists, they finally managed to get across the road when the lights changed and ended up at the bottom of the steps. Even though some daylight remained, there was the hint of smoke in the air and the autumnal wind carried with it the expectation of the firework displays that would be widespread tonight.

The last time there had been a great theft from the Ashmolean had been New Year's Eve night over ten years ago. Alex couldn't claim responsibility for that, but he knew who had carried out the audacious theft of the Cézanne. Even to this day Alex agreed that using the noise of fireworks to drown out the sounds of the theft was ingenious. He'd never had to employ tools like that before. The very fact thefts existed, executed by people without the abilities he used to have, meant he had a template he could work from if he needed. The security would probably be tighter tonight; the museum would have learned from their loss. On the flip side they would not be expecting anyone to try the same thing again, let alone someone replacing a missing artifact.

Alex glanced across at Chris, who nodded in return. There was a way of doing this. Chris and Griff visited, Alex staying a little behind, and they simply walked the museum, enjoying great artifacts of the past. They touched what they were allowed to, and stood and admired what they couldn't. Chris and Griff gathered intel, but mostly they were just there to case for escape points if Alex were to need a way out. Alex wandered around by himself, deliberately avoiding the Greece display where the tablets were held until very close to the end of his tour. He was adept at making it appear he was part of a group, always tagging along with others and even initiating conversation. All the while he watched and learned.

A new display of Roman pieces found in a field just outside Bicester made him curious, and he leaned in to check out the arrangement of it all. Coins, a helmet, and several knives without hilts were shown to their best advantage in glass presentation cases and his fondness for all things Roman made it easy to linger a while until the next group swept by and took him with them. He considered the taller glass cabinets under the bridge that connected the art displays with the atrium and the marble statues, and imagined the way down from that height in the staggered cases. They formed a natural staircase that dropped three feet at a time. He was a fit, agile man, and even without his powers he would be able to make very short work of getting down to floor level. Much better than the security teams he had scouted the previous night, all of whom appeared to be fit and healthy but maybe a little complacent with the routine of it all.

Alex made his way through the middle area until finally he arrived in the area labeled Ancient Greece and stood directly in front of a beautiful display of various Grecian artifacts. The glass of the surrounding cabinets was lit in a muted glow and the tablet itself hung suspended by near-invisible clear plastic hooks that encased it from top to bottom. What was left was stunningly beautiful and intrigued the greatest minds. The part in Alex's jacket had been the fifth piece of five that was a special order. He had never understood why the man who bought his and Edward's skills only wanted one part of the five-part puzzle but his was not to reason why. They had stolen it six years before and no one had anything linking it to them. Nor had the museum publicized the theft, not after the loss of the Cézanne a few years before.

The plaque explained the history of the piece and he was engrossed when he caught movement reflected in the glass; someone stood behind him. He imagined from the invasion of his personal space that it was Chris or Griff. There had to be a reason why they had broken protocol and connected with him, and with a wash of concern he turned to face the person to his side.

"Alex Sheridan," the man acknowledged. Alex didn't immediately react. He couldn't. Shorter than Alex by five or so inches, the man was dressed casually in jeans and a jacket with a backpack slung over his shoulder and his eyes hidden behind shades. To all intents and purposes he appeared nothing more than a tourist strolling the corridors of history. Just like Alex.

"Dragan," Alex replied softly. For a second they simply stared at each other then Dragan pushed his glasses up into his scruffy hair. Piercing amber eyes looked at him and a flood of memories pushed Alex back a step. The last time he and Dragan Jovanovic had met it had been Alex with the upper hand. Alex who left with the artifact. Alex who made the money. Dragan had been the one left with nothing but the bitterness of being defeated by a man he had nicknamed 'Ghost'.

"Ghost." He inclined his head. "It's been a long time." His voice was that curious mix of Serbian and American that was a product of a European birth and an education at Harvard. An ex-member of the Serbian art theft team known as The Pink Panthers, he was, to Alex's knowledge, one of the only ones who'd outlived their mafia supporters. He'd been gone a long time. Five, maybe six years. Alex had thought him dead.

"Why are you here?" Alex asked quickly. The group he had attached himself to was exclaiming in loud voices over the perfect physique of a carved marble statue of Apollo and was steadily moving away. Too soon Alex would be standing on his own in the middle of the room talking to someone Interpol had on their art theft list. Not good. Really not good. A sharp pain travelled from one temple to another and he tensed at the familiar sensation. Now was not a good time for one of his regular migraines to make an appearance.

"Same as you I imagine," Dragan said with a smirk.

"Dragan—"

"Firework night. Quite a precipitous night. Don't you agree?"

The chatting from Alex's retreating cover group was lessening and Alex had to move if he wanted to stay firmly under the radar. Rooted to the spot he couldn't move nor take his eyes off Dragan.

"I'm replacing everything I stole," Alex said quickly.

"So I heard. You and your Lord and your soldier and the man who knows languages. Luke MacKinnon? Some kind of anti-thieving team I think? And he is your partner, this Luke?"

"He has nothing to do with what I am undertaking here."

"I am sure he doesn't, but I think he soon will." With this cryptic statement and a civil nod of his head, Dragan walked away as if he had all the time in the world and as if he wasn't carrying a pistol under his jacket.

Shit. How do I know he was carrying a gun? Why can I visualize the gun? Why can I sense the shape of it when it's hidden? Why does he have a gun? Why does my head hurt?

Hell, why didn't the Ashmolean have some kind of anti-terror security scanner? Dragan wasn't the kind of man who had a gun without the intention of using it. Didn't the Brits take anything seriously? Calming his breathing, Alex considered his options. Dragan being here, in the vicinity, with a gun, and some kind of intention to carry out a theft, was a very large spanner in the works. The attention of the police could be raining down on them, especially if Dragan used the damned gun.

What do I do? Stand here? Carry on with what I was planning? Do I call the whole thing off?

Thoughts ran and twisted in his head and the pain knifed again. This time it hurt enough for Alex to move the hell away from standing there like an idiot. He consciously followed the direction that Dragan had taken but when he rounded the corner the man had disappeared from view. Instead he caught a glimpse of Chris and Griff walking toward the exit and glanced at his watch. Thirty minutes to closing and the place was still busy enough to hide whatever he was doing. If he stayed and did this thing tonight then he needed to pull himself the fuck together and stop worrying about what ifs and maybes. His plan consisted of a quick 'in and out' and pushing thoughts aside that could rock his equilibrium, he focused.

Striding confidently past exhibits, he took a left then a right out to a door marked Staff that Chris had cleared as the best entrance, and pushed it open. He already had the words at hand if he was spotted but the luck of the gods remained on his side and he ended up heading down the back stairs to the basement and the dry storage area. Down here everything was covered in protective packaging and was storage for a mix of items rotated into display and new exhibit contents.

After standing still for a second he then turned on his heel and headed to the back of the large labyrinthine area. Dodging behind a pile of large gray crates to avoid two chattering staff members, he finally found himself in an area full of ancient Egyptian artifacts. Happy that he was safely out of sight and earshot, he settled with his back against the wall and his ass pressed on the cold floor. He was prepared for the cold. The cold was nothing, nor was there fear of where he sat or why. No. This time his head was full of Dragan. What the hell was the man doing in broad daylight in Oxford, jeez, in England at all? How had he stayed alive after the great mafia showdowns of 2008? So many families turned on each other and the hired help often went first. The Pink Panthers, named for the diamond in the eponymous series of movies, was not only disbanded but ruthlessly hunted down by rival families and authorities alike. Dragan was, to all intents and purposes, the last of his kind.

Alex flicked through what Dragan had said then he remembered the almost throwaway line about Luke. Something about Luke soon being part of this? This what? The retrieval and replacement scheme he worked on? What?

His headache subsided as he calmed his thoughts and lost himself in memories and finally he arrived in a place in his head where he could relax and wait until the dark and the fireworks. Luke was in another University town, Cambridge, delivering a lecture on translation and Alex had been the willing audience as Luke practiced his speech.

God. He wished Luke was here. Now.

* * * *

Luke wrapped up his speech with a flourish of his hands and a summary that he had practiced over and over for many long hours. The applause was deafening in the acoustics of the medieval university hall and for the first time since he had agreed to talk fourteenth century translation he was pleased he had said so.

He wasn't the best at standing in front of people and talking. It didn't matter that he was an expert in what he was talking about or that he had experience in ancient languages that a lot of the professors and students alike would sell their own grandmothers to own. Of course he couldn't talk about what had happened with Alex, or the crazy connection the two of them had, or even the fact Luke's name was carved into Alex's skin as part of some gods against man battle. Keeping Alex a secret was as vital to him as keeping hold of Alex's heart.

"Thank you so much," Professor Jameison said. He pumped Luke's hand so hard that Luke had to rub his fingers when he finished. The short, balding, bespectacled man was a master of ancient Greece and was one of those that, if only they knew what Luke had seen, would be pinning Luke down for information. To know the Oracle. To have slept with the Oracle. That was some pretty intense and heavy stuff.

"You're welcome," Luke replied. He gathered together his papers and the notes he had prepared but not actually read from, and pushed them all into his case.

"We would be honored if you could join us in the refectory for a drink?"

"I'm so sorry. I promised I would be back home for later tonight, so I really need to think about battling through the traffic." Nothing anyone said could get Luke to stay away from Six Pillars tonight. Alex was coming home and after one of his jobs he always needed Luke as his center.

"A pity. But I must say I would appreciate the chance to discuss the scripts in more detail at a later point. Should I have my assistant contact yours for a time?"

Luke smiled. An assistant? Wouldn't that be nice. He may know a few languages, he may well have an instinctive need for learning, but he was still a low-paid researcher working on his own papers. Taking on jobs like this one in Cambridge where he was paid a pretty decent fee made it at least feel like he contributed something financial to his and Alex's life. Of course, Alex being left a large part of Thanos's billions did make life a little easier, added to the fact that they now shared an apartment in Griff's family home for half of the year.

"Please get her to email me and I will be very pleased to come back."

Making his excuses and accepting both congratulations and questions on his way out, he realized that the November sky, redolent with the scent of bonfires, was so dark he couldn't immediately find his car. Evidently medieval buildings didn't have outside lighting as a given. Finally in the car, he checked his cell. There were no messages from Alex although Luke had an insistent nagging at the base of his skull that he really needed to get home soon.

Nothing will go wrong. Alex knows what he is doing.

"It's okay, Luke." Alex's voice echoed in his head and Luke smiled. It was just wishful thinking that it was actually Alex's voice and not just a thought that manifested as if it were planted there. He missed that connection they had experienced in Greece. The connection hadn't lasted long but he had just gotten used to it when Athan had left Alex. He'd only noticed how much he had grown used to it when it had completely gone.

Just short of three hours driving and he headed up the winding road to Six Pillars and parked on the wide drive. After grabbing his papers and bags he hurried into the house and without hellos was intent on finding either Griff or Chris and hearing how Alex was getting on.

"And?" he asked. Griff looked over at him from stirring something that smelled vaguely Italian and tomato-y on the gleaming stainless steel stove.

Griff knew exactly what to say. "Everything's fine. He went in. He hasn't contacted us. Security was light and the crowds were heavy."

Luke deflated a little as the worry left him then he winced as a band of pain squeezed his temples. Rubbing at the offending areas he cursed. The pain had been on and off all afternoon.

"Okay?" Griff asked, looking concerned.

"Fighting a headache; the motorways were hell. I just need some pain meds and a shower."

"He'll be back by two," Griff offered. Luke managed a smile. However much he smiled though, Griff could see straight through him. "Someone phoned and left a message for you." Griff turned back to the pot. "Chris wrote it on the pad."

Lord and Lady Morgan had left the house mostly empty when they spent their usual six months in Monaco, and just the four of them lived here. Him and Alex in the west side of the building, Griff and Christopher in the east part. The fact that four men lived here was easy to spot to an untrained eye by the piles of notes and takeaway menus that littered the side counter. It never failed to amaze him that pizza was still delivered to a house as grand as Six Pillars or to a man as titled as Griff.

"I cooked pasta," Griff said. "It's this bake thing if you're interested."

"You cooked?" Luke said. "Are you feeling okay?" He rummaged through the notes until he discovered one in Chris's handwriting in among the clutter. A single name: Smith, and a contact number.

"Ha bloody ha," Griff deadpanned. The very British swearword sounded so damn dry.

"This was it? Just a name and a number?"

"You need to ask Chris, he took the message. Dinner's in twenty."

"I'll be down. Where's Chris?"

"The usual."

Luke wandered out of the kitchen and down the long hallway to the room off the study where he knew he would find Chris. When Alex was out doing his thing, Chris could be found in the empty room doing his. The ex-soldier worried just as much as Luke did. Luke knocked and entered just as Chris finished a roundhouse kick to the punching bag hanging from the ceiling. He was sweating and concentrating and Luke hesitated to interrupt his friend for a moment. He took a step back to leave but words stopped him.

"You need to talk to him, Luke." Chris held on to the bag to stop its swaying and pushed his other hand through his short, sweat-damp hair.

"To Griff?"

"No. To your idiot boyfriend. He's gone into that place with no fucking plan, no backup, and a wish for his crazy-assed powers back again."

"I'll talk to him," Luke said. He meant it. He would talk to Alex for all the good that would do. Recently Alex had become more and more reckless in the way he approached his retrievals and replacements and Luke fought very hard to keep his worry on the down low.

"I'm just…" Chris stopped and stepped away from the bag. He used a shrug to punctuate the unfinished sentence and Luke knew exactly what he was trying to say. He was worried. Luke was worried. And now he had a freaking full-blown headache.

* * * *

Alex opened his eyes and then checked his watch. He hadn't slept but he had relaxed and the plan for what he was doing was very set in his head. The headache was getting worse and he felt a sick dizziness as he clambered to stand. Settling his breathing, he let his newly opened eyes become accustomed to the dark and debated using the small flashlight in his pocket. He had a pretty clear idea where he needed to go and he visualized a path. The security cameras only started outside of this storage room and he knew enough to avoid every single one on the route he needed to take. Opening the storeroom door led him to a darkened corridor and, pausing for a moment, he took the way he had come in back out to the museum. The guards patrolled every so often, there were the cameras, the Ashmolean wasn't stupid—they had enough to protect everything that could be taken. They just hadn't planned on someone putting something back.

The museum was silent, no one near him. For a second an overwhelming feeling of want washed over him. He hankered for the ability to play with the cameras—to turn them to another source. Pointedly he stared up at the nearest camera, one focused away from him, and flinched when it shook slightly. It didn't move completely but Alex frowned. He was losing it, thinking anything about moving cameras.

Quietly he made his convoluted way in the direction of the exhibit and in a few minutes the missing piece of stone had returned to its place. For a second he watched it, back where it should be, and some emotion flooded through him. Luke. Alex was proud of what he was doing because it was what Luke wanted. Did that make him a pushover? Was that why he stood in the museum in the gently lit hall staring like a calf-eyed idiot with a feeling of pure peace inside him? Closing his eyes briefly he shook his head to clear the thoughts. Luke would listen to what Alex said and would just give that damn enigmatic smile. This particular piece of marble had been hidden from the public eye for quite a few years now and Luke wanted people to be able to see and touch these links to the ancient world.

Nodding at the marble, silently admiring its placement, he turned and made his way to the only egress that Chris had identified as a safe and easy way to leave. Attuned to the silence of the museum, it was easy to hear approaching footsteps, and quickly Alex slid behind the nearest sculpture big enough to hide him. When the footsteps passed he moved across the glass bridge and with agile grace that belied his size he used the tops of cabinets to reach the ground floor in seconds. Clearly one guard prowled the first floor and that left two other guards somewhere in the building. Waiting for a second, he listened carefully and frowned when he heard voices.

"It came from here," one guard said.

"It's probably some damn computer glitch," the other replied. He sounded way past annoyed and straight on to pissed.

"We can't always blame this stuff on computers." Guard one laughed as he said this.

Alex watched as the two walked the very corridor he needed to use to get to the skylight in the Civil War hall. Anxiety knotted in his chest and he breathed through the issues.

"Jesus Christ!"

Alex couldn't work out which guard was exclaiming but he hugged closer to the sculpture. Something didn't sound right.

"There's glass everywhere. Look. Up. The skylight. It's been smashed."

"There's a bag. A red one. Wait. Sound the alarm."

Alex's stomach sank. A red bag? Dragan had been holding a red rucksack. He wouldn't have made this mess though. He was an expert. The alarm was a shrieking cacophony of discordant notes and the museum lights came on full and bright. Alex winced. Fuck. Two guards blocked his only exit, thinking was difficult with the noise in his head, the light burned, and Dragan was somewhere in the freaking building. What the hell was he going to do now?

"Police are on their way. Five out." This was a third voice. Probably the guard Alex had evaded coming across the bridge.

"I'm going to check north."

"I'll take south."

"They could be armed. Stan, stay here at the skylight."

"You said they could be armed. Should we be splitting up?"

If Alex weren't in shit up to his neck he might even think the whining was funny. Not many art thieves actually went around with heat. Except, it seemed, Dragan. In that freaking red bag. Think. Think.

Scrolling through possibilities to get the hell out was messing with his head. There were several potential exits but most of them left him exposed once he left the building. The roof wasn't an option. Fuck. Pain banded his head and he winced again. Then the burn started. As fear edged into his normally calm thoughts, heat began to build inside him. He held up a hand and the sleeve of his black polo neck fell back to expose his wrist. Blue. Sparking just under his skin, a cerulean blue that squirmed and formed into shapes. In disbelief he watched as it coalesced into recognizable letters. The same letters that had been carved into his skin. The same that had disappeared in the fire. Concentrating the burn until it sat in the center of his chest, he inhaled and exhaled deeply. The burn cascaded through his body and he welcomed the hurt it spread along its path.

This was Alex with the power of the gods under his skin, and closing his eyes tightly he concentrated on his Self. Athan wasn't inside him. There was no trace of the boy who had been so much a part of him for so long. This was all Alex and it was frightening and exhilarating at the same time. When the gray hues of images burned inside his eyelids he opened his eyes. Everything around him was blurred and faded as if he were looking through dirty, cracked glass.

Could he have sidestepped into his other space?

Taking an experimental step away from the carvings, he inhaled and then moved directly into the line of sight of a very nervous Stan. The guard was jumpy and looking between the room around him and down at his watch.

"Come on… come on…" he muttered.

Alex stopped right in front of him but the guard looked right through him. Fuck. This was real. This was happening. Not wanting to waste a single moment, he moved behind the guard and lifted the red bag. It would vanish into the other space with him—something he'd never been able to explain to Luke, or even understand himself. In a smooth movement he climbed two cases until finally he reached the last display and stood under the broken skylight. Seconds later and he was out on the small side-extension roof. One minute more, with sirens sounding right outside the museum, and he was running at a fast pace back to where he had left the car. Halfway between the Ashmolean and his car he shifted back to the now. Not consciously. It just happened. He hoped to hell no one spotted that freaky-ass trick.

Dropping the red bag on the passenger seat he belted himself into the car, started the engine, and drove away as sedately as he could. The buzzing in his head sounded familiar. Something was happening inside him.

How the hell was he going to explain this to Luke? They'd only just settled into a routine of being normal. Well, as normal as it got between an ex-thief like him and an academic like Luke.

How the hell he was going to explain to Luke what had just happened?

Chapter 2

Alex swung the VW Golf in a smooth arc to end up the far side of the stone fountain. He needed time to get around how he was feeling.

"Fuck," he muttered. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Killing the engine he rested his forehead on crossed arms against the steering wheel. The scent of leather teased his nostrils and he inhaled deeply. After spending the last few hours in the basement of a museum, surrounded by the remnants of some Egyptian display of sarcophagi and wall paintings, it was good to breathe in something fresh. His heart rate slowed as he concentrated on calming the hell down. He didn't think he had ever made it from the city to here in such a short time. Yes, it was nearly two am and blacker than pitch, meaning it was unlikely he would meet much traffic. Yes, he had the sense to stick to speed limits as and when he could but that didn't mean he hadn't pressed his foot harder to the floor on more than one stretch of road. But he didn't even remember some of the journey. At least getting here in forty minutes meant he had some time now just to calm the hell down. He had texted Luke when he left the museum so Luke would assume he wouldn't make it home for another ten minutes.

Lifting his head a little he then banged it down on his arms. And again. Luke was going to freak the hell out when he found out what had happened. There was no sense in expecting any other result. After everything in Greece they had thought it was over, that despite some kind of residual energy sparks Alex was essentially normal. He wanted to be normal for Luke. He didn't want to scare him away.

A sharp flash of turquoise sparked behind his eyes and he lifted his head again, this time to slump back in the bucket seat and exhale noisily. This was happening more and more often, the sparks of blue tracing a path under his skin that he could almost see if he watched carefully. The paths didn't follow veins but the marks he had once had on his skin. That was the one thing that really scared him. Pulling back his sleeve, he held up his forearm and peered close. The tail of the phoenix used to run there, down the length of his arm, wrapping his bicep and ending with Greek symbols just at his wrist. There was nothing there now. Frustrated, he clenched his fist and relaxed back—he was certain if he could just get a handle on this then Luke would never have to know. His cell chimed a text and he grabbed the offending item to read the screen. Luke.

'You staying out there all night?'

Casually Alex looked up and to the left to the room at the end of the east wing where he knew Luke would be looking down at him. Thank God his lover wouldn't have seen inside the car at the dramatic crap he was putting himself through. He took his cell, exited the car, and allowed himself a few seconds of standing in the glow of the interior light. Luke told him that he loved those moments when Alex was home safe after a job and he first glimpsed him climbing from the car. Sketching a casual wave up at where he knew Luke would be standing, he closed the door and locked the car. Patting her roof he sent a prayer heavenward, thankful that Griff's collection held this beauty. Solid and sturdy, she didn't look like a supercar, not like the small sports car he had owned with Edward, but she sure stuck to the country roads leading up to Six Pillars like shit to a blanket—even when the driver at the wheel had entered some kind of catatonic state.

He took the stone steps to the main door two at a time and let himself in the front door. Checking his sweatshirt was zipped to the throat and up under the chin, he then took another set of stairs and near jogged to the last room. He threw open their bedroom door and wasn't surprised that Luke sat at the desk in the window. What surprised him was that the only light in the room came from the glow of Luke's laptop and the small bedside lamp. What the hell was Luke doing sitting in the semi dark?

They were in each other's arms in seconds. When Alex maneuvered them until Luke was pressed against the wall, he set about proving to Luke just how much he had missed him.

Retrievals, a euphemism for what he and Edward had used to do, had always given Alex a natural high. Sex had been hottest just after they had lifted whatever object they were targeting. Tonight was no different, except it was Luke, the man he loved, in his arms, and to top it all, Alex hadn't retrieved an item but replaced one.

The kissing grew more heated, punctuated only with a command from Alex for Luke to strip. Together they pulled at Luke's clothes until he stood naked. Still fully dressed, Alex hugged Luke close. The touch of skin on skin was the one thing that Alex needed but the one thing he knew he should limit. Especially after tonight. He hugged Luke so close it was inevitable that the man would want to know why. Normally there was sex, or in their case, hot, sweaty, balls-deep lovemaking. Luke pulled at Alex's shirt but Alex simply placed a hand over his.

"No, Luke."

This was as far from normal as was possible. Luke knew Alex, could read him, and he pulled away even as Alex tried to stop him.

"What do you mean no? What happened?" Luke asked. "Alex? Talk to me? Could you not replace the artifact?"

"It was good. It went well."

"So what's wrong then? You look like hell."

"It's been three days, I'm tired," Alex defended.

"Don't lie to me." Luke crossed his arms over his chest and showed that pissed look he had perfected so well over the past two years. The stance was his not-taking-any-shit posture. Didn't matter that he was naked and so hard and ready he probably hurt.

"Something happened." Alex finally offered the simple words when it became clear Luke wasn't backing down. Maybe it was the simple way Alex said it. Or the defeat in his voice but the expression on Luke's face changed from mutinous and demanding to compassionate and questioning in an instant.

"Talk to me."

Alex knew he had to tell Luke what was going on, whatever consequences it had for them or for their love. Luke might take this happening in stride. Hell, he may well take one look at Alex's body and just lose it completely. Fuck. Who knew and why was Alex all of sudden doubting Luke's love and compassion?

Flicking the main light on and crossing to close the drapes Alex finally stilled with his back to Luke. With a sharp breath, in and then out, he unzipped his sweatshirt and pulled it and his T-shirt off over his head in one smooth move.

"Interesting," Luke muttered. He was a master of understatement and Alex knew his boyfriend well enough to know that the simple word held his own version of 'holy shit' and 'what the fuck'.

There was no touching. Luke didn't immediately cross to Alex and trace and press and demand answers. There was no need.

"Jesus, Alex," Luke murmured.

"How bad is it?" Alex asked. Tension ramped up in the room. He had seen the pale blue in the mirror—this was why he wore the damn sweatshirt up to his throat, but the burning had intensified tonight. He knew it would be worse.

"Every-everything…" Luke's voice was low and awed. "It's all there…"

"I thought so," Alex said softly. No sense in swearing and cursing the gods or whoever forced this crazy shit onto him.

"You thought so?"

"There's been times—you know—when we made love that the burning was there under my skin. I just… tonight." He stopped and bowed his head. "There was a security guard and he was coming around the corner and before I knew it…"

"What? Did you have to deal with it? What did you do, Alex?"

"Nothing." Alex looked back at Luke over his shoulder. "I swear nothing needed to happen. He didn't see me is all."

"Fuck, Alex."

Alex heard rather than saw Luke sit down on the bed. For the first time since he had found out about the thing that was inside him, he wished it were easy for Luke to just hug him and reassure him everything was going to be okay. He felt the hopelessness that emanated from his lover and, despondent, he pulled on the zipped sweatshirt so it covered his back. Luke knew not to touch Alex that was all. He wasn't pulling away he was just being considerate to Alex's empathic side. Over and over Alex repeated those thoughts until he was almost convinced they were true.

"I'll understand if you don't want this…" Alex's voice trailed away.

"This what exactly? What is it you think is happening?" Luke had a layer of irritation in his voice. Alex knew it wasn't directed at him, more at the impossibility of what was happening to Alex's body.

"I don't know. I don't feel the scar tissue, so that hasn't come back."

Horrifically scarred by priests in an ancient Grecian temple as the child that Alex had been so many centuries before, the patterns carved into his skin had been covered by thick dark tattoos. When Athanasios had left him to ascend to wherever he went, every single mark on his skin had vanished. He had been reborn from an intense fire simply as Alex.

When Athanasios had gone, the young boy's consciousness had taken with it the physical scarring—all scarring except Luke's name in raised markings on Alex's inner thigh.

"I know, I mean, there's no scarring I can see," Luke said softly. "The markings are faint but under the skin—like a tracing or something."

"And no tattoos." Alex lifted a handful of material and twisted to check what part of his back he could see in the large wall mirror. Nothing.

Luke paused and when Alex met his gaze he was thoughtful and considering. "We always said the tattoos were something that you created, the Alex who was a man, not Athan the boy. When the scarring was cleared the tattoos went as well."

"Tell me what you can see then," Alex pleaded. He crossed to sit next to Luke on the bed, close enough to feel his body heat but far enough away so that there was no touching.

"Tracings under the skin, like you see blood rushing through veins under a microscope. Brilliant sapphire blue with sparking and… I don't know how to describe it? Does it hurt?"

"It always hurts," Alex replied. He could have been diplomatic and said it didn't, but two years ago, he had promised to never lie to Luke again. "The pain is something I can put in a box in my head. Sometimes it is tight and I feel like my lungs are going to burst with the constriction. Other times it's just this rush of warmth. I don't think it is in my blood though—not in my veins. But you can see, right? See that it is following the patterns of what used to be there. The phoenix? The sun and the words inside the shapes?"

"I would need to check against my master notes—I could get the ones that I took in Greece when I sketched the carvings and tattoos…" Luke began the sentence then bowed his head.

Alex felt the overwhelming sense of despair that shot through Luke. That was another thing he needed to talk to his lover about. The fact that he sensed Luke's emotions was something he didn't even want to contemplate. It was way beyond just knowing the various emotions that made up the man he loved. This was actually sensing the feelings inside Luke. Not only that, but he was 'seeing' other people as well. Not entirely—more like a radio just off-station where every so often the talking and music were sharp and clear and other times they were more like discordant white noise.

Walking down the street and knowing what people were considering—anger, fear, despair—and then touching any one person by accident and having their base emotions flood into him was worse than hell. Not only that but he was having those damn flashes of color behind his eyes, case in point when the guard turned the corner. He had slipped into his 'other space' in an instant and was hidden from anyone's sight. The feeling was so familiar yet it frightened the shit out of him. He'd only just gotten used to not having the skills he used to have and for them to all of a sudden smack back into him…? Too much.

An empath with his abilities, including the freaky way he looked at the world as flashes of color and sound and raw emotion, was never going to last long in the general population. He had spent most of his early twenties staying away from everyone except Edward. His lover had been the only one he could sleep with, or touch. Then there had been Luke. Luke grounded him.

"Luke? Does any of it look the same to you?" He hated the defeat in his voice. Empathy was a double-edged sword but he had come to terms with it once—he could do it again.

"I don't need to look at my notes." Luke lifted a hand out in front of them and traced imaginary patterns in the air, each movement accompanied by his soft voice explaining what he had seen. "The sun with the flames and the phoenix that sits to one side, with the wings that cover the expanse of your back." Luke shifted on the bed slightly and for a moment their thighs touched. Alex was rusty at putting up barriers and before he could put anything in place, he realized with despair that worry had given way to a strange fear inside Luke. "Then there is the writing," Luke continued, "sun, life and air." He shook his head and dropped his hand to his lap resting it there in a loose fist. "I am guessing your chest is as patterned?"

Alex lifted a hand and placed it where his heart was. "Yes. That is what I first saw, and then the burning."

"And your arms?"

"Both of them. I don't understand."

"So you said you felt this happening when we're making love?" Luke asked. "When else does it happen?"

"Before, when we were together, there wasn't the intensity I felt tonight. I know it's getting worse. The last find and replace and then this one." Alex used the shorthand term he and Chris had come up with when they started Sheridan Investigations. Find and replace was a more official term for Alex finding what he and Edward had stolen and putting it back where it came from.

"Heightened emotion," Luke summarized. Alex could only nod at this very close to the mark fact. Luke placed his hand flat on Alex's thigh and Alex started at the touch. "Can you do the other thing? Knowing what I think?"

Alex didn't want to answer. Who in normal civilian life wanted a freak who could read every emotion or thought they had? He didn't have the thought connection to anyone other than Luke. The only time he had managed to connect with someone else was with Chris when Luke and Alex had been prisoners of Lord Arriseth. What was Luke going to say if Alex told the truth? Two years they had been together, and Luke was the other half of his soul. If he lost him now because of this curse…?

"I can see every thought written on your face, Alex," Luke said. His words were so damn gentle. "I don't have to be an empath to see you worry about what I am thinking."

"It's just… look… I'm sorry you're scared," Alex whispered and then turned to face Luke. "I understand whatever you decide to do is best for both of us."

Luke nodded and something inside of Alex began to relax when Luke wasn't rejecting him. Half of him had expected unconditional acceptance, and that Luke's love for him would get them through anything. But the other half, where his head still couldn't get around what had happened to him, feared rejection. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe creepy ancient power coursing through his body was too damn much for Luke to handle, maybe it wasn't.

Luke sighed, shook his head, then he did something wholly unexpected. In a smooth move, Alex was lying on his back, with his feet still flat on the floor, Luke straddling him. Impatiently Luke pulled the material of the top up until Alex lifted his arms and allowed the whole thing to be removed.

"I'm not scared of you," Luke murmured. He leaned down and kissed a short path between one nipple and the other then concentrated on worrying the left with his teeth before suckling. Alex arched his back to get closer while at the same time fighting desperately not to let too many of Luke's emotions through his barrier. Raw passion was a sensation that speared through him and cut deeply. Making love to Luke when he healed after losing the ability to connect had been intense and perfect. There was no need for barriers and he could just give everything of himself. Making love now, with the absolute purity of need that he had to have, would probably kill him.

"What are you scared of then? Don't say you—you're—jeez Luke—don't say that you're not scared," he stuttered as Luke's fingers followed the path of lips and tongue and traced unseen patterns on his skin. "I can feel it inside you."

"For you," Luke whispered against his skin. "'M scared for you." His direction changed and gently he moved until he lay chest to chest and his hands cradled Alex's face. "We don't know why this is happening. It could be residual energy, or maybe what happened to Athan left a scar inside you… or… hell, I don't know." They lay there together for a while and then Luke asked the one question Alex had hoped to avoid until he had gotten his head around this whole thing. "How strong are your barriers at the moment?"

"I've lost practice… I'm trying." Flexing his thighs he attempted to lever Luke off of him but Luke was going nowhere.

"Don't push me away," Luke said. His words were a demand.

"You know how much it hurts…" Alex pushed again but Luke was not giving way. Luke must remember the rawness inside Alex when he connected to too much emotion—when it flooded him with pain. What if he lashed out? Hurt Luke? Why would Luke force him into this position? He must have said it out loud because Luke answered.

"Because you could never hurt me and I sure as hell couldn't hurt you."

He released one of Alex's hands and Alex didn't think to immediately use it to push Luke away. Something in the hypnotic tone of Luke's words stayed the movement.

"Touch me, Alex."

Alex lifted his hand and gently placed his palm on Luke's chest. He could hear the gentle thump-thump of Luke's heart and feel the emotions that went along with it. Compassion. Need. Lust. Love. None of it hurt. Not one iota of it was anything less than intense. For a second he closed his eyes and imagined the emotions coursing through them both. Like threads they weaved around each other and he consciously allowed some of his own need to reach and touch Luke.

Luke hissed at the connection and Alex's eyelids opened immediately. It wasn't pain that he found in Luke's expression but glazed passion.

"Do that again," Luke said. "You can't hurt me. I couldn't hurt you even if I tried." Luke leaned down and placed a gentle kiss to Alex's lips at the exact moment Alex began to tentatively lower his barriers. Allowing more and more to connect, he felt a lust so intense rise in him that he wanted Luke inside him now. Luke would take care of him. Luke would hold him steady in this sea of conflicting needs. All Alex had to do was trust.

Luke slid his tongue along the seam of Alex's mouth and Alex parted his lips to taste his lover. A tingle began at the base of his skull, the blue behind his eyes increasing in intensity. This is what had happened before—this was how the lovemaking went each time. The spark inside Alex grew and grew until he was certain even Luke could feel the heat. The kiss deepened and Luke pressed down groin to groin. He moaned deep in his throat. Luke was naked but Alex still wore his pants and shorts. He needed them off… now.

Luke got with the program. Slipping to one side, he helped Alex push off the offending items but he didn't immediately climb back on. Instead he lay back and pulled Alex to cover him. Then they kissed. The kisses were lazy and then fast and desperate and then nothing more than an exchange of breath as they stared into each other's eyes. Alex saw the flecks of amber in the center of Luke's soft brown eyes then saw past that to the need inside the man. Unconsciously they had been moving against each other as they kissed and Alex was so close to coming he couldn't stop the rising feeling. An answering lust radiated from Luke and, gazes locked, they rocked in a rhythm as old as time. There was no pain, no electric shocks paralyzed him, only devastating and overpowering love.

The orgasm that stole his breath, answered with Luke arching up against him in the throes of his own completion, was nothing compared to the sapphire light that surrounded them both in a cocoon of awareness and heat. Every cell of him sparked and shifted and Luke was writhing under him as the sensation of ecstasy went on and on.

"I love you," Alex said at the peak of it all.

"Love. You," Luke said below him.

Consciously pulling the connection away gently and a step at a time, Alex finally rolled off Luke and lay to one side. Luke had gripped his hand as he moved and held tightly until the two men lay quiet and unmoving. The air around them held a static charge and the room was in utter blackness. The lamp was off, the computer quiet.

"Did we just blow the electricity?" Luke whispered. He glanced over at the clock on the bedside table that flashed 12:00.

"I think we did," Alex answered. He turned his head to face Luke. "That was…"

"Intense? Hot?" Luke smiled.

"Perfect." Alex wasn't going to question why having Luke's feelings cascade into him was the opposite of pain. Luke hadn't thrown him out, he didn't think Alex was a freak, and he loved him. Yes.

Perfect.

12:42:00

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Just Jack by Meredith Russell - 25% off Sale

As part of our Christmas celebrations, this fantastic book by Meredith Russell has a 25% discount until 27th December 2015. Also available as a print book. Please see links at the bottom of this page.

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As part of our Christmas celebrations, this fantastic book by Meredith Russell has a 25% discount until 27th December 2015.

Also available as a print book. Please see links at the bottom of this page.