Bay of Sighs (The Guardians Trilogy 2)

“Of course. Only to help you forget all of this should you choose to refuse me.” And, she thought, to make him—like his servant—susceptible to suggestion.

Hers, should he disappoint her, would be for him to return home, take the weapon he now had at the small of his back, put it into his mouth, and pull the trigger.

If he refused, he was of no use to her.

“Look and see,” she said again. “See the six. Guardians of the stars. Enemies of Nerezza. See them, and what they are.”

He saw Riley standing under the light of a full moon, saw her transform into a wolf that threw back its head to howl before running into shadows.

He watched Sawyer, holding the compass, vanish in a golden light and reappear in another.

He saw a man hold lightning in his hands, a woman who spoke of visions and things yet to come. Another man run through with a sword who rose again, healed and whole.

And the woman, the beauty who dived into a night sea and rose up with a jeweled tail.

“You see the truth.” Nerezza spoke quietly, watching the dazed and dazzled look in his eyes. “What they have, all and each, you can possess. Do with what you will. Think of hunting the she-wolf, the thrill of it. She has a pack, more hunting. Think of possessing the mermaid. Of owning the compass. Of harnessing the magician, the seer for your own purposes.

“Or destroying them. How it would thrill to destroy such creatures. Your choice. Enslave or destroy. And the immortal?”

She smiled when he looked at her again, when she saw what she’d known she would on his face. The greed for life.

“This could be yours.”

“Immortality.”

“A payment, if you choose. I can give this to you.”

“How? How can you give me immortality?”

“I am Nerezza.”

“Named for the goddess who cursed the three stars.”

She rose, lifted her arms. The candlelight swirled into walls of fire. Her voice was a thunder that dropped him to his knees.

“I am Nerezza. Goddess of the dark.”

The strange bird gave a cry, almost human, then swooped. Malmon felt a quick sting at his throat, but made no sound. He trembled with awe, with lust.

“Refuse me and leave, never to see again the wonders. Accept my task, and choose your payment. Wealth, power? Life eternal?”

“Life! Give me immortality.”

“Give me the stars, and it’s yours.”

The fire died to candlelight; she sat. She held out a paper, and a silver quill. “A contract, between us.”

His hands shook—fear, excitement—he’d forgotten what it was to feel so much. To calm himself, he drained the

wine in the glass, then accepted the quill.

“It’s written in Latin.”

“Yes. A dead language for immortality.”

He read Latin, as well as Greek, Arabic, Aramaic. But his heart thudded as he translated. He wanted more time. A night to think, to settle his nerves.

She rose, skimmed her hands down, and the gown spilled away, leaving her naked, magnificent.