Stolen Fate (The Mythean Arcana 4)

She shook the thought away. It was crazy. She was crazy. She shouldn’t be attracted to the too-handsome, black-haired thief whose dark eyes gleamed with intelligence and cunning.

He was a thief, for gods’ sake. And not just any kind. A thief of history, of the artifacts she held so dear and had based her life around. They’d barely spoken back in his cell, yet her stupid body was still attracted to him.

Her body was a moron.

“Here we are,” she said as they reached her car.

He slid in after her. He filled the small space, his scent dark and masculine.

She swallowed hard. Dealing with him was going to be a whole lot more complex than she’d anticipated.

Ian ran a big hand over the dash. The dials looked minuscule next to his big fingers. “Things have changed.”

She laughed. She’d forgotten that he’d been in prison since 1916. “Aye. This car is nothing special, either. Wait ’til you see some of the really nice ones.”

He huffed out a laugh and she had to wonder what it was like to see things through his eyes. The university campus wasn’t a shock. All rolling hills and oak trees, there were no masses of paved highways here. The buildings were stone monstrosities and were older than he was, so they wouldn’t be a shock either.

“We’re going to meet Logan.” She hadn’t mentioned that to Lea when she’d begged for Ian’s release. Logan had wanted to ensure she had a way to get into the museum—Ian—before he gave her any more intel. She had a feeling there was more between Logan and Ian than was on the surface, but she was willing to take the risk. She could protect herself, even if it was dangerous as hell to meet a known thief like Logan away from the safety of the Immortal University. It was a risk she was willing to take. She’d reached the end of her line long before this. When Logan, a thief she’d been looking for because he’d stolen from the university, had approached her with information about the book, she’d been skeptical.

But she needed to find that book so damned badly that she’d decided trusting him was worth the risk. It was the only good clue she’d had in over a year.

She pulled the car out of the lot and headed down the lane that led to the university entrance.

Great oaks rose on either side as they rolled down the main drive and arrived at a great wrought iron gate that hid the campus from mortal eyes. It swung open silently, and she drove through the forest that would lead to the main road.

The night was black as tar as they sped down the winding country road, the beam of the headlights cutting through the dark. There were no other cars, and when Fiona pulled onto a lane that led deeper into the forest, if she hadn’t known better, she’d think left the last of civilization behind.

“You work for the university, do you no’?” Ian asked.

“Aye.”

The Immortal University, which had begun its existence thousands of years ago as a group of Mythean warriors and their families who’d banded together for protection from mortals, had eventually become a research institution of enormous power. Though it had taken the name Immortal University and taught a few classes to educate young Mytheans, the institution was more concerned with ensuring peace between the gods in the afterworlds and mortals on earth. They were keepers and enforcers of Mythean law.

“You’re a diplomat?” he asked.

Diplomacy and knowledge were the university’s primary tools. But that didn’t mean they didn’t have a top-notch security division. It was how Ian had ended up imprisoned for his crimes.

“I’m an Acquirer with the Department of Magical Devices.” She was a Historius, like him. Their long-dead ancestors had been disciples of the Celtic god Gwydion, a god of magic and the arts, who’d gifted his followers with the ability to locate valuable artwork and artifacts. The skill had passed down through the generations, which were few, as immortals rarely reproduced.

The car turned into the little gravel parking lot at the side of an old country pub.

“Bit remote,” Ian said.

“Aye. And better for it.” She cut the lights and pulled the key from the ignition.

He followed her up to the heavy wooden door.

“After you,” she said as she pushed it open.

He reached over her head so that he held open the door and nodded, indicating she should precede him.

“After you,” she repeated, determined not to let him pull that archaic crap on her.

He shook his head, his face set. He wasn’t going to move, that much was clear. Stubborn man. She shrugged and walked through because it was easier.

Ian followed Fiona into the pub, his entire body tingling with the glorious sensation of being free. The collar, though a pain in the arse, was nothing compared to the hell he’d just escaped. The air was sweeter, the sky higher, and everything around him more incredible than he’d ever realized.

The pub was dimly lit and dingy, but even that was a joy. A grizzled old barkeep wiped the nicked expanse of wood with a rag and watched them with a frown. The pub was old enough that it reminded him of the pubs of his day, and a rush of nostalgia washed over him.