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Ryland stared at one of the old urns, dated at nearly four thousand years old, as he tried to understand why someone would be desperate to own such a thing. It had no purpose beyond being old.
Yup. He didn’t get it, and it was probably why Wilder had placed Ryland in this job. Ryland didn’t feel any sort of attachment to these artifacts, and the temptation to steal any of them was nonexistent. It also helped Ryland keep his head on straight.
He valued life more than he valued objects, no matter how precious they might be.
Ryland made his way to the back of the museum, where he knew he’d find Arabella locked behind a door labeledStaff Only. He knocked and waited for the door to swing open.
“Arabella, hi.”
The tall, thin woman smiled at him. The curtain of her fiery red hair brushed against her shoulder seductively. Ryland would always regret sleeping with Arabella. She was too close to the family and too desperate for the Wolverton last name. Though Ryland suspected she would be pleased with any last name that would increase her prestige and access to even more wealth and power.
The damn woman looked at him with hearts in her eyes whenever she saw him. Ryland had been really clear about their night together. A one-time thing to burn off some energy. Burn off some lust. Nothing serious. Arabella still thought she could change his mind.
“Well, well,” she drawled. It wasnotsexy, but only because Ryland was busy comparing her voice to Caroline’s. Arabella was sickly sweet and clearly an act. He wondered if he’d actually ever heard her real voice.
Caroline, on the other hand, had a genuinely sweet voice that always had a commanding edge to it. He never wanted to stop listening to her … only on her podcast, though. In person, she was annoying as fuck.
You keep telling yourself that,his wolf snorted.
“It’s so nice to see you again,” Arabella continued.
“Arabella, hi. I hope you’re well. Your mother too.” He flinched. That wasn’t smooth. It also made it sound like he cared, and though he did, it would give Arabella the wrong idea.
“Thanks so much for asking, Ryland.” She touched a hand to her heart, too touched by the question. “My mother is doing okay. She’s up and about again. Another upswing.” The joy in her tone was forced. She didn’t believe this improvement would last very long. “She’s always a bit better when she has a project to focus on. You didn’t come here to hear me chatter on,” she said with full-on hope now. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I’m actually here on business.”
Her face fell, but she tried to hide it. “Oh, well, I’m always glad to help.” She took a step closer to him and squeezed his arm. “What can I do for you?”
Ryland expertly moved away from her reach. He wanted to put distance between the two of them like he wanted to rid himself of his mate. He had too many women in his life.
“What can you tell me about the Vases of Destiny?” he asked, taking yet another step back.
Arabella laughed. “Oh? Are you looking to be immortal?”
“Do you know anything?” he snapped, not amused by her flirty demeanor. “I can find someone who does.” He made to turn, but she called out.
“No. I know plenty. What do you want me to tell you?”
“Everything,” he answered, crossing his arms. “Where they come from. Where the museum got ’em.”
“Oh,” she nodded. “They’re from around the year 200 or so, but no one can actually confirm that. It’s a best guess based on the materials usedandthe artist who made them.”
“Fabiola.”
“That’s right!” Arabella cried in pleased surprise. “Fabiola. She was the wife of a Roman general, and every source that discusses her life mentions that she was trying to find a way to make her husband immortal. She didn’t want him to die in battle, and so she created the vases.”
Ryland frowned. “But how would a bunch of cooked clay bring immortality?”
Arabella tried to be all mysterious and sexy. She failed. Not because she wasn’t beautiful, but Ryland was the very opposite of interested. Now, the only thing he could think of was Caroline. She was calm and determined, even coming out of a flight and terrified for her life. Caroline Knight was her own woman, and that … well. That was hot as hell.
Stop thinking about her. Not the place. Not the time.
“That’s the mystery,” Arabella purred. “No one knows why Fabiola thought she could make a man immortal because no one ever saw all six vases together.”
He huffed out in annoyance. “So all of this is a lie?”
“A myth. Not a lie.”
