Free Mayan Blood by Theresa Dalayne

rolled her eyes. Of course he would take Peter’s side. What guy wouldn’t play wingman and try to score brownie points with the best friend? “Yeah, well, I hope he stays fond of her. Tara’s…naive.”
    He cocked his head. “She means a lot to you.”
    “She does, and I won’t see her get hurt just so some guy can get in her pants. I mean, he may act like he adores her, but boys are really good at acting, and even when they’re not, they change their minds—a lot.” She wasn’t about to forget that, not even over a pair of dazzling eyes and Spanish accent.
    “Do they?”
    “Yes, they do.” She turned her back to him and pulled in a quiet breath. She had fallen for a guy’s charm before, and all it got her was a shattered heart. She wasn’t about to make the same mistake again.
    “It sounds as if you’re speaking from experience.”
    And we have a mind reader.
    Zanya scoffed, and then froze.
    What if he really was a mind reader? It wouldn’t be the only unexplainable thing she’d seen. “All I’m saying is that Peter seems nice enough and charming enough, but Tara is reckless in the world of love. She falls too easily, and it would be simple for some guy to see that and take full advantage of it.”
    Arwan uncrossed his arms and walked toward her. His lime green shirt complemented his olive skin so stunningly, she almost forgot to breathe. “You think he’s charming?”
    “Not my kind of charming. Tara thinks he’s charming. But he’s…” She fingered through the DVDs absentmindedly. “He’s not my type.” Flashes of dirty blond hair and crystal blue eyes reeled through her mind.
    Yep, there it was—the searing pain in her chest reminding her why she could never be that vulnerable again.
    Her fingers rested on a DVD, not like the rest. She slid it out and examined the cover. It was a CD. “Eleuia.” She turned to Arwan. “That’s—”
    “Your mother.” He stepped toward her. “She was a musician, so Renato has told me.”
    Her fingers shook. “A musician?”
    “I believe he said she played the cello.”
    She couldn’t hold back a beaming smile. “Can I borrow this?”
    “You can have it.” He eyed the case in her hands. “Do you play?”
    “The violin.” She tucked the CD in her back pocket.
    “Then there’s a room you’ll want to see, just past that doorway.” He walked to the far end of the den and pulled open a heavy wooden door.
    Zanya walked through the threshold into a small auditorium stocked with instruments. A tiny thrill ran through her. “A music room!”
    It looked like they’d collected every instrument in existence. She caressed shiny finish of an acoustic guitar. Moving along, shiny flutes sat beside a wall of drums. She bounced her palm off the surface of one, then spotted a long, wooden pipe leaning against the far wall. “You’re kidding. Is that a didgeridoo?”
    “Is that what it’s called?” He held up a violin—a piece of musical art made of exquisite red wood. He handed it to her.
    She traced her fingers over its curves and then cradled it under her chin. He held out a bow made of matching red wood, with a silk grip and a leather thumb cushion. “Gold mountings? You don’t see that anymore. This thing must have cost a fortune.” Zanya dragged the white horsehair ribbon across the strings. Each note was smooth and flavorful. She played a few bars of a favorite tune. A satisfied grin stretched her lips. She lowered the bow and opened her eyes. “Can I come here to play sometime?”
    “Whenever you want.”
    Her heart ached to hear music again. “This has got to be the best room in the entire house.”
    “You may think so, but there’s another room I like more.” Arwan escorted her through another hallway that led to a martial arts dojo. International flags and medals hung proudly displayed on the walls.
    He circled a black mat that blanketed the floor. “I spend a lot of time in here practicing capoeira and with my glaive.” He