by Elle Cross
Then he blinked, and handed my tablet back to me. "Yes, I remember seeing him," he said. Storm clouds grew and billowed around him. His voice was low and careful. Like he was holding back his temper.
"You do? That's amazing." I didn't know what else to say. I wasn't expecting this at all.
"Not really as amazing as all that, darling. I know him because he works for me."
I blinked in response. "What do you mean, works for you?" Was there some pimp action going on here that I didn't know about?
"Technically, he reports to Balin. But as I am head of this company, he works for me." He cocked his head then. "You seem surprised?"
"I never knew what he did for a living...I mean I assumed, but I never..."
Despite the markedly changed tone in his demeanor and the billowing storm clouds rising around him, Deimos's lips quirked. Like he was amused by my inability to finish sentences.
"Ms. Tallinn, what did you think he did to make you blush so prettily?"
I did my best to ignore the compliment. "Well, I don't know...perhaps that he was a lady's companion," I finished diplomatically.
"Well, what...Jack...did in his own time, I cannot control," he said with a boyish grin at odds with the anger that bled out of him. It was in the thickening atmosphere, like the heavy humidity of a gathering storm. "But I assure you, he works for me. In fact, Balin tells me that he was on duty last night, but never reported back."
I perked up, desperate to hear more, ignoring that slight pause when he said Jack's name. Didn't want to acknowledge its significance. "Yes. Last night. I actually saw him last night." I proceeded to tell him about Chinatown. I left out details, like how I felt that the shadows were alive and were coming for me, or about the Mirror in Jack's apartment, but I did mention the Sylphs, had to let him know why I thought to come here in the first place.
Through the retelling, Deimos was very still. His gaze on me constant, intense. His eye color changed a little in this light, like he had impossibly red swirls dancing in the ebony-black. I could barely meet his eyes toward the end, and instead I had spoken mainly to my hands by the time I got around to talking about the Sylphs.
"How is it you were able to call the Sylphs to your aid?" His voice was thick fog over a still pond on a moonless night. It felt like I'd never see sunshine again.
"Sylphs helped me once, years ago. When I moved into my apartment at La Serenissima. At any rate, they were the ones who suggested I come here. To you. They seem to feel like you had experience in these kinds of issues." I didn't bother trying to meet his eyes, instead I just spoke at his chest. I felt like I disappointed him somehow, which was absurd. I owed him nothing.
And yet, I looked away.
I hadn't seen him move, but he was suddenly sitting beside me in the too-small chair-and-a-half. I tried to keep my perch, but he was gravity, and I drifted to him. My leg pressed fully against his. I fiddled with a seam in my glove.
His hand covered both of mine.
"I know you’re upset, my darling. I'm angry. But not at you." His voice was gruff. But his power was contained. Not even the slightest wisp of storm clouds visible. Just a tight silver halo that hugged the outline of his body that I saw from the corner of my eye.
His fingers grazed my shoulder, the lightest of touches. Even through the fabric, my skin tingled.
He was still overwhelming, but it wasn't his fault that he was so present that he crowded out all rational thought.
"I don't like being caught unaware. I don't like knowing that one of my own people has been harmed without my knowledge. And I definitely don't like knowing you were so near danger." The rolling thunder of his voice vibrated against me, inside me, more intimate than a touch.
"I will follow up myself and see what's being done. You needn't worry." He said it with finality, as if to dismiss this business with Jack like he dismissed his morning meeting.
He picked up a lock of my hair, capturing the ends and twirling them with the tips of his fingers.
I swallowed hard. My lord, there's not enough coffee in the world to keep the words from just flying out of my brain while I was around him.
Focus, dammit.
I gathered my resolve. "What is a Power Broker? And who is the Lord Master?"
Deimos cocked his head at me. A curious gesture, more animal than human. "Where did you hear those words, Ms. Tallinn? The Sylphs?" He said it like it was a bad taste in his mouth he wanted to spit out.
All of those things were true, but not the whole truth. "Well, I did hear the term recently from the Sylphs, but it wasn't like it was new.” More like, something I remembered. Like I'd already known the concepts, but had forgotten. Hearing them again just reminded me. Like muscle memory to a favorite dance.
He peered at me deeply. "I'm not sure if you're ready to know."
"I'd like to judge that for myself."
His gaze lingered, taking me in and weighing something out in his head. I could almost hear the heavy turning of a cog that spun in the engine of a giant machine. Not for the first time that I’d been in his presence, I felt it. That weight of worlds like a yawning chasm that pulled you into its gravity. It was that timelessness—that stillness—that set ancient beings apart.
As if you were in the presence of something akin to Deity.
And then he smiled, that boyish half-smile, and that moment of witnessing the endlessness of the universe all fell away.
I was suddenly aware of how out of breath I was, how I was leaning into him, how I was practically in his lap…
“All right, Ms. Tallinn. I will tell you. Shall I start with ‘Once upon a time?’ It feels appropriate.”
I laughed despite myself. One moment, I felt like I was overstepping myself and stumbling along where I didn’t belong, and the next, I was comfortable again. “Sure, if that would make you feel better.”
He cleared his throat. “Let’s see then, because I want to capture the moment just right.” He paused as if for dramatic effect, his eyes dancing with a barely-contained glee. Just his presence made my heart flutter as I drank in the scents of ozone and spices, like the build-up of a coming thunderstorm. But this drama and flair? It was a side of him that I was sure he didn’t let many others see. “Once upon a time…” His resonant voice rumbled with a bass note that I felt in my belly as he cast his hand out with what I thought was part of the showmanship.
Instead, fog and mist leapt out from his hand, shooting out to hang like a thundercloud in front of us. Lightning strobed within the cloud as it shifted from white to gray to black. The blue and white flashed within it as it grew in size. It was as if Deimos had conjured up a big screen television made of clouds and lightning in front of us.
I had inched closer to Deimos as I watched, entranced by what the cloud would be become. I was so embarrassed, that I started to pull away and give him some space, but his arm wrapped around my shoulders holding me still. He had leaned in closer to me, his lips not quite grazing my temple. “I figured this would be easier. Fewer words between us.”
I swallowed hard. Words were important to him, but actions more so. At least that was the gist of what he’d said yesterday. The only Remnant God tribe I had encountered with any regularity were the Sylphs, and that was because there were so many of them.
And, since I’d encountered a Dagan yesterday and was barely able to keep from ravishing the poor man in his living room, I would think I would remember encountering more of them.
Deimos, though, was something else entirely.
It seemed that I wasn’t just attracted to Dagans.
“What you’re seeing are memories from the combined pool of my people. Some places may seem disjointed, based on multiple perspectives or if a memory was a one-off. But the places that are strongest, the ones that play like a movie, well, those are the ones that have had multiple witnesses, multiple watchers.” He continued to speak in those low, intimate tones as his lips moved against my temple. His words lingered over my skin like a cares
s, and if I hadn’t known that his right hand curled around my shoulder and his other hand was on his knee, I would have sworn he touched me.
He was making it entirely too hard to breathe, too hard to sit here without squirming.
“Your people?” I asked, trying to keep my mind focused on something other than my shot-circuiting body. “As in, a tribe?” I didn’t want to outright ask. Some have considered that rude, especially those who may prefer to play Human for their own purposes.
“Mine have fallen away bit by bit over the eons until we were a scant handful.” His voice had that tinge of darkness at the edge of his words. Something unresolved that lingered in the air. I decided to let it pass. There was no reason to upset the man who was giving me so much information willingly.
Deimos continued. “Those of us who were left have attracted other displaced and likeminded brethren. We created our own tribe, forged a new House for ourselves. House Deucalion.”
I liked hearing that. It reminded me of the family I picked for myself. Corbin. Megan. Rajah. Jack.
The memories that played for me were beautiful and reminded me of all those fantasy and legend movies that I’d seen, but of course, better. It was as if these memories were part of a collective unconscious that even lived in the sleeping minds of the least-blessed Human.
In a sweep of images that flowed together like a tapestry, I experience the story of an older epoch, where tribes of Gods roamed as freely as Humans, and the Cataclysm that nearly followed from the waning power of the veils. The massive exodus of the Gods that needed to happen to ensure a balance of power so that the veils would be prevented from collapsing. The idea of universes and worlds consuming each other didn’t sound like a picnic to anyone. The Remnant God tribes—those who were left behind—needed to be around each other to gain the most power and to keep everyone sated and balanced.
So, they had created their own enclaves that were hidden behind secret veils. Bolt holes had come next, which were anchors into this world that allowed for revelry of power without weakening the veils that separated and shielded the various worlds.
And with the need for a balance of power was the need for someone to oversee it. Power Brokers—for exchanges, trades, barters, whatever—they oversaw it like the currency it was and made sure it flowed where and how it was supposed to.
I thought of the concept of bolt holes, of the kind of shelter they may provide. People usually thought of bolt holes as places of safety. Like a sanctuary. "But, Remnant God tribes have no need to hide from Humans," I mused aloud.
"True,” he murmured against my skin. “But they have special needs. Feeding power is a very special process.”
I turned toward him fully, completely enraptured by the education. “Feeding power? I thought you either had it or you didn’t.” I swallowed down the memories of what I’d experienced the last few days. Of my own experience of being powerless in a small art studio. I didn’t want to think about something so ugly in the presence of these beautiful memories that Deimos offered me.
“Yes, everyone is born with their potential for power. It cannot be created or destroyed, but it can be transferred and transformed. Different tribes call the process different things: conferred, blessed, marked, fed, etc. But the concept is basically a transferring and a transforming.”
I thought about the ways to increase power, how blood and flesh were the most potent. I shivered at the thought. “So, there’s a way to make yourself more powerful, then, by consuming others’ power?”
Something shifted behind his eyes. A sliver of red. He blinked and it disappeared. “That’s one way to describe it. But, I prefer to think of it as feeding power. We get stronger the more we feed each other.”
The way he said it made my skin come alive. Feeding power? The thoughts of flesh and blood and feeding came together in the most sizzling combination in my mind. "The urban legends are true then? Does this happen in those fetish clubs?" I clapped a hand over my mouth. I couldn’t believe I had said that to him. It was like he had this way about him that made me want to say whatever was in my head.
A look came over his face, purely male, and my traitorous body answered it with a simmering liquid heat. "Fetish? Sounds enticing." Then he brushed a hand down my arm. And I shivered for him.
"Exquisite," he murmured. Then, "I can assure you. Those…clubs are consensual. They follow the old laws."
So there were clubs, or bolt holes, or whatever they chose to call it. "What if they don't follow the laws?"
I saw the red that limned his eyes now, and there was no mistaking its presence. The hardening of his face, the gold seeping into his skin. The build-up of a raging storm that loomed solidly behind him. All that power, so palpable, that he could call at will. Or rather, that he needed to restrain.
A blink later, they were gone. Power displays were fairly common. That level of control, though, to carry it all without seeming like he did. That spoke to deep reserves of hidden strength.
I understood that level of control. And I sure as hell respected it.
"They follow the laws." His words brooked no argument. "And to address your earlier question, no, it's not a need to hide. Most don't feel the need. I do not hide. Don't feel the need to."
Of course not, why would he? He could dress himself in power. I looked away, feeling a sting in his implication that I was hiding. He didn't know, though, what I was hiding from…what made me want to hide. I didn't want him to know.
"So if these bolt holes help to balance power, then the Lord Master must be an enforcer. One of the Power Brokers then?" Since he was the new one here, he should know. Be still my heart, I didn’t think I could handle meeting new Remnant Gods today. They were all overwhelming, it seemed, and I needed to adjust to them all.
The side effects of being a hermit.
He nodded. A peek of the ancient within him flickered before the playboy lit up his face. "You had another thought? It feels almost delicious."
I bit my lip.
“Well, you know you have to share it now.”
I finally laughed then. An intense, overbearing, and intimidating authority figure, I would have been able to dodge and shield, no problem. This charming playboy, though? One minute with him—less than!—and I was completed disarmed. "Well, I was only curious that…I mean…is there a reason for all the, you know? Sex?"
He laughed then, full and deep. "Oh, my Lady! I will skip over the obvious fact that sex feels good.” He chuckled, shaking his head.
I didn’t want to burst his bubble that I disagreed with him. Sex didn’t feel good, nor did I want it. At all. But I smiled and giggled because his laughter was infectious, and I had a horrible feeling that he didn’t laugh nearly as much as he should.
“Sex is a very powerful magic all on its own, Ms. Tallinn. It has its own…life. It's an easy way to feel empowered with sex."
My mind traveled to Owen and his extramarital affairs. Maybe they weren't necessarily extramarital. More like necessary, like a vitamin deficiency. Then I had an odd thought about self-medication that I promptly shook away from my mind.
When I met his gaze, Deimos look more amused than ever, eyes dancing.
A soft knock on the door sounded a moment before Sage entered the room. "I am so sorry to interrupt. Mr. Deimos, your next meeting is set to start in five minutes." She smiled warmly, then left.
Deimos sighed, and it was like he was taking on the weight of the world again. The transition back into this enigmatic leader was a fascinating transformation.
"Oh." Then I remembered the other thing I wanted to ask. "Corbin—Detective Troy— has the case. For Owen. And Jack. She would like very much not to be sidelined from the case. Because of…politics." I ended as diplomatically as possible.
"Doesn't she work homicide?"
I nodded, silently acknowledging that unspoken question—if she's working the case, does that mean she thinks he's dead. "But her squad is actually Major Cases,” I amended.
He nodde
d, understanding what that unit was. They were equipped to handle special cases whose perpetrators often to be contained in the Basement’s holding cells. I pushed the memories of Owen's death out of my mind. They wouldn't help with my battle for focus.
"I see." He still played with that lock of hair, absently looping and unlooping the ends now around the tips of his fingers. The motions made my scalp tingle, my body shiver deliciously. I nearly leaned in to curl up in his lap before I remembered where I was.
"I could definitely ensure that, but only because I am sure of Detective Troy’s handiwork.” Then he leaned forward, pressing into my personal space. Breathless, I tried not to shift away. “You will have dinner with me tonight," he said, his voice soft and low, the velvet husk of nightfall. "We'll have more time to finish our conversation. We left off at such a delightful topic."
I looked away, blushing. We had been talking about how empowering sex could be. And talking and flirting was fun, but I didn’t want to shatter the illusion. "Maybe. I don't know my plans…" I stammered.
He came in so close now, lips pressing close to my ear. "Ms. Tallinn. I wasn't asking."
My skin was on fire. I swallowed hard before answering, hiding the fact that I needed to shift in my seat. "Of course. I don't see why not. If you find you're busy though..."
I stopped what would have been an epic ramble when he lifted the captured lock of my hair and inhaled deeply. When he tilted his head back, I knew that he held my scent inside him, let it linger there over his palate.
I knew because I did the same thing sometimes with scents I'd wanted to savor, remember, scents I had found truly delectable.
Then he leveled that look on me, the one that held the vastness of the universe, and I found that given the choice, I would fall into the abyss gladly.
"I would never be too busy for you."
Heat pricked my cheeks at his gaze, and I was very aware of this dress against my body. Like it somehow managed to get smaller as the minutes ticked by. It was suffocating, and it was all I could do not to rip it off me.