My Dangerous Pleasure

by Carolyn Jewel

  “So, Paisley—can I call you that?”

  She nodded.

  “Iskander says you own a bakery.”

  She had the feeling Nikodemus knew all about her, but she answered just the same. “Yes, sir, I do. It’s downtown. Paisley Bakery and Café. We’ve been open about two years now.”

  The warlord fell silent, looking between Iskander and Paisley. He frowned, and it sent a chill through her to see that speculative look. “What I heard, Iskander,” he said, “was that she was vanilla. What happened to change that?”

  Iskander’s fingers brushed the back of her neck. He told Nikodemus about Rasmus touching her and about the reaction she’d had that she barely remembered. She stretched out her arm to show them the scar.

  “Well, shit.” There wasn’t any question he knew what he was looking at. Nikodemus’s eyes speared her. “Where were you when that happened?”

  “My bakery.”

  “Huh,” Nikodemus said. “That’s interesting. And it was Rasmus Kessler who did that to you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You can call me Nikodemus.” His mouth curved up. “Warlord, if you feel the need to be formal.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He picked up the last muffin. “This is really good. Where’s your bakery again?”

  “Kearney, near Clay Street, sir.” She wished he’d get to the point instead of making all this small talk.

  “The food was delicious,” Carson said.

  “Thank you, ma’am.” She heard her accent coming on strong and closed her mouth.

  With a glance at Nikodemus, Carson said, “We should go there, right, sweetie?”

  “Sure.” His attention swung back to her, and the tension ratcheted up. “Tell me about the screaming Iskander says you hear.”

  While she talked, Nikodemus finished his espresso. She described touching the witch and the way she’d just known how to make the screaming stop. When she finished, he put a finger on the jade box and pushed it toward her. “Do you think you could do that again?”

  Paisley stared at the box. “I don’t know.”

  “Would you try?” He rested his palm on the box and watched her. “Please?”

  “How? There aren’t any screamers here.” She met Nikodemus’s gaze. “And why? If I’m allowed to ask that question…”

  “Because if you can do that again, I need your help.” He tapped the box. His nails were on the long side for a man. Nothing outlandish. But was that a suggestion of a talon? “We need your help.”

  She noticed the dragon carved into the box. Stylized curls of smoke wisped from its mouth and nostrils. “Is it true? About the screaming I hear?”

  Carson leaned forward. “It’s true that some of the magekind murder the kin for their magic. I’ve seen it done. Personally. You have my word it’s true.”

  “But are they really trapped like that? Alive?” She could hear the screaming in her head again, an echo of the real thing that tore at her soul. “They sound like they’re in agony.”

  “They are,” Nikodemus said.

  Iskander was leaning against the love seat, quiet, no sign of a smile. She knew, absolutely knew, what they were telling her was true.

  Carson slipped her hand into Nikodemus’s, and he squeezed her fingers. “Iskander says when you released that magic from the witch, he sent it safely home. Because of you, they are at peace. If you can do that for others, Paisley, we would be beyond grateful to you.”

  “Maybe I can’t do it again.”

  Nikodemus met her gaze. “What if you can?”

  She nodded. Iskander’s fingers brushed over the nape of her neck again.

  Nikodemus reached out with long, slender fingers and tapped the top of the jade box. “There’s a talisman inside here,” the warlord said. “One of the magekind killed a fiend—one of us—and trapped his magic in the carving inside. They used to do that before they learned how to take magic directly into them. The magekind still use them to augment their power.” He picked up the box. “The fiend whose physical body died is trapped inside the talisman, going slowly insane.”

  “It can’t die, can it?”

  “No.”

  She stared at the box. “Oh, God.”

  “There’s a risk to you,” Nikodemus said. “It’s possible what’s in the talisman might tangle up with you. If that happens, you might not survive. When you went after the witch, you were damned lucky Iskander was there to prevent something like that from happening.”

  “Sweet Jesus,” she whispered. She met Iskander’s gaze. He winked at her.

  Nikodemus tapped the top of the box again. “This talisman is stable, so everything should go just fine.” The warlord’s eyes flickered, and her chest hummed. “If you agree to try this, you have my word, Paisley Nichols, that I will do everything in my power to make sure no harm comes to you.”

  She nodded. “I’ll try.”

  Nikodemus took the lid off the box, and she shuddered because the screaming started up immediately. Nestled inside was a gargoyle carved from a luminous white stone. The screaming in her head was a single voice, fainter than what she got from the magekind, but no less tortured.

  Iskander stroked her shoulder and the back of her neck. She was glad for the contact. Whoever had carved the stone had talent. The details were startlingly lifelike. It wasn’t hard to imagine that the stone creature might move of its own accord. There were signs of wear, too. The edges of the monster’s folded wings had been rubbed smooth.

  The wails of torment reverberated in her head, and when she picked up the carved stone, it was like having a firebomb go off in her skull. This wasn’t the same thing as with the witch. The resistance was different. This was stone, not human flesh, for one thing. The center of her chest flexed as she closed her fingers around the carving and reached, if not physically, then metaphysically, for that soul-shivering sound and… nothing. She tried again. A tingle zipped along her arm, from her fingers to her shoulder. She reached the way she had with the witch, and this time she made contact.

  It was as if the stone was no longer a barrier. The energy of what was inside clung to her fingers, and when she drew away her hand, the pulsing sensation came with her. Her heart beat once. The screaming stopped. Her heart beat again. Her hand burned and she fought to keep her stomach from turning inside out.

  She was aware that Nikodemus, Iskander, and Carson were on their feet. The warlord was saying something, but whatever she’d done must have scrambled her brains because the words made no sense to her. The burning stopped, and as her brain settled down, she found herself staring at her balled fist.

  She forced her fingers open. The talisman had disintegrated. Translucent sand spilled off her palm and trickled between her fingers onto the floor. She was horrified at the realization that instead of releasing the trapped life, she’d destroyed it. “I’m sorry,” she said. “So sorry.”

  Iskander hunkered down beside her, and she lifted her eyes to his. “Hey, cupcake,” he said. He pressed his palm to the side of her face, so warm. Such warm skin and, oh, God, she was lost in his eyes. Lost. He brushed the rest of the sand off her hand. “You did good.”

  “It’s gone.”

  “Yeah.” Iskander’s smile was incandescent. “It worked, Paisley. You did it.”

  Nikodemus’s eyes were on her, wide and a peculiar blackish gray. While she watched, still shaky inside, he went down on one knee, head bowed, with three fingers pressed to his forehead. She looked at Carson and Iskander, but Carson was watching Nikodemus. Iskander, too, had his head bowed, fingers pressed to his forehead.

  The warlord lifted his head. His gaze made her feel like he was looking through her. “I won’t ask you to give up your business,” he said. “You have a life and you’re entitled to that, but if you help us, there isn’t much I wouldn’t do for you.” She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up a hand. “When the word gets out about you, and it’s probably already started, some of the magekind will come after you.
I’ll make it clear you’re under my protection. Even if you say no, from now on, if you ever need anything, anything at all, just ask.” He made a peculiarly graceful motion with one hand. “My word on that.”

  Her head was still spinning, and it was sheer habit that made her say, “Thank you, sir.”

  “If you agree,” he went on, “any of my sworn fiends will work with you. Whatever you need. Whatever it takes. We’ll do what is necessary for you to bring them home.”

  Iskander took a step forward. “Warlord—”

  “Settle down,” Nikodemus said. “I’m getting to that.” He returned his attention to Paisley. “Iskander has my full authority to call on whatever resources he needs to protect you. Make no mistake, he’ll die to keep you alive. Any questions, Ms. Nichols?”

  “No, sir.”

  The warlord smiled. “Then there’s only one more thing we need to take care of in order to make it official.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Iskander took his seat. Paisley looked determined, but that didn’t mean she understood how her life was going to change if she went through with this. She’d be on the inside of the life he lived instead of outside of it. Not that he was thinking long-term about Paisley, except maybe he was. She already knew more than she was supposed to about the kin. More important, he’d now twice seen her free kin whose lives had been trapped by the magekind. Twice.

  “What I need from you,” Nikodemus told Paisley, “is an oath of fealty. It’s not a normal promise. I’m talking about one that’s magically binding on us both. There are consequences if I don’t keep up my side of the oath, just like there are consequences if you don’t keep up your side.” He explained a warlord’s duty to protect and deal fairly with those sworn to him and that she’d be required to support him and do nothing to harm his interests.

  Paisley would be safer if she was sworn to Nikodemus. If something happened to him, she’d be taken care of.

  “Make sense?” Nikodemus said to her.

  She said, “Sure.”

  “Good. That’s really good. Fuck me over—pardon my French—and your broken oath to me could end up seriously damaging you. I can’t promise you’d recover if that happens. On the other hand, if I screw you over, the oath breaks and you’re free of me and any consequences.” He waited so she could think things over, then said, “Questions?”

  Paisley looked at Iskander. This had to be her decision. “You’re sworn to him?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Iskander said. “You don’t have to do this, if you don’t want to.”

  “I’ve heard the screaming.” She turned back to the warlord. “All right.”

  “I need you to say you agree.”

  “I agree.”

  The blood exchange that cemented the oath was over quickly. As soon as it settled into place, Iskander’s tension eased. He hadn’t realized until now how much he wanted this result. Paisley was safe now. She had him and Nikodemus on her side. He put an arm around her waist and kissed the top of her head. “You’re one of the cool kids now,” he said.

  She laughed, and that made Nikodemus and Carson relax, too. She grabbed Iskander’s hand, her fingers tightening around his, and he squeezed back.

  “Late last night,” Nikodemus said, “Carson got an interesting call. Sweetheart, you want to tell them about it?” He winked at Paisley. “Better if she tells this part.”

  Carson sat straighter. “Rasmus Kessler called the number we give out so that other kin can contact us for help or let us know they want to swear fealty to Nikodemus.”

  “That number’s everywhere,” Iskander said. No more worrying about what was okay to say in front of her or how much to tell her. Paisley was one of them now. “We pass it out like candy.”

  “Not the issue,” Carson said. “The issue is that he called at all. Even more important, he was barely coherent. I’ve met Rasmus, and I almost didn’t recognize his voice. The call didn’t last long. Probably not even thirty seconds. About the only thing I understood was he was begging for help. We got cut off in the middle.”

  Nikodemus, who was now sitting down with Carson beside him, leaned forward. Paisley’s oath to him was a weight inside her that was still settling into place. “What kind of help would a mage like Rasmus Kessler need? That’s what I keep thinking. Not that long ago, he was after Durian’s hide. Trust me,” he said, with a look at Paisley, “you do not want to end up on Durian’s bad side.”

  “I think I’ve heard something about that.”

  “An even shorter time ago, he was looking to take over Christophe’s affairs—that’s a mage no longer among us, Paisley—and was about ten inches from doing it, too. Now he can barely string two words together? What the hell kind of game is he playing now? That’s what I’m wondering.”

  The room fell silent enough for them to hear the wind through the trees outside.

  Nikodemus stared straight at the two of them. “See,” he said, smiling that deceptive smile of his, “this is the part where if you know something, you have to share. Because it’s in my interest to know what the fuck is going on.”

  The words had extra weight because they carried more meaning than mere words. Iskander didn’t want to speak for Paisley, though he would if necessary.

  “Jesus, Iskander,” Nikodemus said. “Help me out here. I don’t necessarily expect the new girl to have a clue yet, but I know you do.”

  “Rasmus has been harassing Paisley. Stalking her.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I know that part.”

  “I think he’s sending magehelds to indwell.” He shrugged. “It hasn’t worked so far.”

  “Our girl’s a resistant.” He couldn’t have looked prouder if it were his own kid with that kind of ability. “ ’Course it isn’t working.”

  “He also sent Fen to talk me into leaving.”

  “Shit.” Nikodemus kicked out his long legs and threw one arm around Carson’s shoulder. “How’d that go?”

  “He said no,” Paisley told him.

  Iskander stood, hands on his hips, knowing all this was new to Paisley, the sensations that went with being sworn to a warlord like Nikodemus. “I’m done with Fen.”

  The warlord lifted both hands in a gesture of surrender, but his eyes were hard. “Just trying to find out what’s happening.”

  “What’s happening is Rasmus thinks I’m the weak link.” It really, really pissed him off, too. “Someone needs to let him know he’s wrong.” He waited for Nikodemus to say something, and when he didn’t, Iskander said, “The question I have is whether you’re going to let me do that.”

  Nikodemus sat straight up, and Carson put a hand on his forearm. A warning? A reminder to restrain his temper? “Rasmus Kessler is not a legitimate target for sanction.”

  “It is if he’s coming after Paisley.”

  Carson tapped her fingers on her knee. “As a political matter, Iskander, if Kessler dies, the magekind, and probably a few of the other warlords, will take that as proof that Nikodemus cannot be trusted.”

  “They think that anyway.”

  “Granted. But if one of us were to kill or injure Rasmus, they’d have proof.” Carson sighed. “And they would be right, Iskander. Nikodemus has given his word.”

  “So we just hang Paisley out to dry. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “No,” Carson said. “I promise you, killing Rasmus is a risk we’re willing to take if Paisley is directly threatened at the time.”

  “In other words,” Nikodemus said, “there’s no being proactive about our issues with Rasmus.”

  “Fuck politics.” Pain lanced through Iskander’s chest because he was stressing his oath. Again.

  Nikodemus wrapped one hand around his fist and bowed his head to his hands. Iskander’s pain eased up. The warlord drew in a long breath, then let it out before he looked up. At Paisley. Not him. “Like I told Iskander here, you don’t freelance. In my territory, you don’t do your thing to anyone without my say-so, and you don’t do it unless one of m
ine is there to back you up. Clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You saw what Paisley can do,” Iskander said. “And you’re not going to use her whenever you can?”

  Nikodemus stretched an arm along the top of the sofa. “I will take full advantage of her unique abilities when I’ve had a chance to minimize the backlash. If I use her now, the magekind will see it as a declaration of war. They might already. That said, if Kessler goes after you again, Paisley, and Iskander or someone else is there to make sure you don’t get caught up in the blowback, you have my permission to defend yourself. That includes doing that thing you do.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Defense. Not offense. Not until I’m ready to manage the consequences.” He stood. “Iskander. I need a word with you in private.”

  “Outside?”

  “Sure.”

  They went out the back and stood in the open area between the house and barn. He expected Nikodemus to rip him a new one, but that wasn’t where he started.

  “You did good with the witch,” Nikodemus said. “It’s good you didn’t kill her. I appreciate that.”

  He nodded. The sun was barely above the top of the barn, and the air was crisp and clean. They stayed quiet for a while, letting things settle between them.

  “I take it I’m not going to lose you to Fen.”

  “Hell, no.”

  “That’s good to know, because, between you and me, you’re strong enough to survive breaking your oath.”

  Iskander gave a curt nod of acknowledgment.

  “What about Paisley?” Nikodemus said.

  “What about her?”

  “Paisley Nichols is a decent woman,” Nikodemus said. “It’s easy to tell that about her. I like her. More important, Carson likes her.”

  “You have no say about who I get involved with.” They stood there in the quiet some more. Nothing but birds and, farther off, a cow mooing.