I hadn’t realized I’d put every ounce of magical energy I’d had behind the word until I realized that everyone had stopped and was looking at me. The magic wouldn’t have had any impact on Daniel. That was sheer force of his will. But it impacted everyone else in the room—well, everyone except Lady Falcon and Grey Hawk. The others looked at me like I was the next course in a five-star meal.
Terror washed over me. And I let that emotion drive magic into my voice once again. I looked at Lady Falcon. “Release the circle!”
She raised one arm, the other remaining curled around her husband, and waved her hand, as if to shoo an annoying fly. The circle dropped. And still I was the center of attention. Gulp.
One more magically imbued command. “Look at each other.”
And that was all it took. The full fury of lust took over and clothes came off faster than a greyhound out of the starting gate.
I stood and said to Daniel’s back, resolutely not looking at him. “Let’s get out of here.”
“You said this wasn’t going to happen,” he said through clenched teeth and waved his hand around to indicate everyone in various stages of pleasure.
“It’s never happened before.” Despite what I thought was anger in his voice, I wanted him. All the self-defense practice of the previous day ran through my memories. The feel of him against me. The amber in his eyes. The strength of his arms. I whimpered, and he turned toward me, the fire high in his eyes. He took a step toward me.
If he touched me again, I was going to lose the battle and the war. We’d be as naked as everyone around us. And if it did happen, I didn’t want it to happen this way. Not because a goddess had willed it. I wanted him to want me. But I wanted it to be his desire. I had one chance left to avoid falling into the lust pit. I scrambled up, whirled, and ran for the front door. I’d never moved so fast in my life. I heard Daniel at my back.
I exploded out of the house, stopping abruptly as my bare feet hit the pavement. Holy helheim, it was cold. The goddess-inspired lust fell away from me as soon as I crossed the threshold. The only desire I was left with was my own. Which was formidable in its own right. And then Daniel exited the house behind me, slamming into me and sending me sprawling facedown on the cold, wet lawn.
I lay there. Water seeping into my clothes. And my mind showed me a slo-mo replay. Daniel’s body slamming into mine. My arms flying wide. What must have been a surprised and horrified look on my face. And my body splatting on the lawn. As I was wont to do in impossible situations overwrought with emotions, I started to giggle. That became silent laughter, followed by loud guffaws. I couldn’t stop. I curled up and rolled into a sitting position, tears streaming down my cheeks. My breath hitched, my laughing turning silent again until my lungs caught a break, and peals erupted from me once more. It started to subside and then I heard Daniel’s laughter. It was choked as if he were trying hard not to join me in hilarity, which set me off all over again. After far too long, I got myself under control, stood on wobbly legs, and stepped onto the walkway. Helheim, it was still cold!
A smile still played itself on Daniel’s face, and he quickly schooled his features. “I thought you said psychic . . . whatever . . . wouldn’t affect me.”
“The gods must do something physical,” I said. “Maybe brain chemicals. Maybe hormones. Damn, I’m going to have to do some research on sexual arousal . . .” I trailed off.
Daniel’s face had turned hard. “I can’t do my job if I’m . . .” He waved his hand vaguely at the house.
“I know.” I wanted to sound sheepish, but it came out more shrewish. I turned and started walking toward the car, hissed when I stepped on a pebble, and stopped briefly to wipe it from the bottom of my foot.
“Where are your shoes?”
I pointed. “In there somewhere.”
He stepped forward and leaned down as if he were going to pick me up and carry me to the car.
“No,” I said and stepped backward. “That’s not a good idea. No touching until all of this”—I waved one of my hands in the air—“wears off.”
“Thank God you weren’t affected.”
“I was.”
“But you didn’t do anything about it.”
“It was close, so close. And your little ”—I waved my hands around again—“didn’t help at all.”
It was his turn to blush. Somehow his blushing lessened my own embarrassment.
“Thank God nothing happened.” He paused, his neck turning red. “Thank you for . . . stopping me. If you hadn’t reacted that way, I don’t know if I could have . . . well . . . thank God it wasn’t that strong for you.”
“It was.” I held my hands up again to show him the bloody half-moon marks. Then I walked to the car on the balls of my feet, taking care to miss any more of the little pebbles that speckled the sidewalk.
Daniel put the key in the ignition and looked again at my bare feet. “What about your shoes?”
“Do you want to go back in there and get them?”
He looked at the house, then back at me. “Is this a trick question like: Do I look fat in these jeans?”
I burst out laughing again, but it wasn’t an uncontrolled release, it was simply a laugh. “No. Kiss my shoes goodbye.”
“What about your purse?”
“I don’t carry one unless I have to.”
“Right.”
“Let’s just go home. I need a cold shower.”
“Ditto,” he said.
Chapter Thirty-three
I sat at the kitchen table with a cup of hot herbal tea. I wanted coffee, but I knew the sexual frustration coupled with the caffeine would keep me up. My hair was wet. I wasn’t kidding about the cold shower, despite how much I abhorred them; I would have much preferred a hot shower with company.
Why don’t we experience sex with him then? Urd said.
What is this fascination with sex?
I am curious. Humans tend to make bad decisions when the opportunity for sex is part of a situation. I have a unique opportunity to experience it directly, and that may provide me a better understanding of its influence.
The agreement was that you get to experience life as I experience it. I don’t jump into bed with just anybody, so the chances of having sex are not terribly high.
Not probable then, but still possible, yes?
Don’t count on it.
Are you one of the humans who don’t like sex?
I laughed out loud. If only.
Why would you want to dislike sex?
To limit the bad decisions you referred to earlier.
You believe that having sex with Daniel would be an unwise decision.
Let’s just say that I’ve crossed that line on a few other occasions and it didn’t turn out well; I’d like to avoid making the same mistake.
But your working relationship with Daniel is a temporary one. Does that not alter your rule on having sex with him?
You’re not helping. I took another sip of my tea and listened to Daniel take his shower. I wondered if his was a cold one too and told myself to shut up. Urd fell silent too, thank the gods.
I finished my tea and went to bed. I stared at the ceiling. Lay on my left side. Then my right. Then my back. I told myself to sleep, but every time I closed my eyes, images filled my head. Daniel in a towel. Daniel in his pajama bottoms, his hair mussed from sleep, and a coffee cup in his hands. I sat up, switched on my bedside lamp, and was reaching for my book when I saw a man sitting quietly in the chair across from my bed. He was so tall his legs reached the middle of the room. The front of his strawberry-blond hair was pulled back and braided, the braids hanging on either side of his perfect face.
“Holy shit!” I said and almost fell out of bed.
“That is no way to address a god.” His voice was deep and strong. Tan patience turned to the light red of annoyance.
I got out of bed, tugged my nightshirt down as far over my hips as it would go, thanked the gods I was wearing underwear, and curtsied.
“To whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”
“Dian Cecht.”
I closed my eyes for a five count. Airmid’s father was sitting in my bedroom. The god who’d cleaved Maich’s head in two for being a better healer. The god who might do the same thing to me for giving his daughter the opportunity to out-heal him. I rose slowly, reached behind me, and felt for my robe on the bed.
“Well met, Dian Cecht. Please forgive my attire.” I straightened up and put one arm in the sleeve of my robe. “To what do I owe this visit?”
“There’s no need to cover up,” Dian Cecht said. “It has been some time since I’ve enjoyed the sight of an attractive woman.”
My bedroom door slammed open. Daniel rolled through it, dressed only in boxers. He came up on one foot, leveling the pistol at the god. I jumped at the abrupt intrusion and dropped my robe on the floor.
“Get out of here!”
“It isn’t Rick.”
“I can see that! How the hell did he get past the security system?”
“Daniel Geist, meet Dian Cecht, Celtic god of healing.”
Daniel threw me a glance, muttered, “Fuck, how many gods are there?” and looked back at Dian Cecht, keeping his gun trained on him.
“Daniel, please.” I moved to him and laid my hand gently on his arm. I pushed downward, but it stayed resolute. I gritted my teeth, turned back to the god, and curtsied again. “Más é do thoil é,” I said with a better Gaelic accent than I had previously managed. “Why have you come?”
“I am visiting those who have helped my daughter gain power,” the god said. His annoyance deepened and almost became anger. It was tinged with the avocado color of jealousy.
Crap! I thought. Urd, what powers do you possess?
Of what powers are you in need?
Anything that can protect me from Dian Cecht.
My powers do not extend to battle or protection from a god’s anger.
What about physical fortitude?
I could assist but would need to use the waters from the Well of Destiny.
I had been silent for too long. Dian Cecht’s brow furrowed and the color of his aura deepened to maroon. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
“I have worked with Airmid to heal and reattach limbs for service men and women wounded in war.”
“I am aware. Why was I not contacted?”
“Much of the lore from the past has been lost. The only stories that remain of your great abilities tell of you working with Airmid to heal anything except lost limbs and decapitation. I was working with people who had lost those pieces of themselves.” Not entirely true, but when dealing with the gods, I would omit anything that might make the situation worse.
“You are aware I fashioned a silver arm and hand for King Nuada? One that worked as well as flesh and blood.”
I had to turn the conversation. A flesh and blood hand was better than a silver one, but it was never good to tell one god another was better. It was especially bad to tell this god.
“I am aware of the many soldiers you saved during the second battle with the Fir Bolgs by creating the Well of Sláine. Perhaps you can share the old stories with me so I can learn of your great skills and request aid of you in the future.”
“I am able to heal any wound unless death has claimed them,” he said. Tendrils of ash and mustard wound through the maroon, a clear indication of insecurity, and I knew he had overstated his abilities.
If I could come to an arrangement, one that would benefit others and bring followers to Dian Cecht, I might get to keep my head. “The stories talk of the well in which the injured bathed. The stories also tell of its destruction. Will the patients need to be moved for healing?”
“I have remade the well. The patients would be submersed. Healing can be done elsewhere, but without the waters it is . . . painful.”
“I shall contact you to request your aid for patients who can be moved and suffer from internal injuries.” I was concentrating so hard on my verbal tap dancing I forgot the Gaelic phrase. So much for a good accent. I added, in English this time, “If it be your will.”
“Shall you continue to work with my daughter?” His anger faded despite the question.
“The patients or their families will need to know what they can offer you for your services,” I said, avoiding his question.
“What does my daughter require?”
“She requires the patients and their children celebrate and worship her April seventh and they celebrate and worship Lugh August first.”
Dian Cecht looked downward and smiled. He was as proud of his daughter as he was jealous of her, which, despite my better judgment, gave me the slightest bit of respect for him. His pride and jealousy fought one another and settled into an uneasy balance.
“They shall worship me on April eighth and refuse to worship either Airmid or Lugh.”
“I shall request they honor you each April eighth, but if a bargain is also struck with Airmid and Lugh, I will not ask them to renege.”
“You have a soft tongue,” he said. Orange swirled about him, reminding me of campfires and warning me that he’d meant the comment as an innuendo. “I have not enjoyed being told ‘no’ in quite some time.”
I curtsied and kept quiet, my brain working double-time to find a way to turn his thoughts to something other than a romp with a mortal.
“I wonder how soft a tongue . . .”
“I fear a mere mortal would be too overcome by a god such as yourself.” I looked at his feet; eye contact would only give him the idea that I welcomed his advances.
“Come here,” he said and extended his arm.
My foot stepped forward before I stopped it. “I couldn’t hope to compare in beauty or talent to the goddesses with whom you’ve been intimate.”
“There are those slick words,” he said and raised his hand, palm up.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Daniel raise the weapon he must have lowered sometime during Dian Cecht’s and my conversation. “I believe the lady just said no.”
Dian Cecht’s face darkened, maroon bursting forth, thick and viscous. I strengthened my shields without thinking, ensuring the rage didn’t affect me, which made me slow to do anything to avoid the god lashing out at Daniel.
Crap! Dian Cecht moved his upraised hand toward Daniel and Daniel fired the gun. I expected the sound of a loud firecracker, but the bullet made a whooshing sound. It struck Dian Cecht on the lower left side of his chest, and he grunted with the impact.
Daniel crumpled and dropped the gun. I looked back to the chair and Dian Cecht was gone. He probably went to submerse himself in his well.
I knelt by Daniel and put my hand under his nose. No breath. I rolled him entirely onto his back and felt his chest. No heartbeat.
“Dammit!” I said and placed both of my hands over the middle of his chest. How many compressions to breaths? It had been too long since I’d learned CPR. I stopped pumping his chest after thirty compressions, tilted his head back, pinched his nose, and breathed into his mouth. I had to take another breath and breathe harder into his mouth before I saw his chest rise out of the corner of my eye. I switched back and forth, going with thirty compressions and three breaths. Gods, I hoped I did it right. It was a damn sight harder than I’d ever imagined, and soon I was breathing heavily with exertion. “Come on,” I whispered with each compression. It turned into another simple prayer: “Please, please, please, please.”
Daniel twitched.
I continued, “Please, please, please.”
He twitched again and sat up, inhaling deeply. I didn’t expect the sudden movement and fell forward, twisting and landing in his lap. I looked up at his face and then at my hand that still touched the center of his chest. The curly black hair tickled my palm, sending that raging sexual energy through my system again as if Ostara had ignited it herself. “Oh gods,” I sighed, and my eyes rolled back and closed. I willed my hand to move, but it was resolute. And soon I wanted to move it to c
aress him instead of withdrawing it. And still, it held softly against his skin, the only movement the rise and fall of his chest with his blessed breath. I knew every inch our bodies touched, me in my nightshirt and he in his boxers. I could feel every molecule of my skin, as if a cool breeze caressed it.
My underwear-clad behind rested on the carpet and my back lay across his lap with my nightshirt bunched just beneath my breasts, leaving my stomach bare. His heart must have been pumping again, and I became very aware of what I was lying upon. I risked opening my eyes and looked into his face.
He was breathing hard and his eyes stared at something that wasn’t there. When he seemed to look down at me, his eyes were still glazed.
“Are you okay?” It was hard to talk as if I couldn’t get enough air.
He continued to stare through me for a moment, then his eyes focused. He shook his head and looked at me again. I still didn’t think he saw me.
I was about to ask if he was okay again when I felt his hand curl around the back of my head and lift me. His eyes closed, and he held my face close to his. His breath tickled my lips.
“Daniel?” I whispered, my heart fluttering.
His lips touched mine as softly as a butterfly landing on a flower. The sensation I’d fought since the fertility ceremony seeped into my bones. I made a small sound in the back of my throat and Daniel deepened the kiss. His other arm wound around me, and he lifted my body upward and pressed me against his chest. His tongue parted my lips and caressed mine, driving heat into my chest and stomach. My hand was still on his chest, pressed between us. His heart beat hard against my palm and my own heart sped up to match his. I moved my legs and placed them on either side of his lap, settling onto his hard body.
I broke the kiss, pulling in air as if I were drowning, and threw my head back. My body was singing, until I realized that Daniel’s hands had fallen away from me. I looked down at him. His eyes were no longer closed, and he was completely aware. He raised his hands to my arms and lifted me from him.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have. Especially since . . .” He trailed off, color heating his face.
Power Play (Amanda Byrne Book 1) Page 18