Masked Desire

  Or in the forest. He took a step back. Then another.

  “If I do anything you don’t want, you say ‘flower.’ Do you understand?”

  She nodded silently, her eyes wide. The thin linen tunic trembled with the rapid beating of her heart.

  “Take your shirt off. Slowly.”

  Michaela hesitated, looking around the clearing as though wondering what the chances were of being observed. Cormac watched her struggle. She wanted to do as he said—he’d seen the pulse leap in her throat—but at the same time, she didn’t. Obeying him went against everything she thought about herself and the independence she’d honed over the years.

  She took a deep breath, caught the hem of her tunic in both hands, and lifted it off. Cormac’s brain nearly shut down. Michaela’s hair had caught in one of the buttons and she wrestled briefly with it, all the while exposing her gorgeous body to his gaze. Then she tossed the shirt down on the grass with a defiant gesture and stood proudly in front of him.

  Cormac’s mouth was dry. She was perfect, standing there in the dappled shade of the tree. Her breasts were high and small, and his hand ached to cup them. She was slender but smoothly muscled, with a dancer’s trained physique. Her waist dipped in only slightly.

  He reached out and lightly brushed one finger on her left nipple. Instantly her entire body goosebumped.

  “Take off the rest of your clothes.”

  The leggings were tied with a bow at the hips and she pulled it slowly, teasing him, before letting them drop to the ground. She wore nothing underneath.

  If Cormac died right now, at this very moment, he would die a happy man. Michaela’s thighs were gorgeously full and where they met he saw the thick thatch of hair that called out for his fingers.

  Control. He swallowed. She was still nervous, and was forcing her hands to her sides to prevent herself from covering herself from his gaze.

  He moved close enough to make sure her nipples rubbed against his rough shirt. To be naked while he was fully clothed would throw her more off-balance and highlight his power over her. He nearly groaned out loud at the thought of it. This was the most excited he had ever been.

  Don’t fuck this up.

  “Keep still.” He undid her braid and let her hair unravel, keeping it behind her back. It was so heavy the weight pulled her head back slightly. Michaela. He wanted her. Not only this body, perfect though it was. He wanted everything she was and everything she could be. Wanted to call her his.

  Wanted to be hers.

  He leaned down to kiss her throat. Under his tongue, he could feel the beat of her pulse, a butterfly’s wings under her flesh. Michaela panted under his mouth. Her tongue darted out to lick his ear and he barely stopped himself from pulling out his cock right there.

  He dipped a leg between her thighs and she opened them wide, then clenched shut on him, grinding against him.

  No. He would dictate her pleasure. Cormac stood back and looked at her, treating himself to a single moment to appreciate the utter eroticism of how she looked. It was time to make her beg. He hardly knew where to start.

  Yes, he did. He dropped to his knees and flickered his tongue across her thighs. The soft inner flesh was already slick and he closed his eyes. She was as aroused as him. A soft bite caused her to cry out loud and push her hips out, a wordless ask he was happy to answer. He reached out and drew a single finger across her belly and slowly dropped it between her legs. She moaned and he leaned forward, his tongue flickering across the wet flesh as she ran her hands through his hair.

  Now Michaela screamed out loud and pushed frantically against him. “Cormac,” she breathed, the first thing she’d said since they began.

  “Yes?”

  “Please.”

  He didn’t answer. She might be looking for a quick release, but he had other plans. He licked and sucked until she was almost sobbing underneath him, her body flushed and writhing under his touch. He pinched her nipples and bit at her flesh.

  “God. Stop. Stop.” The words were no more than a moan as Michaela’s body started to clench around his fingers. He couldn’t take it. Cormac rose swiftly to his feet, releasing himself at the same time. He pushed her thighs apart and cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, his mind a glitter of light.

  Then he found himself on his back, halfway across the clearing. In front of him was a huge man, naked and scowling.

  It was Yuri. And man, did he look pissed.

  Chapter 23

  Michaela took another sip of tea, still wishing the floor would open up and swallow her. They were back in the tree after a very fast and horribly uncomfortable walk back through the woods. “I don’t know what happened,” she finally said. She traced a drop of water into a thin line across the table.

  Cormac winced as he took the ice pack off his shoulder and moved it gingerly. “You turned into Yuri and threw me.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” She had never apologized so much in her life.

  To her astonishment, Cormac burst out laughing. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. At all.”

  “I hurt you.”

  He shook his head. “I pushed you too far, too fast.”

  No. Please don’t let him want to talk about it. She had been the one to bring it up, but now she wanted nothing more than to pretend the entire last hour had never happened. Michaela went bright red as Cormac sat down in front of her. “Were you aroused?” He sounded serious, as if this was important to him.

  “Uh, yes.” What was wrong with her? She’d never been ashamed of her sexuality. “We should call Eric.”

  “Soon. We need to talk about this. Did you not want me?”

  “I did,” she mumbled. God, did she.

  “But…” He leaned forward, his dark brows arched in inquiry.

  “Nothing.” She didn’t know. Why so much talking? There didn’t need to be so much talking. She must be purple now.

  “Like hell,” he said amiably. “I kissed you. You don’t like being kissed. You told me and I forgot.” His gaze held hers. “I apologize. It wasn’t my intention.”

  “It’s fine.” These were feelings. She did not like to talk about feelings.

  Cormac ripped off some bread, slathered it with honey, and handed it to her. “When was the last time?”

  Michaela concentrated on keeping her fingers clean as she ate. “For what?”

  “You kissed someone. Let them kiss you.”

  She couldn’t take her eyes off his mouth. It would be sweet with honey. “About four hundred years.”

  “I beg your pardon?” He sounded genuinely shocked.

  She sighed. “I don’t like it. The idea of it.”

  “Too intimate?”

  “It’s not something I enjoy.”

  “When was the last time you had sex?”

  “Do we need to speak about this? Now?”

  He considered this as he dipped his finger in the honey and licked it off. She had to look away before she started squirming on the chair. “I think we do. This is important to you and I need to understand it so I don’t offend you.”

  “It wasn’t offensive,” she protested.

  “Right. That’s why a Russian giant threw me into a black ash.”

  He had a point so she grit her teeth. Might as well get this over with. “About two months ago, if you must know.” She made sure to find partners semi-regularly, knowing how easy it would be for her to stop trying completely in that area of her life.

  “How was it?” He sounded merely curious but Michaela noticed his eyes darken. Was he angry at the thought of her finding release? Or did it arouse him?

  She struggled to find a word. “Therapeutic.”

  He winced. “Aye. Poor bastard.”

  “I think not. He got what he wanted and so did I. It was mutually satisfactory.”

  Now
he groaned out loud. “I think you rang the death knell of sex. Didn’t you want more than mutual satisfaction?”

  Michaela struggled to find an answer. Of course she wanted more, wanted the kind of fireworks that came when partners were emotionally involved. But, since she avoided involvement, satisfaction was as good as it got. It was still pretty good.

  While she contemplated this, Cormac came over to her side of the table and straddled the bench. She couldn’t help but look down.

  Even through his jeans she could tell he was hard.

  “No,” she said stubbornly. “Can you deny that sex is physical? Your physical reaction to physical stimuli?”

  There was a long pause as he thought this through, looking for a trap. Finally he nodded. “I do not deny this.”

  “Then there we go.” She smiled at him and he groaned and dropped his head in his hands.

  “Michaela.”

  “You didn’t deny it.”

  “Do people eat?”

  “Of course they do.”

  “Would you prefer to nibble on a stale crust of bread or sit down to an exquisite meal?”

  “It would depend how hungry I was,” she said loftily. “Where are you going with this?”

  “Be patient. Is there a difference?”

  “Fine. Yes.”

  He stepped closer. “As it is with sex. You can enjoy it because your body wants to release some tension. That’s your mutual satisfaction. Or, you can revel in it bite after delicious bite.”

  “It’s still a release, and when it’s done, it’s done.”

  “Michaela.”

  “What?” Her heart beat so hard that she could barely form the words. Was this his reaction or her own? Where did the mating connection stop and start?

  He frowned. “That’s it. Michaela.”

  “Why do you keep saying my name?”

  “Michaela is as much a masque as Yuri. She’s tough as nails. Emotionally closed.”

  He was making it sound like it was a bad thing. She opened her mouth to protest, but he put a finger on her lips. “Listen. Think about it. Maybe Miaoling will be able to enjoy what Michaela can’t let herself experience. Openness. Vulnerability.”

  Experiencing those things was the exact reason she had hidden Miaoling. Before she could answer, her cell phone buzzed. Michaela grabbed at it guiltily, grateful to have a valid excuse to stop this conversation.

  It was Eric, checking in. She put it on speakerphone and filled him in on what they’d learned from Hiro’s phone. Mentioning that Hiro was probably killed as a case of mistaken identity wasn’t useful, so she kept that back. That was her problem, not Eric’s. He had enough to deal with.

  “This is not great news,” he finally said. He sounded tinny, as though he was speaking through a tunnel and underwater. Where was this tree, exactly in terms of space-time? Most arcana eventually gave up trying to understand each other’s magic and simply accepted it without thinking too critically about the mechanics, like Wi-Fi or the judicial system.

  “There’s more.” Michaela went over her experimentation theory.

  “It sounds crazy, but I can’t discount it,” Eric said. “Are you ready to come back? I need you here.”

  “Tomorrow,” interrupted Cormac. “She needs one more night.”

  “Fine. Come straight to the house and Stephan will meet you. I want you two working together on this.”

  “We three,” Michaela said without thinking. “Cormac too.”

  “Naturally,” Eric said, sounding surprised. “I never doubted your mate would be part of this.”

  She caught Cormac’s eye across the table, but his expression was unreadable. Was he angry she’d included him without asking? Her mate. Not for long, though. Just until this mess was all sorted.

  “Eric,” Cormac said. “The favor I asked.”

  “All good,” he said immediately. “I’ve got two teams on her. Well hidden.”

  “Thank you.”

  They ended the call and Michaela raised an eyebrow. “Favor?”

  “I asked him to watch Ivy while we were here.”

  “You did?” Tears sprung into her eyes. “I…thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Thank you for telling Eric I would be part of the team.” He gave a small, formal nod.

  “You’re welcome.” She smiled. There was a moment of silence, then she coughed. Time to change the subject. “You know, you promised me you’d show me your practice. My muscles are stiff.”

  He rose up and held a hand out to her. “I know the perfect place.”

  Chapter 24

  Cormac gathered some mats as Michaela filled a bottle with water. Exercise would be a good idea. A great idea. His mind felt almost fragmented and the structured, flowing poses of the dolmatan would help refresh him.

  He led the way to a small clearing that he’d found by chance a decade ago. Trees sheltered it from the wind and provided welcome shade. Michaela gave a delighted gasp and he felt as pleased as if he’d created it just for her. In the clearing were few sounds beyond the whisper of the wind through the elm leaves and the soft rustle of grass under their feet. He’d taken care to keep the clearing tidy and the practice area was clear of twigs and stones and had been closely scythed.

  “Will you start?” she asked. She stripped off her long-sleeved top and stood in a black tank and the loose pants he’d found for her.

  Not surprisingly, Michaela was a quick study, following his movements as if she was born to the knowledge. As he led her through the final sequence—a series of deep twisting bends designed to recall a windstorm, he was astounded to find that her breath remained smooth and steady. She didn’t even break a sweat.

  “I usually do it several times,” Cormac said when they finished.

  She nodded and moved through the sequence again. Cormac simply watched and tried to keep his jaw from hitting the ground. It had taken him years to learn all fifty-three poses properly. He’d heard the masquerada were physically gifted, as expected from a race of adept mimics, but he’d never seen it in action quite like this. Michaela was as strong as a warrior and as graceful as a dancer.

  He joined her for the last sequence, finding a quiet peace in their joint exercise. He’d missed this, he admitted, being with another as they worked in tandem. When they finished, both simply stopped to absorb the world around them. For Cormac, this was the most dangerous moment, when the lure of the dolma came as a physical tug.

  A quick shake of the head and the temptation was broken. “Your turn,” he said.

  Michaela blinked away from the trees she had been contemplating with a puzzled expression. “I think they’re speaking.”

  “Trees like to talk. You can sense them now because you are mated to a fey.” And a caintir.

  She nodded as if this made sense and moved into the first tai chi pose, with her knee bent and arm outstretched. This time Cormac followed. He’d heard of tai chi in his travels, of course, seen the lines of men and women at dawn in parks and along waterfronts, but he’d never tried it himself. There was little challenge to his body, but Michaela’s soft voice as she named the poses soothed his mind. His sigil radiated warmth as though he’d dipped it in sunlight.

  He could see a matching reaction in Michaela. Even as she bent and stretched, an unconscious tension seemed to go out of her. Like him, she was eased by their connection.

  By mutual agreement, they lay down on their mats when finished, searching for a few more moments of tranquil contemplation. A surge of contentment ran bone deep and his sigil fluttered against his very heart.

  Michaela gasped and put her hand to her chest. “The tattoo,” she said wonderingly. “It moved.”

  “It’s more than a tattoo,” Cormac said. Their voices were small under the canopy of branching elms that stood over them.

  “You called it
a sigil. Why do we have it?”

  “We don’t know. It’s one of the mysteries of the mating. Most think it’s the physical representation of the bond.”

  “It’s more than a representation,” Michaela accused. “It connects us for real. How could it do that?”

  Cormac shook his head and sat up to wrap his arms around his bent legs. “Magic? I’ve never been mated, or know many who have.”

  “Impossible. Fey don’t mate?”

  “Not often.” He patted the spot where his sigil lay. “It’s permanent, you know. Forever.”

  “So you keep telling me. What exactly do you mean?” She sat up as well. “What kind of forever are we talking about?”

  “You won’t like it.”

  She laughed wryly. “Will me not liking it change it?”

  “Not at all.”

  Cormac rubbed his eyes. How much should he tell her? They were mated, which meant there should be no secrets. Yet they were only mated because of a mistake, almost a bureaucratic error, so he shouldn’t be bound by the same expectations as a real mate, one with whom he had jointly discussed the gravity of the situation and the depth of commitment before coming to a mutual decision. He could get away with telling her most but not all, he decided. He should probably limit the information to the mating bond and not get sidetracked with things like being a caintir.

  “You’re trying to decide how much to tell me,” she accused.

  “I am,” he admitted. That would at least prepare her for the bad news. “What do you want to know?”

  “You said the bond was serious,” she said promptly. “What does that mean, exactly?”

  Figures she’d start with the big one. He took a breath, then ripped off the bandage. “Until we die.”

  A small frown twitched her mouth. “That is a very long time. What if only one of us dies? What happens to the other?”

  “Death. Usually within a week. Sometimes at the same moment.” For the lucky ones.