Serpent’s Kiss

by Harrison, Thea

  Rune knew very well how to fight Djinn, but it just didn’t have the same visceral satisfaction as planting a fist right in the kisser, the way he wanted to plant his knuckles in that handsome, too-perfect, regal, aloof face.

  Carling turned to stare at Rune. Her expression was incredulous. She said, “Are you growling again?”

  Rune glared at her. Her adorable goddamn hair was standing up all over the place, and she was wrapped in that god-damn hotel bathrobe like she might have just gotten out of bed after having sex. Somehow the modern setting—the hotel, the skyline, the fluffy robe—made her makeup-free face look naked. He snarled, “Why didn’t you wait to call him until we had gotten some goddamn clothes?”

  Her mouth dropped open. “But you said—”

  Seeing Carling flummoxed was a rare sight. It made her look even more adorable. He might have enjoyed the sight, if he hadn’t been possessed by a trumpeting, untrained stallion. He put his hands on his hips and roared, “forGet what I saId.”

  The Djinn crossed his arms and raised a sleek black brow, looking so supercilious Rune started across the room toward him.

  Suddenly Carling was there in front of him, impeding his path. She slapped her hands against his chest. He kept plowing forward, pushing against her strength, and her bare feet slid across the carpet. She said between her teeth, “I do not know why we are indulging in a fit of psychosis right now, but so help me, I will throw your crackbrained ass out the window if you don’t stop right there.”

  The Djinn stared at them both. He smiled. He said, “I have seen this behavior in Wyr before.”

  Glaring at him over Carling’s head, Rune spat words like they were bullets. “I want to know why you gave away three favors. And what Carling did for you.”

  “Do you?” said the Djinn in a languorous drawl as he opened his diamond eyes wide. “Or you’ll do what?”

  FOURTEEN

  Rune hissed like a cat. He looked so feral and malevolent, Carling was jolted. She didn’t understand what was going on with him, but the aggression had flared in him again so hot it seemed to drive him with as much ruthlessness as a slave master’s whip. It finally sank in. He was really dangerous in that moment.

  Even though his hands had changed, the fingers lengthening and tipped with killing claws, he gripped her shoulders with the same exquisite care as he always did. She was not at all concerned for herself. She knew she was quite safe with him, but she got a searing mental image of Rune and Khalil engaged in battle. If that happened, they would both sustain serious damage.

  She cast around for ways to derail the situation. She didn’t see many options. She leaned her forehead against Rune’s chest and muttered to him in a low voice, “Rune, listen to me. This is not okay, and you’re beginning to alarm me. Don’t make me put a spell on you.”

  His chest moved. He had taken a deep breath. His arms came around her. You can put any spell on me you want, he whispered in her head.

  Aaaaagh, the idiot. She nearly did throw him out the window at that. She didn’t know how, in one moment, she could feel such a strong sense of connection with him, and then in the next feel like she was looking at some alien creature from one of those monster movies he said he loved. If there was ever a time he should not be flirting, it would be now.

  What had he called himself? A stupid, crazy, illogical, senseless, rampantly jealous ass. Damn right, he was a stupid ass. . . .

  Wait, that wasn’t the relevant part she should remember.

  Rampantly jealous. That was the relevant part.

  If she had decided to stay in love with him, she might have felt a little pleased about that. She folded her lips tight and drop-kicked the ridiculous pleasure out of her head.

  She said, “Khalil?”

  “Yes, my dear Carling,” purred the Djinn in a velvet voice that positively oozed sex and sin. “You know I’ll do anything I can for you. Anywhere. Anytime.”

  Rune erupted into growling again.

  She threw her arms around Rune’s lean waist and locked on to him by gripping her wrists with both hands. He tried to pry her away, but short of hurting her, he couldn’t break her hold. They engaged in a careful, wholly undignified struggle. Carling hissed in the Djinn’s head, Have you gone insane too?

  Wyr are so fun to tease when they get like this, said Khalil.

  If you tease him any more, I will hurt you. She said aloud, “I’m done with this nonsense. Khalil, tell him what he wants to know or I will.”

  Khalil’s bright, malicious smile faded into a scowl. Then something darker came into the Djinn’s crystalline gaze, a raw haunt of memory. Khalil said, “Many years ago, my daughter Phaedra was kidnapped and tortured. Carling agreed to help me rescue her. It was not easy. Carling earned those three favors.”

  Rune stilled as the Djinn’s words sank in, and Carling’s tight-locked grip cautiously loosened. “Your daughter,” he said. Children were rare in the Elder Races, and both prized and protected. The crazed, bucking stallion in Rune’s head calmed enough to let in a sliver of rationality. “Did she survive?”

  “She’s alive.” Now the Djinn’s expression was like stone. It was clear he would not be speaking further on the subject.

  Rune listened, both to what was said and what was not said. It had been a difficult rescue, and if such a Powerful Djinn required help, it had also been a dangerous one. And even though the kidnapping had occurred many years ago, from Khalil’s terse reply it was clear that his daughter had sustained lasting damage of some sort.

  Carling patted Rune’s back impatiently. She asked, “All right now?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck and muttered, “Yeah.”

  She let him go and stepped back, and Khalil focused his attention on her. The Djinn asked, “Why have you summoned me?”

  “I have a task for you to complete as quickly as you can,” she told him. Khalil inclined his head. “We need for you to retrieve an object, if it exists.”

  If the Djinn thought a go-fetch task was a waste of a valuable favor, he didn’t show it. “What do you wish for me to retrieve?”

  “It’s a Swiss Army knife,” Rune said. “Specifically it’s a Wenger New Ranger 70 Handyman knife, black handle, about this long.” He demonstrated by holding his forefingers at the appropriate distance apart. “We need to find out if it is buried under the entrance stones of Djoser’s funeral temple in Saqqara.”

  Khalil’s strange diamond eyes dropped to Rune’s hands. He said slowly, “That funerary complex has stood for thousands of years.”

  Carling’s smile twisted. “I did not say the task would be easy or would make sense to you. And the knife may not be there. We need to know if it is, and we need to know as quickly as possible. The answer is important, Khalil. Do not make a mistake.”

  The Djinn’s regal aloof expression had given way to open speculation. He said to Carling, “This will complete the second of the three favors I have owed you for so many years.”

  “Yes,” she said.

  Khalil inclined his head, all mockery gone. Rune thought he caught a hint of relief in the Djinn’s face before Khalil became the cyclone and disappeared.

  Carling looked at Rune, and her mouth pursed. Tap, tap went her foot.

  No doubt he should apologize. He knew he wasn’t acting rationally, or normally. His struggle to contain his mating urges was taking its toll, not only on him but on everyone around him. That fine line he was trying not to cross was beginning to cut him, but he could not leave her. Not yet. Even if she had all the help she needed, he wouldn’t be able to leave. He needed however much time they could have together before their separate lives pulled them apart. And he could not confess to his struggle either. He would not place the burden of that on her, not while she had so much else to cope with. He was not Rhoswen, some self-involved unbalanced child.

  He cast about for something sane to say. He came up empty.

  So he said instead, “That went well, don’t you think?”

  She
stared then smacked him in the chest, hard, with the back of her hand.

  Now that the other male was gone, Rune was able to relax enough to indulge his catlike sense of play. He said, his voice rough and throaty, “I like your penchant for violence.”

  A slightly crazed expression came into her eyes. She hit him again, harder.

  He knew he deserved it. But it was so much fun, he couldn’t make himself stop. Goddamn, he loved it. He might as well admit it: he loved her. He gave her a sleepy, innocent smile. “What’d I do?”

  She pivoted away and appeared to be searching for something. She looked at all the doors. Then she came to some kind of decision, marched to the bathroom and slammed the door behind her. He could hear the distinct snick of the lock being turned.

  Rune angled his jaw out and rubbed his eyes. Yeah, that went well.

  Carling flipped down the toilet seat lid and sat down. She leaned over to put her elbows on her knees, her face in her hands. She didn’t try to think. She didn’t want to think. There was too much to think about, too much to feel, and the cacophony in her head was making her demented. She just wanted a little damn privacy.

  Breathe in. Breathe out. Slow and even.

  Breathing for her might be good for nothing else, but it was a good meditation exercise. It could help one achieve a Zen-like calm. Which Carling needed very much, instead of rampaging around her head and seething about what a jackass somebody was, and what the hell was the matter with Rhoswen, anyway? You would think she was a consumptive eighteen-year-old diva again, treading the boards again in that deplorable, shabby Shakespearean acting company during the California Gold Rush, instead of being a hundred-seventy-year-old woman. . . .

  How had she gone so wrong with Rhoswen? What had she done, or not done? What could she have done differently? Had she become so reliant on sensing emotions from living creatures that she never bothered to try to see what lay behind Rhoswen’s smooth facade? She dug the heels of her hands into her eyes.

  Stop. Breathe in.

  Rhoswen was not a problem Carling had to fix right now. Later—if Carling had a later—she would decide if something needed to be done about the younger Vampyre. Indulging in pettiness and vengeful behavior because her feelings were hurt did not necessarily mean Rhoswen had gone off some kind of deep end. But if it came to it and Rhoswen had, as Rhoswen’s maker, it was Carling’s responsibility to put her down.

  And by the way, here was the great big pile of hair Carling had left on the bathroom floor. She nudged the silken pile with a bare toe. Normally she would never walk away for so long from such an abundance of personal matter available that anyone might steal and use to cast a spell on her. Her usual meticulous care was slipping, and that was yet one more vulnerability. She could ill afford acquiring any more of those. . . .

  Breathe out, damn it.

  “Oh, fuck Zen,” she muttered. “I’ll get enlightened when I die.”

  She shoved off the toilet, wrapped the huge pile of hair into a towel, unlocked the bathroom door and strode out.

  In the meantime, Rufio personally hand delivered two large Gucci suitcases to the suite. Rune took the luggage from the other man without inviting him in. He kicked the door shut, put the suitcases in the bedroom Carling had chosen and moved on to his next task. While Carling took some alone time, he sat on the couch, dug out his iPod and set it on the coffee table nearby for easy access. Then he turned on his iPhone to go through his messages.

  Email? Uh-uh. He didn’t even try to go there. He was just checking his voicemail messages. There were sixty-three. Fifty-four of those messages were from females. He hit delete without listening to those. Eight of the messages were from the other sentinels. They went like this:

  Bayne: “So, how’s it going out there working on Team Whack-Job? She got you doing crazy shit yet?”

  Crazy shit. Rune snorted. The likes of which you could never have seen coming.

  Graydon: “Where are those files you wanted me to look at? I can never figure out the new system on the shared drive, and you promised you’d show me. Call me back when you can.”

  No, son. You can figure it out on your own. I have faith in you.

  Constantine: “Dude, it’s Friday night, and all the chicks are starting to pile up flowers and teddy bears and candles and shit in front of your door. They’re talking all hushed and tragic, like you might have died, or something. So I’m gonna take a few of them out, you know, just to console them. That set of twins. Thought you’d like to know.”

  Rune knew the twins Con was talking about. Take ’em, horn dog.

  Graydon: “Just calling back to tell you never mind. I gave up and went to IT, and they showed me how to get the files. Hope you’re having a good weekend.”

  And there it is. You figured it out. I knew you could.

  Aryal: “You suck.”

  Apparently Aryal had just discovered the pile of work he had left on her desk. His grin turned evil. Yeah, I know I do.

  Grym: “FYI, I closed the investigation on the incident in Prague. It was an accident, pure and simple, not industrial sabotage. No need to call me back. Just thought you’d like to know.”

  Good job, buddy.

  Aryal: “You SUCK ASS.”

  Rune’s grin turned into a chuckle.

  Bayne: “Duuuuuude. You’re listening to these messages and avoiding us, aren’t you? Because with Tiago quitting and now you out of commission, you gotta know how much this hurts.”

  Quit your bitching. You’ll live.

  The final voicemail message was from Dragos. It was, as Dragos’s messages tended to be, simple and to the point, and devoid of any pleasantries. The dragon growled, “Call me as soon as you can.”

  Rune’s smile died away and he sighed. Dragos rarely bothered to pick up the phone, let alone leave a message. It almost never meant anything good. He checked the time stamp on the message, which read Saturday 11:03 a. m. Whatever the issue was, it’d had the chance to ferment for a few days already. At least Dragos hadn’t left a second message, so Rune could hope they hadn’t yet reached Defcon One.

  He shook his head and pinched his nose. He just realized he hadn’t heard the news in three days. He located the TV remote and turned the channel with the mute on to CNN. No scenes of a cataclysm sprang immediately to view.

  He was just debating whether or not he should return Dragos’s phone call or possibly wait for a less pressured time when Carling stepped out of the bedroom. She hadn’t yet opened her suitcases. She was still wearing the hotel bathrobe and carrying a towel. He watched her walk out onto the balcony. She snapped out the towel and her hair fell. A bright flash filled the air as it caught fire. His hand, still holding the iPhone, lowered to his side. Within an instant, the blaze crumbled to gray dust that blew away on the wind.

  Vampyre hair. Huh.

  He asked, “Are you speaking to me yet?”

  She gave him a grim look. “I haven’t decided.”

  Fair enough. Women needed time for these kinds of things. Someone knocked on the suite door again. He answered it.

  A stylish brunette woman stood in the hall, along with a pair of bellhops and two clothes racks on wheels. The woman had several packages at her feet. When she caught sight of Rune, her artfully made-up eyes widened, and she smiled.

  For the first time in his very long life, Rune was tired of all the relentless female attention. He bit it back and said courteously, “Let me guess. Gia, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “You work fast.” He stood back, holding the door wide.

  “You did say it was urgent,” Gia said. Her smile widened into a grin. “And prorating the tip according to how fast I got things here turned it into a real emergency.” The brunette stepped across the threshold, gesturing to the bellhops to follow. “Luckily it’s a Monday. I got most of what you wanted, but I’ll have to go pick up a few items, like the jewelry, in person. I hope that’s all right.”

  “Of course it is.” Rune pivot
ed backward on one heel, considering the space in the suite. He noted how Carling’s tight expression had faded into a feminine curiosity, but he thought it best not to smile. He told the shopper, “You’d better put everything in one of the bedrooms.” Since he had already set Carling’s luggage in one bedroom, he pointed to the second one.

  “Certainly.” Gia gave Carling a friendly nod as she headed in that direction, bellhops and clothes racks in tow. Rune strolled along behind and stood in the doorway, watching as Gia directed the bellhops to put the racks on opposite sides of the room. Carling joined him, her arms folded. She wore an expression he wasn’t sure he could read. It looked like a combination of lingering anger, curiosity and perhaps the beginning of amusement.

  Carling murmured, “This seems excessive. I was expecting one or two outfits.”

  He gave her a sidelong smile. “I wanted you to have plenty of choices to try out.”

  The shopper said, “It’s very simple: men’s clothing is on the rack to the right, women’s on the left. When you’ve had a chance to go through everything, if there’s anything you need returned, just give me a call. In the meantime, I’ll go out and pick up the jewelry and other things.”

  “Jewelry is not necessary,” Carling said.

  Gia’s smooth stride hitched. Rune said to the shopper, “Pay no attention to anything this woman says. You are shopping for me, not her. She has no fashion sense or any normal feminine instincts. Jewelry is always necessary.”

  Gia gave him a wide-eyed smile over her shoulder.

  “Excuse me?” Carling said ominously.

  He wasn’t altogether sure, but he thought her real anger might have dissipated. There was a glint lurking in the back of her eyes. How could he have ever thought she had no sense of humor? She was brimming with a kind of guerilla warfare humor that slid along the shadows of a conversation and took aim at the unwary. It delighted him so much he had to swoop in to kiss her sour, puckered mouth. “Don’t sulk,” he told her. “It doesn’t become someone of your age.”