Arcane Circle c-4

by Linda Robertson

  “I waited until your grandmother and the child would be at rest.”

  “I thank you for that.”

  His arm snaked around my waist, drawing me to him, inspecting my bruise.

  “I’m fine,” I said before he could ask anything.

  He backed across the hall, guiding me as if we were dancing, and the fuse continued to smolder, its flame caressing me as he guided us to the couch. What I felt wasn’t heat like the other times he’d employed his supernal seduction on me. This was different; my second hex was on him now, making him not unlike an Offerling to me. And this blazing fuse felt like … a promise … a promise that the warm slow burn could detonate with earth-shattering force.

  When he sat on the couch there was no resisting the strong arms clinging to me. I sank onto his lap, straddling him. His shirt, I realized, was mostly unbuttoned and when we were seated he tugged it free from his pants and finished unbuttoning it. Deftly maneuvering his knuckles, he stroked my aura and sent sensations rippling over me.

  Goddess, he knows what he’s doing.

  After removing the shirt, he flung it atop the jacket then reached for the belt of my robe.

  My hands stopped him. “I’m not comfortable with the sexuality of this.”

  “The nature of my feeding imitates intimacy.”

  “But you don’t need to remove your shirt to feed from your master. It’s not like bloodstains are uncommon in your laundry.” Besides, this was where, and very much how, Johnny and I had first made love.

  “You do not like this, my master?”

  Apprehension buoyed me above the blissful euphoria to speak my objection more firmly. “Menessos.”

  His touch on my legs sent sparks through me. Fingers splayed, he guided his caress toward my hips, thumbs on my inner thighs and just millimeters from touching my—

  “Let me warm you, Persephone … it is cold in here.”

  He went on, making it all sound so reasonable. For a moment, I was lost, submerged in desire as he kindled my flesh, engulfed in ecstasy as he draped me with adoration the color of candlelight. I sighed over the stimulating tone of his voice and marveled at the melodic quality of his words and how I could feel them seize me tighter in the seconds after he invoked my name. When he finished speaking, I realized the belt was untied and my robe was on the floor. But I wasn’t cold. His fingers rounded my arms, and brought me nearer.

  Tilting his head, Menessos put his mouth to my throat. He knew better than to kiss my lips, but he eagerly kissed from my jaw to my collarbone. If his touch wrapped me in the blanket of his seduction, if his voice was an irresistible siren song calling to my soul, then his kisses were a web of mystery and flaming exultation. Every time his lips touched my flesh, it was a tender and reverent exploration. And each time my pulse answered, growing stronger, faster.

  His lips pressed over the vein. He lingered there, just breathing. His touch trailed down my arms until he could thread his fingers between mine.

  Motionless, caught in the glow of the burning marks I’d placed on him, I waited, testing, feeling, trying to break through the surface of this hex haze. This was new, a glorious arousal of body and soul—I wanted to know more, but I was also afraid.

  Since it seemed he was giving me a chance to dictate how this would go, I dared not move to respond; it would only encourage him. Giving in to this feverish desire would end with my love and my world in ashes. So I remained stock-still.

  When the moment peaked, threatening to become the most arduous exercise of my self-restraint, Menessos ended his immobility. He stroked the backs of my arms. When he reached my shoulders, his touch rounded forward, fondling downward, gliding, caressing my breasts, slowly, reverently—

  “No,” I whispered, denying him.

  “But you kissed me,” he whispered back. He tantalized every part of me he touched, and his breathing so warmly on my neck all the while only enhanced the torture.

  It was all so sensual, so careful, so delicate. I was being charmed. I nuzzled into his walnut-colored waves. His hands strayed low to rest on my hip bones. Again, I said, “No.”

  And the seduction ended. With quick ferocity, he struck—jerking my body against his as his fangs stabbed into my flesh.

  My instinct was to fight, to throw this attacker off and to struggle against giving him blood, so I had to convince my instinctual self this was not an attack. Not like that.

  He was rock hard beneath me, and as he drew my blood, he used his grip on my hips to rock me as if we were engaged in much more. But I knew what he was doing—baby-stepping me into an affair that robbed me of my loyalty to Johnny.

  “Stop,” I whispered.

  He didn’t.

  “Stop,” I said more firmly. I weighed my options about which to try removing first: his viselike grip or his razor-sharp teeth. Though he’d drank from me before, this was the first time he’d done so as a truly undead vampire. “Menessos.”

  His body stilled under me, his teeth slid out of me, and his suckling decreased, fading to gentle licking in seconds. The fuse, once full of potency, tapered off. A sense of self-control resumed. My thoughts were clearer.

  Finally, with his head thrown back against the couch, the vampire sighed up at me with deep satisfaction. “That was better than sex … almost.” He licked his lips and gave a little thrust with his hips. “I really need more from you to make that comparison.”

  I leaned back. “You’re wasting your time.”

  He rubbed my thighs again. “I think you enjoy being a cock tease to me.”

  At that, I stood, though it wasn’t exactly a graceful dismount. “I’m not a cock tease. You’re the one who insists on making our situation sexual. You do it to yourself.” I headed for the stairs.

  He called after me conversationally, “I’ve heard that the Rege is in town.”

  I turned and rolled my eyes for emphasis. “What’s that? Some new band?” He was fishing but I wasn’t taking the bait.

  “No.” His tone, and the silence afterward, were patient.

  “Okay then, don’t tell me. Lock up before you leave.”

  He let me get three steps away. “Persephone.”

  I stared straight ahead. He’d said my name and I felt weaker. The warmth of his presence faded more as I moved farther away.

  I care deeply for him, but I can’t love him. I love Johnny.

  And I can’t even seem to tell Johnny that.

  Over my shoulder, I said, “Go back to the haven, Menessos.”

  “I will. But I’m going to sit here for a while,” he mumbled.

  At that, I faced him again. “Why?”

  With a gracious gesture like a maître d’ presenting a succulent dish, he drew my gaze down to the bulge in his pants. “Until I can walk normally.”

  I pursed my lips. “Well, if you’re just going to be sitting for a moment, I have more questions about the moon amplification spell.”

  “How did that go?”

  “It didn’t. Something else came up and we rescheduled.” I shrugged as if it was no big deal. “What if I had to do this spell for more than twenty wæres?”

  “How many?”

  Throwing caution to the wind, I firmly said, “All of them.”

  “And you said you weren’t ambitious.” He rubbed at his temple. “What are you asking?”

  “Is it possible to do this all at once? Say, if I did it during a full moon as they changed anyway?”

  “I doubt it. Why would you want to give them all their man-minds?”

  “It could eliminate rogue attacks, keep their numbers stable. Kenneling wouldn’t be necessary.”

  “Very practical.” He stood, adjusted his pants, and muttered, “Your eager willingness to perform for the wæres certainly dwindles an erection.” In normal tones, he said, “You wouldn’t be going to such extremes to impress the Domn Lup, for he’s already enamored with you. So how long is the Rege staying?”

  My mouth stayed shut. I hadn’t meant to confirm his
earlier suspicion. Aggravated with myself, I ran a hand through my hair and discovered my goose egg was gone. So I got a perk out of feeding him. Yay.

  “I’m not only the Quarter Lord here,” he said, donning the shirt though he didn’t bother to button it. “I’m now the lord of this area with Heldridge gone. Matters under his jurisdiction are things of which I must stay apprised.” He donned his jacket and sauntered closer, radiating every ounce of masculinity he possessed. “And my court witch must not be plotting to aid the wærewolves globally.”

  “But the Lustrata must.” I wasn’t letting him name-drop his titles and roles as if they were exclusively meaningful. “I guess you have reason to renounce me after all.”

  “We’ve already discussed that without the vampires or WEC all you have are the wæres. I understand why you would seek to sway them to your side, pacifying them with your excellence, but this is supercilious, especially for you.” He caressed my cheek, then let his touch drop away. “Why would you even want to do this?”

  “I told you, to—”

  “You told me the practical side, yes. But …” He sighed. “Have you even met the Rege?”

  “You could say that, yes.” I wasn’t telling him more than that.

  “Would you truly remove his weakness if you could? He is not like Johnny. The Zvonul are bigots who cling to antiquated dogma—no pun intended. The Rege is the worst of them. To give them what you suggest would not dull their arrogance.”

  He was probably right. “I’m supposed to bring balance.”

  Softly, he asked, “And would you give my kind back their days?”

  “If I could, of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

  “Then would you give us the means to enter places where there are wards? Would you give the undead the freedom to roam unchecked as wærewolves do?”

  Those were tougher questions. Ones with a myriad of other questions waiting in the wings, no matter which way I answered.

  He reached up again, this time grasping my shoulders. “Your motive is noble and your reasoning is close, but it is not perfect. You’re striving for equality, to level the playing field, as they say. But equality is not balance.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because no matter what you do, you cannot make us human again.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  When the alarm clock buzzed, I realized Johnny hadn’t come home last night. With all the threats aired between the two wære factions, I wasn’t surprised.

  Nana had taken Beverley to the bus stop. Mountain was using an expensive paint that included primer—a timesaver—on Nana’s new room, a pretty lavender color. The subflooring was in place. Stacks of prefinished tongue-and-groove flooring were just outside the door, topped with bundles of the gray radiant heat padding. I asked him about Thunderbird.

  “I checked on him at dawn and he had moved into a nest, but was still sleeping. The other griffons were nearby but not covering him as before.”

  That put me in a very happy mood, for a few minutes, at least. As I flipped through the phone book to find the number for the grocery to make the cake order for Beverley’s party, I noticed Zhan staring down into a cup of tea. There were tears on her cheeks and she seemed resigned to let them air dry. I could understand that. Wiping them only draws attention to the fact that you are crying.

  She and Maxine must have been closer than I knew.

  “You know what?” I asked her, still searching the phone book.

  “What?”

  “I’m thinking that instead of buying the kiddo’s cake, I could actually make one.”

  “Do you have the ingredients? The pans?”

  I checked the pantry; it gave her a chance to wipe her cheeks unseen. “That would be a no. Not much cake-baking goes on here.”

  “You’ll have to order it, then.”

  It would be good for her to get out of the house. “Let’s just go pick one from the bakery case. They’ll write what we want on it.”

  Outside, Zhan got in the driver’s side, but as she reached to put the keys into the ignition, I could see her hand was shaking. “Are you okay?”

  “No.” She squeezed the steering wheel until her knuckles paled to white. “This was Maxine’s car. She loved this car.” She grabbed a tissue from her pocket. “Maybe you should drive.”

  I kicked myself for not insisting on driving in the first place. “Sure.” We switched. It was a silent ride into town.

  I didn’t go south to the Lodi Grocery, where Maxine had been shot. Instead, I headed southwest into Ashland. It was slightly farther, but Hawkins had better cakes anyway. By the time we arrived, Zhan had recovered.

  Inside, we chose a chocolate cake from the bakery section with pink and purple in the frosting edges. The attendant took it to write “Happy 10th Birthday Beverley” on it.

  We roamed around tables displaying cookies shaped like turkeys and cornucopias. I picked up one of the stiff plastic containers and considered buying them.

  “I want to go home,” Zhan said.

  I set the cookies down. “I wasn’t planning on any other stops.”

  “To San Francisco,” she clarified. “Actually north of there in Contra Costa county.”

  I hadn’t expected this. A dozen questions flooded into my mind. When did you leave? How long has it been? Does your family know you’re an Offerling to a vampire? Lamely, I said, “Oh?” Nothing like a death to throw around some perspective. If she was homesick, I could make Menessos let her take a vacation. “I’ll talk to Menessos. I’m sure he’ll let you—”

  “It isn’t him keeping me from it. I did this to myself.”

  I wanted to help, but there was nothing to do without more information. “Mind if I ask what you did?”

  She paced away and I was sure she had decided to go and wait for me in the car, but her steps slowed and she came back. “Unlike many Chinese-American families, mine still practices ancestor worship. They follow the oldest of the old ways. My father is an artist. All my life I was aware that he wanted a son to teach his trade, but my mother had no children other than me. By the time he accepted that he would have no sons and deigned to break tradition and teach his art to a daughter, I had decided his pride was false, that he painted lies, and in doing so he furthered the lie to the next generation. I vowed not to be a part of that and I ran.”

  I didn’t understand. “What did he paint that was false?”

  “Dragons. Phoenix. Creatures I believed never had existed. But now,” her eyes welled up and she brought out the already damp tissue again, “now I know they do exist, and that they always did. My ancestors weren’t fabricating lies. My father’s honor is intact. Mine is not.”

  Geoff arrived at five-thirty. In the back of his dually pickup truck stood six full-grown goats. They were on leashes that were tied to the roll bar. I put my shoes on and walked out to greet him. Beverley stepped up behind me at the door.

  “Goats?” she asked.

  He said, “I don’t think the dog food is doing much for Thunderbird.”

  “Oh.” Beverley’s sunny demeanor dimmed.

  I was somewhat disturbed myself. “Geoff, you’re not going to walk them into the barn on leashes, are you?”

  “No. I’ll let them loose in the field. I’m sure the griffons will do what griffons do.”

  “What if Thunderbird doesn’t come out?”

  “After what I saw the others do to keep him warm, I have to believe that they understand things in a way that normal animals do not.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Either he’ll understand and come out, or the others will take him what he needs.”

  “Let me tell Mountain before you set them loose, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  I put my jacket on and headed out. Beverley was right on my heels. “You probably shouldn’t be out here, Bev.”

  “I’m okay,” she said. She didn’t convince me.

  Mountain had finished the painting and returned to his mobile home. We went ther
e and told him what was going on.

  “Good idea,” he said. “They’ll like that.” I gave him a signal indicating Beverley; he understood. “Would you come and help me feed the unicorns and make sure they have water in their buckets?”

  “Absolutely!”

  While the two of them walked over to the unicorn barn, I called Geoff on his phone and told him to let the goats go free. Then I caught up to the others. The unicorns had spent the day grazing on the grass around the grove and soaking up sunshine, so their stalls were empty. Mountain was instructing Beverley in how many scoops of grain to put into each unicorn’s feed bin. He rolled out a hose to fill the water buckets.

  I walked into the rear where the griffons gathered. A lion-and-eagle male rose and took a position at the edge of their space.

  “Who’s this?” I asked Mountain, confident he’d named them all by now.

  “That’s Eagle Eye. He watches everything.”

  Mountain followed me as I crouched near the nest where Thunderbird had curled up. Gingerly, I petted his neck. “Hey, you,” I said softly. “Wake up. It’s time to go hunt.”

  It took a few more strokes, but finally he stirred. A moment later he stretched. He lifted his head, weakly, and craned his neck to see me. He cocked his head and gave a soft version of his thundering cry.

  “There’s meat outside,” I said.

  The other griffons had already smelled prey and wandered out of the barn. I stepped away from Thunderbird to watch. As they cleared the barn doors their mighty wings spread and they took gracefully to the sky. I couldn’t help following the last one out and taking in the sight of the majestic creatures circling the cornfield.

  One swooped down in a lithe, plummeting attack so swift the goat never knew what hit it. I was grateful the kill was quick. Another and another made their kills.

  Thunderbird limped up beside me, butting his shoulder into my hip the way a cat rubs itself on someone’s leg as it passes. I stroked down his neck again. “Go on.”