Wicked Circle c-5

by Linda Robertson

  He pretended he was onstage, fronting a band again. Arms uplifted, he shouted, “I have been confirmed! Celebrate with me! This isn’t just my time, this is your time! The pack of the Domn Lup!” The cheers and howls were deafening.

  Johnny nodded at the man holding the cord of the jukebox. He promptly plugged it back in, hit a button, and the drums of Judas Priest’s “Painkiller” assaulted the bar.

  Not seeing Kirk and Zhan anywhere, Johnny made his way toward the rear. He caught sight of Gregor’s bulk through the doorway. He mouthed Kirk’s name.

  Gregor pointed up the stairwell.

  Johnny remembered an unlit apartment, and could guess what they were doing. Kirk’s attraction to the Offerling was obvious, but Johnny thought Zhan had more resistance. Maybe Kirk’s charm had won her over. Maybe he’d gotten her drunk. He just hoped they finished up soon.

  As he traveled from the front room to the rear, he saw Zhan sitting at the top of the narrow stairs. Her pose was bored irritation incarnate. Apparently Kirk’s charm had not won the night. Kirk sat halfway up with his back to her. Both seemed to perk up when they saw him.

  “May I leave now?” Zhan asked.

  Johnny noted Kirk’s bored eye-roll. Johnny told her, “Yes. The car’s two blocks east, on Whitethorn.”

  “You left the E.V. there alone?” Zhan asked, starting down the steps.

  Johnny shook his head. “She’s not alone.”

  “Can I escort you to make sure you get there safely?” Kirk asked sweetly over his shoulder. He remained seated, blocking the stairs.

  “All I need is for you to move your ass and get out of my way.”

  Kirk stood and turned as far aside as the narrow stairs permitted, but even petite Zhan had to squeeze between the wære and the wall. “If you’d give me the chance to move my ass in another way for you, you might not frown so much.”

  Zhan glowered; Kirk grinned. She said, “You move your mouth in an extremely undesirable way, wolf. You’ll never get the chance you’re hoping for.” Zhan elbowed past him and stalked toward the front.

  Johnny proceeded to the back room. Even without sniffing, he could detect the oaky sweetness of Laphroaig. Gregor was pouring. He offered Johnny the glass. When he accepted it, Gregor raised his own. “To your confirmation.” His Romanian accent gave the words a happy cadence.

  Drinking with Gregor was probably the best thing he could do. Being the head of the Omori, Gregor’s reputation for brute rigidity would keep the revelers at a distance. Johnny lifted his glass in salute.

  “Noroc,” Gregor said.

  Johnny repeated the word quizzically.

  “It is the Romanian way of saying cheers.”

  They drank. As the liquor warmth hit his stomach, Johnny felt the beast within stretch in languorous delight. He hoped it would sleep.

  They sipped in awkward silence for a long minute, then Gregor opened the steel rear door. “Shall we?”

  Johnny proceeded past the screen door and onto the brick stoop outside. The chilled air chased away the lusty thoughts. Gregor followed and shut the steel door with a little thud and said, “Well?”

  While he trusted Gregor enough to accept a drink from him and let himself be herded into the dark alley, Johnny knew the Omori didn’t engage in idle chitchat either. Noting that the man had kept his voice low, he hesitated.

  Gregor’s loyalty to the Zvonul was undisputed; Johnny’s misgivings stemmed from the fact that he’d had several recent disputes with Gregor. He wasn’t sure where they stood, man to man, though the offering of a toast seemed like a gesture of goodwill. Maybe even friendship.

  “Well what?” Johnny asked.

  “You have not smiled since you entered.”

  “Oh. I’m supposed to put on a fake smile when I’m in public, right?”

  “I am no advisor, but even if I were, I would not advise you to be fake, my king.”

  Johnny wished he could toss that idea of friendship into the Dumpster at the end of the alley. The Omori were protectors of the wære hierarchy. Now that he was certain to wear the crown, Gregor was just doing his job. Johnny gulped a big swig of the single malt scotch.

  “You tell them to celebrate with you, yet you do not convey a celebratory mood.”

  “Shouldn’t a leader maintain his composure at all times?” It was something Ig had told him; he was surprised how readily those words crossed his tongue.

  “He should.”

  Johnny hoisted his glass again. “The old Rege didn’t.”

  “No. He often let his beast rule him.”

  Johnny drank again, consuming Gregor’s words as well. At least he wasn’t alone in this struggle, but . . . “He was not the Domn Lup.”

  Gregor opened his mouth, shut it again.

  They stood in silence until Johnny asked, “What did you bring me out here to say?”

  Gregor snorted and drew a deep breath. “For what the opinion of an Omori is worth, I think you will make a good Domn Lup.”

  Hearing praise when he was feeling so conflicted made Johnny doubt the words. He wheeled around. “You’ve observed the Zvonul for years. They’re politicians. They’re smooth. They’ve worked their way up through the ranks. I’ve been a dirija for two whole weeks. What makes you think I’ll be worth a damn as the Domn Lup?”

  “You killed your dirija—”

  Johnny’s spine stiffened. He was about to interrupt, but Gregor’s conciliatory gesture begged his indulgence a little longer.

  “It was time for a decisive action, I understand that. I have been told what you did. You did not act out of hunger for power but as an act of mercy. With a single action you ended his suffering and gave him his greatest wish: your ascension. What father could ask for more?”

  Gut twisting at the memory, Johnny turned away from Gregor.

  “In the gardens you could have killed the Rege. If power were all you had wanted, you would have. Instead, you stood up to me, stood up to the Rege. You gave him an opportunity to make himself lauded. He hated you for that: for seeing it and pointing it out to him. He thought you were trying to gain leverage, and he swore he would not be beholden to you for anything.” Gregor scuffed the bottom of his shoe on the stoop. “You scared him. He began plotting your death. It was the only reaction he was capable of having. That wasn’t a show of courage, but giving someone who’d made himself your enemy the chance to do the right thing was.” He held the glass to his lips, but before he drank he said, “I am ashamed I went with him to Pittsburgh.”

  Johnny considered what it must have taken for Gregor to admit that, and was inspired.

  “Though you lack experience, I believe you will be a good Domn Lup because your courage is unquestionable. And because you have not lost all compassion.” He paused. “The old Rege had no mercy. His power made him bold, and he mistook his boldness for courage. They are not one and the same. Perhaps having power for so long, he forgot. I was beginning to.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Gregor scanned the sky. “I’ve been Omori all of my adult life. I’ve been disposable—under the paw of my betters, their tool and their weapon. I’ve been very comfortable with that. Until now.” He met Johnny’s gaze squarely and said, “You’re not like them. You make me see what the wæres could be. I don’t want to be expendable anymore. I believe you’re going to change everything, and I want to live long enough to enjoy it.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Menessos’s lips hovered over my wrist. His warm breath on my skin sent a heated caress down my legs.

  The barest of kisses touched me, and with it, he invoked our master/servant bond and kindled my flesh. It felt like a ghost of him was kissing the nape of my neck. My body felt lithe and warm and supple. My hips undulated and a heavy sigh escaped from my mouth.

  As his fangs pierced me, a heady arousal coursed through me. It tickled the backs of my knees. It stroked under my breasts. Deep inside, it set my spine afire. I moaned softly as the fuse on my desire burned down, wond
ering if Menessos was getting under my skin—with more than his fangs, that is.

  For a long minute the wave of bliss enveloped me, held me aloft in idyllic, aching need. I writhed in my seat, shifting my hips and feeling that if he would just give me a single caress I’d explode in ecstasy. . . .

  Menessos ended his feeding as he’d started it: with a kiss. My blood smeared under his lips. He held my hand tenderly as the bleeding slowed, and his tongue flicked over my skin gently, not wasting a drop.

  Coming back to myself, I discovered that we’d steamed the windows of Johnny’s new car.

  Then headlights shone from behind. A blue Corvette passed us and parked right in front of the Maserati.

  Zhan spoke with us briefly, then returned to wait in the Corvette.

  It was close to 4:00 a.m. when Johnny made it back. He was sniffing before his backside hit the seat. He shot me a quizzical look, so I said, “It was feeding time.”

  I showed him my wrist. It had scabbed over nicely. Johnny put the car forcefully into gear. “Home or haven?”

  “Home,” I said. With Menessos here there was no need to force a confrontation with Goliath. “Zhan will follow.”

  On the main road, he said, “Give me the details.”

  “We have approximately twenty hours,” Menessos said. “Maybe a little more, before the shabbubitum arrive.”

  “Shabbubitum?” Johnny asked. Irritatingly enough, he pronounced it perfectly the first time.

  Menessos set about explaining to Johnny everything he had told me before.

  The information clearly irritated Johnny. We’d been on I-271 for miles and he’d been driving safely, but I could sense his tension ratcheting up.

  “So because you two got busted over the mark, three vampire chicks are gonna stir up shit for me?”

  “You needn’t worry unless the sorsanimus binding is discovered.”

  “So what are you doing to ensure they don’t?”

  “I’m trying to leave, but it seems there is no viable way to claim that option. If she simply bore my mark, this would be of no concern to VEIN. The fact that I wear two of hers is everything here.”

  “Two?” The speedometer needle pitched to the right, and inertia snuggled me into the seat.

  Shit. “Johnny.”

  “Two?”

  I crossed my arms as if that would defend me, but I was guilty as charged. “I did it when I staked him. It—”

  “You mean when you kissed him?”

  I felt his words like a slap. I twisted in my seat to glower at Johnny. “I was about to kill him. He was laying down his life to save our asses—”

  “Oh, well, that makes it the right thing for the right reason, then.”

  I set my jaw and continued through clenched teeth. “It wasn’t a kill in haste or anger or in self-defense. It was outright murder, and I didn’t want to do it. You were under the water with Fax, and I was so scared—”

  “That you kissed another man.” Though I’d have thought we were at top speed already, he made the engine roar and go even faster.

  I remained silent for a long second. He already knew about that kiss. He’d seemed to understand before. I growled, “Yeah, I kissed him. And I staked him. Then, I put a second mark on him. It was an effort to make sure he came back because—like it or not—we need him. There was no guarantee, but I did what I thought was right, and I don’t regret it. That’s more than I can say for Cammi’s lip-lock on you.” I sat back.

  From the backseat, Menessos chuckled and said again, “Ah, l’amour.”

  The ritual, the sex, the late hour, the argument and the blood donation were a hard-hitting combo that had me yawning as we rolled up my gravel driveway. There was a glow behind the mini-blinds of Mountain’s trailer near the barns, and I wondered if the Beholder—he was a once-marked member of Menessos’s court—was still awake or was up early.

  His porch light flickered on, the door opened, and Ares bounded across the yard. The black Great Dane pup circled the car to greet me with all the tail-wagging enthusiasm a pup could have. He tried to get Johnny to play but had to settle for some vigorous head-scratching.

  By the time Mountain rounded the corner of the garage, Zhan was rolling up the driveway. The Corvette either couldn’t keep up, or she didn’t have the nerve to try. Personally, I doubted it was the latter.

  Mountain’s low voice rumbled a happy, “Good morning to you all.” A hulking figure with a round face and eyes like pitch, he was formidable in appearance, but he was in fact a big teddy bear. He offered friendly acknowledgment to each of us, but the last one, for Zhan, was conveyed with something softer and more secretive. I caught the drop of her gaze in reply. She tucked her hair behind her ear, and her cheeks rounded with a small smile.

  “Menessos,” I said, to draw his attention and keep him from picking up on what I already knew about his Offerling and his Beholder. “There’s less than three hours until you retire for the day.” I kept talking as I headed for my porch. “Do you intend to head back to the haven for that? It’ll shorten our time to plan.”

  “I will rest here.”

  I opened the screen door. “That’s good because—” My words cut off midsentence when, before my key even neared the dead bolt, the main door swung open an inch.

  “Because why?” Menessos asked.

  “My door’s already open,” I said, backing away.

  Suddenly, Johnny put himself between me and the door and was backing me off of the porch.

  Menessos hmpfed, pushed the door open and walked inside. “All is well,” he called. The entry lights blazed.

  Johnny and I moved forward as one. And stopped as one. The moment waned awkwardly, then Johnny extended his hand chivalrously and allowed me to go first. Peering cautiously inside, I discovered Goliath Kline sitting on the staircase. He smiled maliciously and waved. Then he stood and bounced on my squeaky step.

  Taller even than Johnny, with a lanky scarecrow frame, he was intimidation incarnate in collar-to-toe black leather. Goliath’s skin and hair were like a white palette with two daubs of forget-me-not blue, and the blue was so feral and cunning that his glance seemed more like an incision. Menessos had chosen his second-in-command and security head because he was a certifiable genius whose perfect ACT score was achieved at the age of ten. Menessos had raised him and trained him as an assassin before Making him a vampire.

  And I was on this guy’s least-favorite-people list.

  His brother, a defunct Southern Baptist preacher, had once tried to stake Menessos and been beheaded for the crime. But apparently even brothers separated at a young age and with opposing opinions of vampires could be protective of each other. When Goliath heard Sam’s voice on my protrepticus, he had grabbed me and questioned me.

  At the time, I happened to have been wearing a charm that amplified my magic. He’d frightened me, and all I’d wanted was for him to let me go. In a knee-jerk reaction, I’d pulled arcs of electrical power from him through my connection to his master and Maker Menessos. I’d put both vampires on their knees.

  I’d saved Goliath’s life a few hours later, but I’d never explained Samson’s voice emitting from my phone. I was sure he thought I’d done something terrible like rip his brother’s spirit from the ever after and forcibly bind it into the device. He needed answers. He deserved them.

  Fully aware that I wasn’t wearing that charm now, I closed the distance between us, flipped on the stairway light and passed him. “Follow me.”

  “An Erus Veneficus cannot command an Alter Imperator.”

  I blinked stupidly at him for a heartbeat; I hadn’t known his official title.

  “Besides,” he added, “I’ve already rolled around on your bed.”

  At the bottom of the steps, Johnny growled.

  “Goliath,” Menessos said in a weary tone. “Our circumstances are far from typical. You will always treat both the Lustrata and the Domn Lup with respect, and for me, please give them an extra measure of tolerance.”r />
  “As you wish, master.”

  That was good enough for me. I resumed my trek to my bedroom. I flipped this light on too and rummaged through the luggage Zhan and I had dropped off earlier. Finding the cell phone, I held it up.

  His eyes widened slightly in recognition.

  “It’s a protrepticus.”

  “Bullshit.”

  I let him see my deadpan expression.

  “Samson hated witches! He would not deign to bind his soul into a device that put him in service to you. And,” he added, “you cannot exceed a certain distance from a protrepticus. This bag was here, while you were fifty miles away in Cleveland.”

  The latter part was true. Or it had been, anyway. I was just relieved that he knew enough about the spell to know it would require a willing spirit. “The spirit did not identify itself until after the spell was finished.”

  The vampire entered my room and angrily demanded, “Why would he do that for you?”

  “I don’t know what he found in the afterlife, Goliath, or how that may or may not have weighed in his spirit’s decision to comply with that spell, but if it’s any consolation, he did use every opportunity to be completely annoying. As for the distance . . .” I shrugged. “It was a triple binding, involving Xerxadrea. With her death, his spirit should have been freed.”

  “Should have?”

  “When I open it, the screen stays blank, and yet it’s rung a couple times since. In those instances it lights up and he’s spoken to me. I can’t explain it. I’ve asked him. He won’t explain it.” I tossed the phone to Goliath.

  He caught it, looking confused. When he wasn’t being a sinister badass, Goliath was a handsome man. For a moment, I glimpsed the vampire with whom Lorrie—the mother, now deceased, of my foster daughter, Beverley—had shared a relationship with a few years after her husband had died.