Masked Possession

by Alana Delacroix

  Then she remembered Julien’s emergency meeting and groaned when she caught sight of the time. It had already started. Julien hated people to be late to any meeting, but to be late for one with a client was the ultimate crime. Would it be better not to show up at all? She briefly pondered the idea before deciding it would probably send Julien into apoplexy. She slid the killer heels back on her tender feet, grabbed her notepad and pen, and headed for the boardroom.

  The shoji screens that surrounded the room had been soundproofed, so the hallway was dead silent except for the clicks of her heels. As Caro was about to pull open the screen, her colleague Robert walked by, papers in hand. “Aren’t you the lucky ducky today?”

  “What?”

  “Love the shoes. Perfect choice.” He winked and strolled on.

  Most warlocks had the sartorial sense of a horse, but Robert had exquisite taste—he was in charge of all their style accounts—so a compliment from him was high praise. It gave Caro a little extra lift to her spine as she prepared to walk into the room as confidently as she could, despite her unease. It was too bad the thought of meeting any masquerada caused her to get this stupid anxiety. You’re going to have to beat that if you want to stay working here, she admonished herself. You can’t go around running away from mommy issues your whole life. Be a professional. You don’t trust masquerada? Doesn’t matter. You don’t have to trust them. You’re not in a relationship. You’re here to do the work.

  On that note, she slid open the screen.

  * * * *

  Eric wasn’t listening to Julien what’s-his-face blather on about his theory of risk and issue management and the value of his brand equity, whatever that meant. The man was a smug bore. He telegraphed this thought through raised eyebrows to Stephan, who simply shrugged, the boardroom lights glinting off his bald head.

  “The issue at hand is more than…” The screen slid slowly open to reveal a small woman holding a notepad. Julien paused and flushed red. “That is, we need to look at a multi-faceted, multi-phasic approach. Caro, nice of you to join us. Finally.”

  Eric stopped listening as his attention focused completely on the woman—Caro—who now strolled into the room, wearing shoes so sexy he nearly forgot to breathe. Her chestnut-brown hair was pulled back in a low bun, accentuating high cheekbones and warm brown eyes. A black skirt pulled tight against her ass when she bent to pick up a dropped pen, showing off soft curves. Eric’s mouth went dry, and his palms sweaty.

  Caro. The unique name suited her. What was she? JDPR dealt solely with arcana and had only them on staff. Masquerada? Unfortunately not—he would have been able to sense her as one of his people. Not a vampire. There wasn’t a hint of fang. A succubus? She certainly had the appeal for one.

  Caro glanced around the table and he could have sworn that she steeled herself before looking closely at him. Intriguing. This was new, and definitely not how people reacted to him. Eric was used to a deliberate examination, regardless of who was doing the looking. Masquerada were rabid about testing new acquaintances to establish comparative status. Even in the human world, his technology company was big enough that he had to constantly deal with people who wanted something from him—jobs, money, deals. Caro’s obvious discomfort, even distaste, was unusual.

  Not to mention that he was in his Alexander masque. Women loved Alexander.

  Julien rushed through the introductions and Stephan jumped on the break to deftly pull the conversation away from Julien’s jargon-speak. “This is all interesting, but I’m not sure investing in a long-term reputation management plan is for us right now,” he said. “We need something more immediate.”

  “How immediate?” Julien asked.

  “Within days.”

  There was a brief pause but Julien was too much of a professional to let any emotion show on his face. “Then let me clarify. You are concerned about Mr. Kelton’s convergence—”

  “Possibility of convergence,” Stephan corrected.

  “Possibility of convergence,” Julien continued. “And you need the other masques dealt with within the week, in a way that their disappearances will not raise suspicion.”

  “We want to take proactive steps,” Stephan said pleasantly. “After all, Mr. Kelton is in no real danger. But the masque he’s currently projecting, for instance, is quite well-known in his community and can’t simply disappear.”

  Caro had her notebook open, a reporter’s pad, Eric noticed, with her pen ready. Her gaze focused on Julien and Eric felt a brief rush of irrational annoyance that she wasn’t looking at him.

  A familiar tug in his hands caught his attention. Glancing down through the spotless smoked-glass tabletop, he saw they were now long and thin, with a perfect manicure. Alberta’s hands. Impossible. How could that be?

  It wasn’t convergence. It was distraction. Yes, he was preoccupied and lost track of himself. A quick flex of his will and Eric brought his hands back to normal, breathing a sigh of relief.

  When he raised his eyes, Caro looked at him with concern in her chocolate-brown gaze. “Are you feeling well, Mr. Kelton?” she asked. “Would you like some water?”

  Her rich voice wrapped around him like velvet. “No water, thanks,” he said brusquely. She frowned slightly and stiffened in her chair. Nice, Kelton. Now she thinks you’re rude as well as crazy. He observed her closely but Caro acted no differently than before. Her question had been sheer politeness, not a challenge from someone who had noticed his slip.

  Still, he needed to be sure. Masquerada weren’t psychic, but they could manage a sort of mental nudge to get another’s attention. She didn’t even look at him. No masquerada would let that psychic poke go unacknowledged. What was she, then?

  “Let me catch Caro up,” Julien said. “Since she was late.”

  He turned to Caro with a pompous expression. Eric hid his amusement when Caro sank slightly down into her seat before pasting an attentive look on her face. Although she jotted notes as Julien spoke, Eric had a sneaking suspicion that they had little to do with the words coming out of the bore’s mouth.

  Julien was well-informed for an outsider, Eric noticed with surprise. Caro’s expression altered slowly from faked to real interest as Julien spoke, looking to Eric occasionally as though to check his reaction. Every time their eyes caught, Eric felt a pull right through his gut. At the end of the lecture, she nodded.

  “Eric Kelton,” she said. “The name is familiar. Technology? Are you much different in your real appearance?”

  “You can judge.” He took three breaths and shifted to his usual self. Her eyes widened and she gasped sharply. He wanted to be gratified by her reaction but had a feeling it was caused by seeing the transition—odd, as masquing was common enough that most arcana wouldn’t consider it shocking. She was breathing heavily and her fingers were white on her pen.

  Although his male pride wanted to claim it as a response to the appearance of his real self, his intuition said it was something deeper and nothing to do with him at all. Damn.

  Then she spoke, her voice steady. “The masques are converging, which means, as I understand from Julien’s comprehensive explanation, that they are beginning to meld with each other.”

  “That’s right.”

  “What about with you? I mean Eric, the core you. Are those masques connecting with your Eric self more than they should?”

  Eric sat up straighter. Caro was perceptive. There had been no mention of that. He nodded.

  “Then I’m confused,” she said, putting the pen down and raising her arms to run her fingers over her hair, smoothing it down. Eric tried not to notice how voluptuous the pose made her figure appear under her silky cream shirt. “It sounds like you need a therapist. Not us.”

  Julien shot her an evil look, which she fielded with aplomb. Eric laughed out loud, feeling suddenly refreshed. “A therapist may not be a bad idea, Miss…?”

  “Yeats. Ms. Yeats.”

  “Ms. Yeats. But not right now.”

  Stephan interjected. “As a precaution, Mr. Kelton will no longer shift into any of his current masques.”

  “What happens if a convergence occurs?” she asked curiously.

  “It’s no secret. The masques merge. Mr. Kelton would no longer be himself, but instead become an unpredictable mix of any number of the masques he’s taken over his lifetime.”

  Caro frowned. “That sounds serious.”

  “I’m glad we convinced you,” Stephan said dryly. “Of course, we are telling you this only because of JDPR’s strong reputation for keeping information absolutely confidential.”

  Caro ignored that. “Yet he came here as one of his masques, not as himself. Why take the risk?”

  As Hierarch, Eric generally wasn’t used to his actions being questioned. Sure, he encouraged it from Tom and Stephan but that was where it ended and even they knew where the boundaries lay. Now this woman—not even a masquerada—came along and challenged one of his decisions. Eric was momentarily floored until he caught sight of Stephan’s thunderous face. The woman must have been about half the soldier’s size but she glanced up unconcernedly and raised an eyebrow.

  Stephan’s outraged expression made Eric feel lighter than he had in decades. He’d seen some of the fiercest masquerada in the realm back down after seeing Stephan look like that. Caro had nerves of steel. He looked at her with renewed interest. “Why indeed. Well, Ms. Yeats, let’s say that’s my business. Now why don’t you focus on yours and give me a recommendation.”

  She didn’t even bother to look at Julien before she answered. “Well, obviously, they all need to die.”

  Chapter 4

  Killing off the non-Eric masques seemed like a common-sense solution, so Caro was more than a little surprised at the effect her suggestion had on the three men. Julien flapped his mouth open and shut like a hooked fish. Stephan simply stared before a deep flush stained his cheeks. Eric gripped the edge of the table so hard she thought he would shatter it.

  Then there was silence. “Or at least disappear permanently,” she added. “They don’t have to be totally dead.” Maybe she should have softened her suggestion in the first place.

  Still nothing. As she waited, she thought about Eric. How many more masques had he taken on over his life? Was five at a time a maximum? Was there a maximum? A brief flash of anger that her mother hadn’t bothered to give her even these basic facts of masquerada life ran through her before she recognized it was unfair. Her mother, to give Gaelle some credit, had tried to talk to her about being a masquerada. Not hard, but she had tried. It had been Caro who had not wanted to listen.

  An exotic scent of orange and cinnamon drifted toward her and she inhaled greedily, knowing it was Eric. How did he manage to keep the masques straight? Seeing Eric actually shift there in front of her had thrown her off-balance. She had never seen anyone take on a masque. Her mother had insisted on total privacy and Caro had grown up thinking the transition was something to be hidden away, an act both secretive and shameful.

  As though Eric knew she was thinking about him, he raised his eyes to gaze straight at her. The air in the boardroom seemed to get thin and hard to breathe. Without thinking, she stared at his broad shoulders, wide and muscular under the slightly looser but well-cut suit jacket. The Alex masque was an impressively built, attractive man, but Eric as himself was a thousand times hotter. Dark hair dipped over his forehead and peaked eyebrows gave him a wickedly sinful expression. The lips—she couldn’t even look at them. Or the jaw.

  Her eyes drifted down. Could he change everything about his body? She tried not to blush but she must have had a peculiar expression on her face because Eric gave her a look that made her stomach tighten.

  “Tell me more, Ms. Yeats,” he said softly. “How do I commit multiple murder? Or would it be suicide?”

  “Yes, Caro,” Julien interrupted, his fingers drumming on his leg under the glass table. “Explain yourself.”

  Caro twirled her pen around her thumb, a trick she’d learned in journalism school that helped to focus her mind. Pull it together, woman. She regretted not getting a glass of water when she first came in. With these shoes it would be impossible for her to get one now without a good deal of ridiculously over-the-top ass wriggling. Not the professional vibe she wanted.

  Putting the pen down, she said, “The others aren’t much of a problem but as you’ve pointed out, there’s no way a disappearance by Alex, your most public masque, will go unnoticed.”

  “And?” Eric prodded.

  She beamed at him. “If we can’t go small, we go big.”

  Julien stared at her with growing understanding, though his lips were still thin. “Go big,” he echoed. “Mettre le paquet. Yes. Yes, I see.”

  “Then maybe you could share the details with us?” Stephan suggested. “We’re a little busy today.”

  “He doesn’t just die.” Caro sat up straight, getting interested in the possibilities. “He dies spectacularly.”

  Now Julien turned to Caro. “By car?” he asked.

  “Too pedestrian.” She waved her hand as though dismissing the idea. “Plane. No, ship. A yacht. Exotic locale. A party.”

  Julien nodded grudgingly. “Less chance of body recovery. We can have the mers plant something good, though.”

  * * * *

  Eric listened with astonishment as Caro and Julien gleefully plotted his murder. A ruthless brain lay behind Caro’s big innocent eyes and full lips. His respect grew as she countered Julien’s suggestions with her own, planning out the details of the entire strategy on the fly.

  Intelligent women captivated him; strong, witty women with their own minds who didn’t have trouble speaking them. Boredom had always come fast on the heels of a mindless high-pitched giggle or childish pout. He’d tried—not the first man to think with something other than his head—but in the end he’d had to give it up. Silly women didn’t have enough meat for him. They weren’t a challenge.

  Caro, on the other hand…. He regarded her surreptitiously, noticing her eyes gleam as she shot down another one of Julien’s ideas and suggested something infinitely better. Caro would be perilous for him if she had masquerada blood. He tried to ignore the pang that shot through him, but he simply couldn’t get involved with a woman who couldn’t take on a masque. As Hierarch, there was no way his people would accept a non-masquerada as his consort—the perceived taint to the bloodline would be considered outrageous and it would undo even the small amount of progress he’d made with his people. Yet he would fight for an outsider mate were there not the greater problem of intimacy: there would always be an impossible space between them, a lack of closeness where the masques, and all the freedom they represented, lived. He couldn’t endure that.

  Then she laughed. The sweet sound hit him like a punch.

  Slow down, brother. Take yourself in hand. He’d seen the woman for a total of seventeen minutes. No need to worry about wedding bells yet. He glanced at her again, noticing how her long lashes cast a shadow on her high cheekbones.

  “Do you agree?” Julien asked.

  Eric looked at the golden skin on Caro’s long throat and didn’t even answer.

  “I said, do you—”

  “That sounds good,” Stephan said hastily. “We’ll hear from you by tomorrow at noon, then? We’d like to keep this quiet, obviously. Can you come by the house?”

  “Oui, pas de problème.” Julien made a note on his tablet, refusing to look at Eric. “Let me walk you out.”

  They stood to leave and Eric took on the Alex masque that he had arrived in. Stephan nodded politely, but Eric wasn’t going to miss a chance to touch Caro, even if it was nothing more than a formal, professional hand shake. She stepped back as he approached her and Eric frowned.

  “Something the matter?” he growled.

  “It’s, ahh…” She turned to Stephan as though appealing for help.

  “You shifted out of your Alex masque,” Stephan accused, his blue eyes narrow. “Did that happen without you noticing?”

  Shit. That shouldn’t happen. He glanced down, wondering who he was. The clothes still fit, but with convergence, it was possible to take on physical traits from multiple masques. Stephan’s comment about ending up with four heads was based on a very possible outcome. Dread swept through him.

  “Eric,” Caro said softly. “You’re Eric Kelton.” Again he admired how perceptive she was.

  “Then I have to apologize,” he said, keeping his voice calm. “Most people would much prefer to shake hands with Alex. I made him to be quite charming.”

  She held out her hand and gave him a long look that made his heart pound. “Is that so? A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Kelton.”

  Her handshake was firm, the skin soft. He gave it a quick shake and dropped it almost before it was polite. A strand of her hair had fallen out of her tightly tamed hair and he had to fight a ridiculous impulse to tuck it behind her ear.

  Remember, he told himself as he turned around to become Alex again. You’re not interested. You can’t be interested.

  It still took every ounce of his self-control not to check to see if she was watching him leave.

  Chapter 5

  Caro and Julien spent the rest of the day hammering out the plan for Eric Kelton. Julien was so pleased at landing Eric as a client that he forgave Caro the cardinal sin of lateness, compounded by the secondary sin of coming up with the winning idea in front of the client. He much preferred his staff to get ideas and convey them in private, allowing him to “refine” them before presenting the concepts as his own.

  It was good to be working because creating the actual scheme distracted Caro from the topic that was uppermost in her mind. Namely, the exceedingly gorgeous Eric Kelton. He wasn’t what she’d expected from a masquerada. Had she flirted with him? Maybe. It didn’t matter. Not only was he a masquerada, but he was clearly not interested in her. Remembering how he’d dropped her hand as if she was on fire made her want to bang her head against the desk in embarrassment. She must have been clutching at the poor guy’s fingers like some sort of obsessive fan girl.

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