Masked Possession

by Alana Delacroix

  Eric nodded. “You’re stronger than a static, but not as strong as you were when you took on a masque. Interesting.” It was as though she was a specimen in a lab.

  “How strong are you?” she asked curiously.

  He took the poker then effortlessly twisted it like a pretzel. She gaped at the biceps bulging under his shirt and swallowed hard. Then he snapped it back straight.

  Nice. She flexed an experimental muscle. “I’ll be like that from now on?” The idea both repelled and attracted her. No more bicep curls at the gym, at least. That was one upside to this entire mess.

  “It depends. Like I said, you’ve got to know how to use the muscles. It’s like relearning how to walk.” Eric paused. “I can show you.”

  “No!”

  He raised an eyebrow and she suddenly remembered that she was standing in his room after rousing him out of bed at the crack of dawn. He must think she was crazy for reacting the way she had. Time for the apology. “I’m sorry for bothering you,” she said stiffly. “I was upset and I acted on a misunderstanding.”

  Eric burst out laughing. “You come in here, get my entire security detail up in arms, destroy my detention area and that’s the explanation I get? No, Caro, you’ll have to do better than that.”

  His mirth should have made her furious, but instead it raised her spirits. Caro ran her hand through her hair, reveling in the heavy feel of the loose waves. She’d never loved her hair as much as she did right then. “Why do you even have cells in your house?” she asked.

  “We have some unwanted visitors sometimes.”

  “Who were all those people?”

  “Security. We’re having a bit of an issue.” That was a lie, Caro could tell. The little issue must be a big deal.

  “I hit the woman downstairs,” Caro said, a little shamefaced. “I should apologize to her.”

  Eric’s eyes widened and she knew that was probably something she shouldn’t have been able to do. “Mai’s a tough old masquerada. She’ll be fine.”

  “She’s a masquerada?” asked Caro in surprise. The woman had been burly and older, with wrinkles around her eyes and military-short hair. “Is that what she usually looks like?”

  He laughed. “Not the politest question, but yes, she’s one of us and that’s her current chosen masque.” His eyes narrowed. “You couldn’t tell?”

  “What, that she’s a masquerada? Of course not. Do you think I’ve got some sort of masque-dar? I can sense it?”

  “The rest of us can,” he said urbanely. “So yes, I supposed you could.”

  She bit her lip. “Oh. No. I don’t think so. What does it feel like?”

  “It depends. I can get a pricking in my palms, and Stephan feels as though someone’s behind him. Tom gets a shiver. Sometimes it’s a mental sense. Familiarity ends the reaction.”

  “You didn’t get it from me, though,” Caro noted.

  His eyes flickered. “Perhaps because you’re half-blood.”

  She gave him a wry grin. “Then shouldn’t you have felt a pricking in at least one of your palms?”

  Eric laughed again. It wasn’t even that funny a joke. Small lines crinkled around his eyes and turned him much more human. She hadn’t realized how governed his behavior was, as if he needed to stay in control all the time. Perhaps he did. She watched him thoughtfully. What would happen if that mastery broke? She thought back to his inner mind, that cold, cavernous space with the lines of dancing figures. Their interlude.

  He was still smiling. “What are you thinking, Caro?” The soft question made her quiver. “You look as though you were thinking of something pleasant.”

  Pleasant wasn’t the word. With a wrench, she pulled herself back to the present. “I should go.”

  “Not yet.” Eric crossed the room and put his hand lightly on her wrist, halting her with a single touch. “We need to talk.”

  “About what?” she asked warily. Eric observed her as though he was able to see right through her. His closeness made her desire skyrocket. It was unfair for a man to be able to draw her in like that with only a brief caress. Hold on, hormones. He’s a masquerada. You don’t know he looks like this. He could be a total toad. This is only what he says he looks like.

  Another voice chimed in. Yeah, and you’re shallow enough to think that. What happened to all of that inner-beauty crap?

  The thing was, and she fully admitted it, that even if he looked nothing like this perfect god of a man, she’d still want him. Their connection was strong. She could almost reach out and touch the chain that linked them. His presence had her breathing fast. Even blindfolded, she’d probably be able to pick him out of a lineup by his sheer energy. The man bled sex.

  Her mouth went dry as he stood in front of her, so close she could feel the heat of him against her leg. She gazed intently at her hands, fearing if she looked up he’d be able to read her secrets from her expression. “We need to talk about you,” he said.

  He moved away before she could react and dragged a heavy, cushioned chair over to where she sat, handling it so easily it looked feather light. Then he settled down in front of her, lounging like a big cat against the dark velvet.

  Get hold of yourself, Caro. “I don’t want to talk about me,” she said brusquely. “I’m exhausted and I want to go home.”

  “Why do you repress this side of yourself, Caro? Are you ashamed of it? Frightened?”

  She bristled. “I don’t see that it’s any of your business.”

  “Let’s chalk it up to curiosity. Your attitude is unusual for a masquerada. We are traditionally proud of our abilities. Too proud, according to outsiders.”

  “I’m not a masquerada! I want to go home.”

  His eyes widened a fraction at her vehemence, but he let it go. Instead, he leaned forward so his elbows rested on his thighs, and he looked up at her through long, dark lashes. “You could sleep here,” he suggested. “In fact, I think it’s a good idea to have some company in case something happens.”

  “I’m fine,” she snapped. “Tired, that’s it.” Tired and nervous about how close he was. No, not nervous. Tense with an expectation she wasn’t yet sure she wanted to fill.

  “I know you are. The first time is always a trial.”

  Her inquisitiveness got the better of her. “It is?”

  “Oh, God, yes. It took me hours to change back. I’d forgotten what I looked like.”

  “No,” she gasped. The thought filled her with horror and Eric looked contrite.

  “I was young, and it was a time when there were fewer mirrors,” he reassured her. “My guide was an old man but a beautiful woman was watching. I might have been distracted.”

  She felt only faintly relieved. Now that she was calmer, she might as well get all the information she needed about this. “Will this happen again?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Caro sighed. “At least that’s honest. Was my change related to your convergence?” She willed herself not to blush, although the intimacy of what they had shared in her apartment should have knocked any hesitation from her.

  He lifted his eyebrow. “With what happened in my mind?”

  “That didn’t happen.” She knew her denial—the lie—came too quickly.

  Eric stroked his thumb over the palm of her hand, sending electric sparks down her spine. “Hmmm. That’s strange, because I think it did. I know. Why don’t you tell me what happened to you, and I’ll tell you my experience. If they’re different, then maybe you’re right.”

  Now she knew she was red. “Nothing happened.”

  He moved forward so that his mouth was by her ear. “No? Because here’s what happened from my perspective. You came to me already wet.” Even as she gasped at his words, her body came alive, the heat pooling between her legs. He continued, relentless, his voice rough. Caro closed her eyes. “You tasted like h
oney and when you came, you wrapped those lovely legs around me and screamed. You don’t remember any of that?”

  “Stop,” she whispered. “Stop this.” She was so aroused she could barely form the words.

  “That’s not what you experienced? Too bad, Caro. It was”—he paused—”gorgeous. Like you.”

  Caro jumped to her feet and pulled herself together. “It was a hallucination,” she insisted, desperately trying to get her legs to stop shaking.

  “You think a joint hallucination is a more credible idea?”

  “Even if it happened, it doesn’t matter,” she said firmly.

  He was in front of her before she could blink. “Doesn’t matter?” he growled. “It mattered. You saved my life.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” she muttered.

  “Then what do you mean?” He traced a burning line around the dipping curve of her neckline.

  “It wasn’t real,” she insisted, trying to ignore his touch.

  “Not real like this?”

  He bent to kiss her and Caro’s world lit up. She’d never been kissed like this, not even when they were in her apartment. Eric’s lips were firm against hers, and his kiss so deep she thought her legs would give out. He tasted like smoky tea and without noticing, she ran her hands through his hair to pull him closer.

  Instead, he pulled back and regarded her with eyes dark with passion and concern. “Caro, you’ve had an upsetting experience. I think…”

  Then she was faced with a choice. Actually not. It wasn’t a choice at all. Yesterday, she had told herself that not getting together with Eric was a good thing. Alone in her apartment, that totally made sense.

  Standing with him literally dressed to kill, with a bed right there? It made that decision a hell of a lot harder to stand by.

  Screw it. She didn’t get a lot of fun these days. She deserved one good time.

  “Shut up. You owe me.” She ran her hand up his chest, her fingers reveling in the hard feel of him. The man must have muscles on muscles. Without hesitation, his lips claimed hers again and she barely held back a moan of desire. Eric’s whole body was pressed against hers now, and she felt the bulge of his hard cock against her stomach. Remembering how he felt inside the dream, she shuddered. Would he feel that good buried inside of her in real life?

  Eric’s hands were on her ass now and without warning, and with his tongue still playing with hers, he lifted her up and off her feet. She wrapped her legs around his waist and he moved to the bed to lay her gently on the tousled sheets. Then he watched her as he slowly removed his weapons before joining her.

  The sheets smelled like him, Caro thought deliriously. Oranges and cinnamon. Better than cologne. Eric rose on one elbow, gazing down at her as he slid his hand under her shirt. Then he closed his eyes when he realized she wasn’t wearing anything under it. “I want to see you,” he said roughly.

  “Yes,” she whispered. His gray eyes bore into hers.

  Then she had a traitorous thought—whose eyes were they? What was she thinking? Doing anything with a masquerada was a mistake. They were born liars. Chameleons. She remembered the feel of the blonde’s hair coming from her head.

  Look what happened already. She had only his word that her masquing was related to the nightmare. It made more sense that it was related to being around him. The horror of enduring that again made her mind hurt. It had to stop.

  His fingers were teasing her nipples under her shirt and it took all her willpower to capture them with her hands. “I can’t do this.”

  He stopped immediately but one look at his hungry expression nearly destroyed her resolve. “Tell me,” he said.

  “You’re a masquerada.”

  “Yes. As are you, apparently.”

  “I don’t, umm, become involved with masquerada.” She said it as firmly as she could, which, with Eric lying next her, was not actually firm.

  It was enough. He pulled away and she felt coldness where he had been. “Of course,” he said evenly. “May I ask why?”

  She scrambled out of the bed. “I just don’t.”

  “It didn’t seem like that yesterday.”

  She glared at him. Asshole. “Things change.”

  Eric shut his eyes and Caro wondered if this was the first time he’d ever been turned down. Well, he’d survive.

  Finally, he rose as well and she tried not to let her eyes linger on the sizable bulge in his fatigues, or the way the T-shirt strained over his arms. God, this was hard. For a moment, she wanted to tell him to forget what she said and throw him down on the bed.

  “I see.”

  “I need to go. Please tell Mai I’m sorry for hitting her.”

  There was a long silence, then Eric took a deep, shuddering breath. “As you’d like,” he said. “I’ll call a car.”

  “No car. I want to walk.”

  He nodded and buzzed security to let her go, telling Tom to watch until she was home. Not until she was in the street did she feel safe from going back up and stripping him down.

  When she glanced at his house, he was watching from the window. She turned and walked resolutely away.

  Chapter 19

  Eric was in the middle of checking over some contracts in his office when the knock came. Caro, come to change her mind? The paper crumpled under his fingers. Instead he was surprised to see an unfamiliar woman at the door, Tom standing at her side.

  “Hello, Eric.” The bedroom drawl gave it away. “Tom recommended I take on another masque as a security measure. A less attractive one.”

  “Less recognizable is what I said,” Tom corrected.

  Eric raised his eyebrows. Frieda’s idea of unattractive was a statuesque redhead with a short pixie cut and huge green eyes. Completing the look were tight jeans and a low-cut black shirt accented with a silver necklace, the pendant hidden deep in her cleavage. Tom left at Eric’s nod and Frieda sashayed into the room. “I’ve been thinking about your case,” she said without preamble. “How have you been doing?”

  “Fine.” This brisk, professional Frieda was a welcome change from the touchy sexpot he’d expected to have to deal with.

  “Have you tried to shift?”

  “No.” He didn’t want to talk about his disastrous attempt at his office. Nor did he want to talk about the fear he felt with Caro.

  “Eric. If I am to help, I need to know.” Frieda sat down on one of the couches and waited with her hands clasped in her lap.

  He tucked the contracts under his laptop. He had been the one to call her in—she was right to expect his cooperation. A slight hesitancy tugged at him, thanks to their previous relationship, but both Tom and Stephan trusted her and she was bound by her professional oaths. He was probably too used to being paranoid. “What do you need to know?”

  “Again, have you tried to shift?”

  “Not yet.” He didn’t even pause. Despite his commitment to open honesty, made three seconds ago, Eric still couldn’t do it. He couldn’t tell someone that he could no longer shift. Saying it would be like admitting it was true and his mouth simply refused to form the words. “The medics told me to wait another week,” he lied. “So I haven’t.”

  She looked puzzled. “Another week? Did they say why?”

  “I cracked my head on the table when I went down. They wanted to make sure any undetectable head injury didn’t interfere.” Another lie but this one seemed to do the trick. Frieda nodded.

  “How do you feel when you think about masquing?”

  “Same as always. I have a masque I’m ready to use. It’s going to be good.” This was only a partial lie. He had felt that way before he’d realized he couldn’t shift.

  Frieda tapped a pen against her pouting lip. “I’ll come by next week and we’ll talk more about it. Until then, I have some information for you: unpublished research on other masquerada who survi
ved a convergence.”

  “Can you give me a summary?”

  Frieda shrugged and nearly popped out of the deep V of her neckline. “Sure. I’ve been collaborating with others internationally and this came from a researcher in France. In the past fifty years, there have been only twenty patients who’ve reverted back to their own self or a masque of their choosing after suffering a convergence.”

  That meant there were others who were stuck in a physical self they didn’t want. Eric repressed a shudder. “What happened to the ones who didn’t revert?”

  “Some survived but were permanently frozen between masques, so they had multiple limbs or faces. Others were stuck in a masque they may have created once on a whim. The rest died during the episode.”

  That was clear enough. “The ones who reverted back to their own selves?”

  “None of them could shift again and all died within two years.”

  Eric kept his face still. “Died of what?”

  “Suicide.”

  Jesus. “Why haven’t I been told of this?”

  She got up and moved beside him to perch on the desk. “Did you ever ask before now? Was it a concern before you experienced it yourself?”

  That stung. As though sensing his disquiet, Frieda leaned over and rested her hand on his arm, letting her fingers inch up to his shoulder.

  He twisted away. Two red blotches burned on her cheeks but she pulled her hand back leisurely. When she continued speaking, masquerada dominance began she acted as though nothing had happened. “It’s not something lineages want broadcast,” she said. “How would they find mates with such obvious weakness in the bloodline? Masquerada respect strength.”

  That was so true that Eric didn’t question it. One of their oldest legends told of the masquerada massacre by the lithu, the dark vampires. After that, masquerada had started to band together, mating strategically to bring further vigor into their bloodlines. Their physical strength was one of the reasons they were feared—and resented—by other arcana. They could become anyone and whip major ass while doing it.