Something warm against her cheek. He let her see it: the flat blade of the machete, wet with his blood.
"So . . . what do you think about staging a revival? Glory hallelujah! Gimme some of that ol' time religion!"
She found she could still speak even when the blade kissed her throat. "Bite me," she grated.
"Yup, you're my kind of woman. Maybe a couple years ago I'd have taken you up on that, but I got bigger things going." He walked her closer toward the center.
The steep steps were just in front of her. If he let her go she'd—
Don't look at them, then.
"But there's no need to cover old ground. I just get such a kick teasing people, one of my better qualities. A little terror energy is okay, and Death Magic has its uses, but you're not the most cooperative bitch I've ever been with. I don't think you'd digest too well on either count."
She looked beyond the stairs, trying to see past the creatures writhing in the storm. There was the serpent, worse for wear, drifting down, heading away from them—or rather toward something else of interest. There were soft but very intense lights at the edge of the esplanade. They had form, were vertical, like the Thousand Columns . . . only these were slowly moving toward El Castillo.
He spun the machete one-handed like a juggler. "Don't get me wrong, this has been a trip, but I'm gonna have to leave, and I don't think wormy would like that. It's been ages since anyone bothered to wake him up, and sweetie, you did that. You shouldn't have severed my lines; it messed up my shields, threw things into red alert, and sent him slithering out to see who was messing around on his turf. I worked very, very hard to get myself to this point, and I'm not going to waste all that I've gained fighting my way out through the local guardian. I'm gonna need some help from you, like it or not."
One of those distant lights . . . figures . . . walked closer. It was a man, apparently unintimidated by the gigantic serpent coming toward him, much less the other strange beings that swarmed above him. Fewer of them now, and the wind was dying. Soon it would be the Henge all over again, but with dust and rubble and silence spread for miles.
Rivers went on. "You're not still a virgin are you? Nah, no way. Not with Dickie-boy Dun for your boyfriend. He does love the ladies. Virginity might have been an added plus here for an offering. On the other hand, I heard it has more to do with purity of heart than whether or not you dropped your cherry."
The man below was almost to the foot of the pyramid steps. He was big, with a short-cropped brush of blond hair. Hope leapt in her. She knew him, would know his face and form anywhere, even through Otherside veils. She took breath to call down and only at the last instant stopped herself. Rivers hadn't noticed him yet.
"But, sweetie pie, no one's fed old Kukie in so long he'll probably like just about anything. I think you'll taste pretty good regardless."
Other individuals coalesced out of the column-shapes, more and more; they shimmered ghostlike against the darkness. She didn't know them, but her heart told her they were here to help in some way. But they only stared up without any obvious reaction to her situation or to each other. Rivers had to see them now; there were so many down there.
She shouted at the foremost figure, who was facing the serpent. "Richard!"
Rivers jerked in reaction, turning her. "What was that? Wishful thinking or do you see something?" He looked out. There must have been hundreds standing below. His gaze passed right over them. "What is it you see?"
" 'Birnam wood do come to Dunsinane,' " she muttered, chuckling. The quote was not quite accurate to the circumstances, but close enough to shake him. Feeling was returning to her limbs. She knew the symptoms; he'd struck specific pressure points to certain nerve clusters. Nothing permanent. Given time she'd get that knife from him and ram it sideways down his throat.
Given time.
Rivers held his hand out and a last howling sliver of the wind raised high, tugging at them. Stinging sand was in it, debris torn from the other monuments . . .
Which were gone now on Otherside. Oh, bloody hell.
"Richard!"
But it was Kukulcan who responded, seeming to leap, riding the wind as it gathered itself for a rush up the sides of the pyramid.
"Oh, no ya don't," said Rivers.
She almost had control over herself again, and if she could break free, she could hinder him.
Only Rivers didn't seem to know that. As though anticipating her move he swept her lightly up like a bridegroom ready to cross the threshold. She clawed at his face.
He pulled back and hit a nerve on her neck. She went slack, arms dangling. "Uh-uh. Not again. Been there, done that. You're a great date, Sherrie-pie. I'll call ya next week, okay?"
She tried to dredge up more fight, but he'd stolen her strength. There was no way Richard could reach her in time to help. Why hadn't he moved? What was wrong with him? With any of them?
Then it was all up. With unnatural strength Rivers lifted her over his head. She got a ghastly view of the stairs swinging unsteadily below with the serpent god charging up their length, feathered crest flared with rage, mouth open.
Oh, God, no, not now, it's not my time—
Rivers hurled her strongly toward it.
The stairs rushed at her . . .
Until the wind caught and swept her high into Otherside madness. She glimpsed the serpent god suddenly looming, diving toward her. Sharon screamed to Richard as she plunged into a glittering well of green, blue, gold, and red, but all she heard in return was Rivers.
"Hasta la Winnebago, baby!"
Chapter Two
Toronto, Winter, the Present
"You're different, all right, I just haven't figured out what it is yet," said Mercedes White.
Richard Dun smiled, projecting interest and no small measure of charm across the candlelit dining table, all part of the foreplay begun two days ago in his office when they'd met in person for the first time. Their previous phone conversations had been business oriented, but pleasant and professional, a theme that continued during their face-to-face meetings. However, he had been fairly certain there was an extra dimension to Ms. White's warm cordiality that had nothing to do with their finalization of a sales contract. Since the deal was completed she had nothing to gain by continuing to flirt with him; besides, she did not strike him as being a woman who would stoop to such tactics to further her career.
Take it to the basics, old lad, he told himself. She gave off the right vibe, you felt it, and she knows you felt it.
The lady was a stunner with a hell of a brain, and had made a decisive opening move a few hours ago when she suggested dinner at her hotel. It was eye contact and the light touch of her hand on his that told him something more than mere food might be in the offing, so he readily accepted. He'd learned long ago that when a woman took notice, it was best to lie back and enjoy the ride.
In every way.
"What is it you do besides sell successful oil companies to larger firms?" she asked.
He was reasonably sure she wasn't all that keen to hear his autobiography. Even a short summary would take days. "Well, if I'm very fortunate I get to take an outstandingly beautiful woman to dinner."
The flash in her eyes told him he'd said the right thing and then some.
A sleek waitress in the hotel's corporate colors came for their order. Richard dealt with the ritual, asked for what he assumed would be the right wine for the meal, and refocused on Mercedes.
Who was curious. "No dinner for you?"
He gave a deprecating smile. "I'm cursed or blessed with an odd metabolism. Sometimes I don't eat for days." Or even centuries.
"That is odd. What do you call it?"
"An easily ignored distraction." Eye contact, a smile. But there was no need to press the point, she got that a subject change would not be out of place. "You've not had much chance to see Toronto, have you?"
"I learned how to correctly pronounce Yonge Street and Spadina Avenue and did some shopping in Eaton Cen
tre, but no real tourist stuff."
"Not even the CN Tower?"
She made a mock shudder. "Just looking at it makes me dizzy. I prefer my heights to be less in your face. Have you been up?"
"Oh, yes. It's a fantastic view, especially when you stand on the glass floor and look straight down. Puts you in perspective about the builders."
"They have my respectful admiration. From afar. At ground level."
"Will you have time for other things besides shop? There's a lot to do around here."
"I've a morning flight out."
"That's too bad."
"It need not be." Eye contact, a smile, and her hand touching his across the table. "There's lots to do even when one sees only the hotel."
Indeed. No mistaking that message.
If later asked about their conversation, Richard would not recall a single word; his focus was on her dark eyes and dusky skin and how they hypnotically contrasted with her short silver-white hair. It was too light to be natural, of course, but he liked the effect and wondered if she bleached it as a not-so-subtle mnemonic to coincide with her last name. Perhaps if things continued well he would discover just how far she carried out the peroxide treatment.
Mercedes was from Texas, one of the CEOs of an oil company to which he'd just completed the process of selling his own comparatively small operation, Ahryn-Hill. The actual contracts and details had been hammered out by their respective lawyers; she was here to finalize the signatures. Richard put his current name on an inordinately high stack of papers (in triplicate) which were then swept away by yet another lawyer for God knows what purpose. He had the vague idea the accountants would have a turn with them. Fine. Richard's last business ties to Texas were severed, his former employees retaining their jobs without the threat of being sacked by the new management, and the shockingly high profit he'd made would go into other investments and a generous trust fund for his godson.
With all that out of the way, he and the lovely Ms. White were able to shed their executive roles and resume being consenting adults with free time on their hands.
Out of necessity, since he wasn't dining, Richard carried a bit more of the conversation load, allowing Mercedes to eat in peace. He kept things as light, neutral, and amusing as possible. She seemed unconcerned over telling him all about herself, which was refreshing. Most Americans couldn't wait to share things with strangers they'd never divulge to their therapists. He had only the general knowledge that she was divorced and sufficiently recovered from the trauma as to have no need to recite a litany of her ex's faults.
Of course, he did have the passing thought that she might be more than she seemed. In his long and checkered past he'd come under official scrutiny from a number of governments and private interests, some of which were not above using attractive women to ferret out information. Mercedes wasn't the type, though, for even the best, most careful of operatives will give away their training sooner or later. The lady was exactly as represented; single, available, and looking for recreation.
She turned down dessert, preferring to linger over her second glass of wine. "I think I've figured it out," she said.
"A plan for world peace?"
"You. Your difference from other people. Other men, I mean."
He spread his hands slightly. "Please tell."
"It's many things. For one, you have patience."
"That makes me different?"
"Yes. It's a very rare quality in these circumstances. There have been times when I've shown a man this level of attention and he takes it as a done deal and can't wait to stampede into bed. That's told me he's less interested in me than he is in having sex, and I just happen to be the means to provide it. Confidence is one thing, but assumption is quite another. You have the confidence, but seem perfectly willing to continue letting me seduce you at my own pace. Which tells me you have regard and respect. I like that."
"I'm delighted." He was a touch nonplussed as well. He'd been a happy participant in the countless variations of the games of seduction for a very, very long time, and there were always surprises to be had. Mercedes was certainly one of them.
"I am too. My being frank hasn't put you off."
"It's refreshing."
"And a two-way street. I only ever want to be with a man who's . . . enthusiastic . . . about me. Anything less . . . well, a girl can just tell."
"Ms. White, you have my undivided attention. And if it pleases you, you will continue to have it for as long as you wish."
"You won't mind if I test that out?"
"Not at all."
A slow smile from her, very white teeth against her naturally dark skin, lovely lips. "Well, then."
An elevator ride, a sedate walk down a carpeted hallway, she was very collected until she swiped the electronic key to her room the wrong way. A cool and calm woman, but deliciously stirred up inside. She reversed the plastic card without fuss, the little light on the lock flashed green—rather symbolic, that—and they were inside. The room was dark, the curtains wide, showing a slice of Toronto from ten stories up and gray night sky. The distant streetlights gilded everything in a warm yellow sheen. His eyes adjusted to the dimness so it was like day to him, but Mercedes navigated more slowly, not bothering with the room lights. Out of long habit he listened for surrounding sounds that might indicate what other hotel guests were doing in their respective accommodations, but all was silent. Apparently they had this part of the floor to themselves for the present.
"Shall I order up champagne?" she asked, slipping off her heels.
"Only if you want some." In the insulated hush of the room his sensitive hearing also picked up the low thundering of her heart, the quickening of her breath.
"What I want, Mr. Dun . . ." She faced him, getting between him and the view. The faint radiance from the window touched her white hair, frosting it even more, yet her skin remained rebelliously dark. She barely came to his chin, how was it that she had such long legs? Her hands slid up his chest to loosen his tie. She did so smoothly and even got the top button of his shirt freed without choking him.
"Yes . . . ?"
"I want you to help me break the damn bed."
Well, put like that—
He obligingly swept her up.
* * *
Their initial encounter did not damage hotel property, though it wasn't for lack of trying. To compensate, they made quite a mess flinging their clothes about. Once committed, Mercedes held back nothing. She seemed to have an excess of energy to burn, but not to the point of foolishness. When the time came she produced that which was needed for their mutual protection in these sad modern times, but it was not such as to detract from the build of a roaring momentum. Richard chose not to mar the moment with explanations about his various immunities and joyfully got on with things.
Mercedes acted and reacted to his touch in a most gratifying manner. He responded to her in kind, one thing leading to another in the ancient dance that brings male and female to merge and be whole for a few precious moments.
It was then that he caused Mercedes to discover what else there was that made him different from other men. Her resulting cries might well have disturbed their neighbors had any been around to hear. In the dimness she'd not seen the change coming over him, but as she breathlessly exhorted him to press harder, as the throes of her climax began to engulf her, that's when he buried his unnaturally long corner teeth into the hot velvet of her throat. He broke fragile skin, swiftly, efficiently, and drew strongly on her heat, her life, actually tasting her ecstasy as it flowed through her and into him.
God, but it was incredible, triggering his own explosion.
Her response—a mirror to his—was . . . dynamic. Her body arched violently under him with a sudden strength nearly a match to his own, her hands holding him in place as he rode her, her voice gone rough as tearing silk, first urging him on, then failing, then rising to a suppressed shriek, until she lost all control.
He kept his. Barely. It was
more than enough on every level and for every sense, but he was careful. Too much of a good thing and he could hurt her. That would not happen. But he took himself to the dangerous edge, for she seemed to demand it; he was more than willing to provide. She'd all but ordered him to split her in two. It had been a long time since he'd been with this exigent and vigorous a partner.
Richard held fast to her, prolonging their climax, and, after considerable lingering in that exultance, gradually bringing them down. With some women, if he ceased feeding without that adjustment period, they could go into a kind of light shock. Nothing injurious or lethal, but alarming. And preventable. Besides, it was another aspect of their shared pleasure, a way of drawing it out for that much longer. There are other means to descend from a mountain peak than taking a headfirst fall. He knew he'd gotten it right when she slipped into a light doze. The long sigh of her breath and slower heartbeat told him all was well.
He lay back in the tangle of pillows and sheets, weary and invigorated and thoroughly sated at the same time, and counted his blessings. His goddess had ever been generous, particularly in providing him partners.
Some of Richard's past liaisons were disastrous, some desperately euphoric. He had played the games of each new generation, seduced, was himself seduced, with any number of variations in between. At times, turn-upon-turn, it could be glorious or appalling, frustrating or extraordinary, too ridiculous to bear, too beautiful to endure, but for the most part, wholly wonderful. He had literally bedded thousands of women over his long life, going through the forms of love, more often than not falling in love, again and again, for good or ill, year upon year, centuries of it.
And for all that . . . it just never got old.
* * *
He lay half curled around her, savoring her warmth, not quite asleep, when she wakened and slipped from the big bed. He felt the firm touch of her lips on his naked shoulder, an affectionate signature perhaps, before she padded off to the bath. That was nice. Women were so very, very lovely.
She wasn't long, not to his reckoning, but then his time perception was also frequently different from normal humans. After fifteen hundred years of walking the night, it'd be strange if it wasn't.
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