The Gifted 3: Passions Ascended (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting)

by Cara Covington

  “Oh, we’re not going to hypnotize you,” Cameron said.

  Logan grinned because his brother had very deftly hidden the rest of the truth from her. Their woman was prickly, used to being in charge. It would take her time to learn that she could, when necessary, lean on them. Once she trusted them completely, she would know that when she was with them she could release that control of hers and be completely safe.

  They didn’t want to dominate her or subvert her will or her mind. They wanted only to take care of her. Until she reached that point of trust they would take care of her and see to it she got what she needed by any means necessary. If she asked them what they intended to do exactly, they would have told her the truth, exactly. They would have had no choice. But she didn’t ask.

  And so, because she’d turned over, and because he sensed—as he knew his brother sensed—that she wanted desperately to sleep, he began to massage her as he wove a verbal tale of magic and as his brother wove a very real spell of the same.

  A very long time ago, on a pretty autumn day, two soul brothers, Lagan and Camnon, were on their way to see their grandsire, to help with the harvest. As they neared the place that had been in their family for more generations than could be recalled, they came upon a young maid, Dina, as she fought with a mule nearly as stubborn as she herself. The brothers stopped to watch as she cajoled, demanded, and cursed the old creature, who had no desire to be led anywhere. He’d found some tasty grass, you see, and the shade of a giant oak tree to give him comfort from the heat of the day. There was the babbling of a creek nearby, and all in all, it was a perfect place for a mule to spend his time. Surely the creature believed himself to be in heaven and had no desire to leave.

  Though both brothers were amused by the lass’s growing ire, they were confused by it. For they could easily see she was a lass of power, gifted as they had been, with magic, and hers was strong and pure.

  “Why do you not use your gift?” Lagan had finally asked.

  The maid barely spared them a glance. “I don’t want to hurt the accursed beast. I want to get him home, to our barn. And I want him to get there under his own power.”

  “You don’t have to use your magic as a club,” Camnon said. “It can be wielded like a sweet enticement.”

  “Easy for you to say, as you’ve the strength of a man’s two hands to cup that sweet enticement within.” Dina lifted her hands from the beast’s collar and faced them, her hands now fisted on her hips. It was a bold stance to take because they were strangers, and custom dictated a more gracious interaction at first meeting.

  And, in that moment, when the men looked upon the woman and she on them, they recognized one another in that special way that sometimes came to those who were gifted.

  The men could see in the woman’s eyes that she would not give over to her destiny without some effort on their part, and that suited them fine, as they didn’t want to bring a cool lass to their bed—but one filled with fire.

  “I believe that if you explain to the mule that he’s truly better off at home, where his stall awaits and the food is plentiful, he’ll accompany you with little struggle.”

  “And maybe the struggle is the only interesting part of the entire process—for either of us.”

  They smiled, then, because they knew they were meant to be, just as they knew they would meet again in lifetime after lifetime and share beautiful daughters and strong sons and a love that would never die.

  Logan kept his hands stroking down Diana’s back in a slow and steady rhythm, even though he knew she slept. While he’d spoken of a part of their family legend, his brother had woven a gentle spell that had eased her struggle and allowed her to slip into the depths of sleep and memory. He’d recited that story as his mother had told him, the mule inserted, he was certain, to keep a young boy’s attention on the tale itself.

  Not until he’d laid eyes on Diana had he understood the story had come from his own family lore, and that Dina, Lagan, and Camnon had lived many lifetimes, together and were, at present, embarked upon another.

  “If she sleeps well and deep, it’ll be worth whatever she heaps on my head tomorrow,” Cameron said.

  Logan grinned. “I’ll stand with you in confession. She needed the rest.”

  “So do we, brother.”

  “Yes, so do we.” Logan had no idea what would come in the days ahead. He knew only that, if there were more battles to be waged, they had to be victorious.

  He’d protect his woman, and his brother, to his dying day. He just really hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

  Chapter 7

  Diana awoke rested, refreshed, and alone.

  Reaching out, she discovered the sheets on either side of her were cool to the touch, telling her she’d been alone in the bed for some time. She looked toward the bedside table for her cell phone and then recalled she’d left it in her purse, which was…somewhere.

  The slightest thought brought the device to her hand. Her eyes widened when she saw the time. It was after nine in the morning! She never slept this late.

  You’ve never had a reason to sleep so late before.

  True. She’d almost died…was it only last night? What had happened to her was something she’d never have believed could happen. It was a wonder I fell asleep at all, even with all that great sex…

  Diana went still. She cocked her head to the side as she searched inward, wondering how those two men had managed to get her to go to sleep.

  Why those two sneaky little… Diana cast off the blankets and surged to her feet, ready to do battle with the two men who’d dared to put a spell on her.

  Damn them to hell and back. They always liked to pull little stunts like that just because they thought I sometimes didn’t take proper care of myself.

  That last though echoed with the force of a cannon blast through her mind. Shock stole all the fight from her, and she sank back down to the bed. Wisps of memory stirred, and she sought to capture them. The story of the two gifted men stumbling upon a young woman having a set-to with her mule… The words had opened up something inside her, a tiny little portal within her magic she hadn’t even known was there. Memories awaited, a whole host of memories she instantly recognized as her own, but from another time and another place.

  “That was our first time together, the three of us,” Logan said.

  Diana looked up, unsurprised to see both men at the bedroom doorway. They would have known when she’d awakened and very likely would have felt the power of her ire.

  “Our mother used to spin that tale for Logan from the time he was a wee laddie,” Cameron said. “Then, when Da and I joined them, she would tell it to us together.” He shrugged. “At the time, we thought the best part of the story then was the mule.” He grinned at her, and that smile of his—always so damn cocky and cute in any lifetime—doused her pique.

  Because the resurrected memory was so fresh, she actually felt it as if she’d made it in this lifetime. That would fade, in time. “I looked forward to those tussles with that stubborn creature.” Diana shook her head. “I even suspected one or both of my fathers encouraged the beast with his own magic.”

  “Your subconscious was resisting dropping off,” Cameron said. “So while Logan spun his tale, I gave you a little nudge of magic to help you to sleep—and to help you remember.”

  “I needed that sleep.” She wouldn’t admit that she needed the nudge to remember, too. Diana had felt the resistance within her, an unwillingness to even think of these two men as her mates. She didn’t know why that was. Looking back now, she sensed they’d lived and loved and made happy lives together several times.

  You’ve always been more stubborn than any mule could ever be.

  Her mother’s words echoed across her thoughts, coming to her from the homeland. Her first instinct was to deny the charge, but she knew in her heart there might be more than a bit of truth to it.

  “We have today and tomorrow to relax before we have to go to work on Monday,” Lo
gan said. “I think we’ll all rest better if we stay here, where we’re safe.”

  Diana didn’t have to think about it very long. She was an ad exec, not a warrior. “Sounds good to me.” Then she shook her head. “I wonder what the odds would be of our both being granted vacation time at the same time right now? I don’t want any of our colleagues to end up as collateral damage.”

  “Odds?” Cameron shook his head. “You’re asking about the odds on that? You’re two peas in a pod. Neither of you likes to use your magic unless you’re forced to—or unless you get a wild hair to go over to Indonesia or wherever to visit family.”

  Diana grinned. “Cheri’s in New York, and Meghan is in North Carolina. I visit them regularly.” She looked at Logan. “I take it you’d pop over to Indonesia for a visit with your brother?”

  “We took turns. Usually at night, and no one was the wiser.” Logan shrugged.

  He didn’t need to explain anything to her because they were two peas in a pod. Cameron made a good point. Why have the magic and not use it at all?

  The answer was both simple and complex. Coming to this realm, she had declined to use her magic for anything that could have been considered overtly selfish. As well, she’d wanted to get out of the habit, so that no one could catch her at it. It had been a shock to discover that, by and large, people here didn’t even believe in magic. She’d been certain, with all the movies and television programs she’d seen, that the attitude about magic would have been quite different.

  In the end, she and her sisters had been of one mind. While their backgrounds had been created to allow them to function in this realm, they worked at their jobs and made friends without the use of their powers. In other words, they did their best to fit in, and that meant practicing their magic only in secret.

  Sometimes she’d even done her housework and laundry without magic. Sometimes, but not always—and not even mostly.

  When neither she nor Logan answered him, Cameron shook his head. Then he set his fists on his hips. “Call your boss now,” Cameron said. “And ask for the time off, and get it. Because I think you’re right, Diana. We can’t know what’s going to happen next. Better if we can be where we can control the situation, at least a little.”

  “Yeah.” Logan nodded. “Let’s do that after we eat. Then we need to come up with a plan of some sort.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Damn it, Jim, I’m an ad exec, not a warrior.”

  “Who’s Jim?” Diana thought the question a reasonable one. She wasn’t sure why both men laughed.

  “We’ll explain it while we eat. Let’s get some breakfast.” Logan leered at her. “Clothes?”

  She’d realized she was still completely naked, and that didn’t bother her one bit. The men, being not just men but men of this world, had gotten dressed when they’d arisen.

  They were here, in a small cabin in Colorado, in the middle of a parcel of land that no one could find or see. Diana grinned. It’s time I begin to assert myself. I am not a meek and accommodating young miss who needs a man—or two—to lead the way.

  “Clothes. Right.” And with a thought, she vanished the clothes Logan and Cameron had been wearing.

  They seemed completely stunned for a moment. Then they sent her a look that promised retribution of the most delicious kind.

  That was fine, but first, Diana wanted some food. Just the thought brought the aroma of bacon, pastries, and coffee wafting into the room from the kitchen. The silence was filled with the sound of grumbling stomachs.

  Cameron sighed. “Right you are. Food first then your phone calls to Mr. Parsons. Sex third.”

  “Sex fourth. I cooked. You two can do the dishes. Let’s eat.” She didn’t stand on ceremony. She just headed toward the kitchen, with the sound of male laughter following behind her.

  * * * *

  The time had come for him to take matters into his own hands.

  Gregor Fortuna didn’t like to travel far from his home base, but sometimes it was unavoidable. He hadn’t heard from Ricardo or Eduardo in days. They should have either met with success or with failure by now. They weren’t dead. That much he knew. He’d felt the deaths of his other sons in a way that had been everything he’d hoped it would be. He’d felt a pulsing awareness each time his sons had been killed. There had been whispers—a myth, they’d said—that a warlock could profit from another warlock’s death by inheriting his power. And if that warlock carried the same blood, the power gained would be even greater. Most had called it myth, fantasy, but to Gregor the truth of that lore made a wonderful kind of sense. After all, Vincente and Emilio, Mario and Pietro, they had been his sons—birthed from his loins, carrying his blood. They’d been his in life, his to mold, shape, and manipulate as he saw fit and in such a way that their actions had been inevitable. And they were his now, in death. They would forever be his because their power was now his power. He was certain of it. He felt it.

  Just as he’d known from a very early age that his destiny was one of unprecedented greatness. He prided himself on focusing, his entire life, on making the most of the power he’d been given at birth. He had been selected over his twin to receive the lion’s share of magic. And when the time had been ripe, he’d taken his twin’s power, too.

  It had all been meant for him. And now, he had it all, all except for those two youngest ones. He’d find them, and he’d claim them as well.

  Gregor looked out the window of this Los Angeles office building to the city beyond. Aside from slightly more pollution, and a proliferation of palm trees, he didn’t think this view that much different from any other.

  People are foolish, working hard day in and day out to give themselves what? A different view? A nicer apartment, or a house, or maybe a nicer car? All of it was just foolishness. All of it, in the end, amounted to nothing.

  Only power mattered. Power was the sole commodity that truly gained a man anything at all.

  Gregor had opened his power as soon as he’d arrived in Los Angeles, expecting to know immediately where his two youngest sons were, but there’d been no sense of them here. He would find them, of course. They were his, and he was a very powerful warlock.

  Still, he wondered about that, wondered why he couldn’t locate them. He was more powerful now than ever. He knew he was. He should be able to just reach out and draw them to him. And yet…

  His thoughts wandered. Gregor Fortuna was tired of being disappointed by sons unable to carry out simple assignments. Yes, it had worked out for him so far in that he’d received a boost in power at this most crucial time. But his oldest sons had failed to stop the prophecy from coming to fruition.

  The first two triads foretold of in the prophecy had met and were mated.

  There was only one triad left to go. He knew they hadn’t gotten together yet because he was still alive. The prophecy stated clearly that, when fulfilled, it would be the end of his kind. There were other warlocks. He knew this. But none were powerful enough to take on this challenge. None were near as powerful as Gregor Fortuna.

  So it fell to him to come here and take care of the situation himself. He wouldn’t do it by posturing, as he was certain his sons had done. Young men needed to feed their egos. He could well imagine they’d taken precious time to indulge themselves and their prurient tastes first, when that should have been saved for after the job was done. He knew his boys. Their attitudes had gotten them killed. It really wasn’t his fault at all, even if their deaths had fallen in with his plans perfectly.

  Gregor Fortuna had no need for posturing or for showing off. He needed only to kill one of the members of the triad that was about to come together.

  He wasn’t certain who exactly he was looking for, but he knew that whoever it was had a connection right here, not just in this city but in this very building. He’d turned, as always, to his scrying mirror to learn where the Latents could be found, and he’d gotten his answer, which was right here.

  He didn’t know exactly who he was looking for this time, bu
t that didn’t matter. He was the most powerful Warlock in the country. No one would be able to hide their power from him.

  No one.

  The moment the man he was looking for came close to the building, he would know it. The door opened behind him, and he turned, a smile on his face to greet the man who believed he’d flown all the way from Chicago just to meet with him about the image of Fortuna International.

  People were greedy and easily led by that greed to do all manner of things they wouldn’t otherwise do. The man who strode in, a wide smile on his face and dollar signs in his eyes, appeared to be a man of middle age and in excellent health.

  He was not a man of power, not even one of latent power.

  “Mr. Fortuna, it’s an honor to meet you, sir. I’m Cedric Parsons, one of the senior partners here at Weymouth Parsons.”

  The jovial-looking man held out his hand as he spoke, and Gregor shook it. He knew how to play the role of the gregarious businessman when he had to.

  “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Parsons. I was hoping to meet with your partner, Mr. Weymouth, as well.”

  Parsons gave an insouciant and, to Gregor, what seemed an insulting shrug of his shoulders. “William and Emily left yesterday for their second honeymoon. They’re on their way to Capri.”

  “Ah, a second honeymoon. That’s very nice.”

  “Yes, they’ve been married forty years. They only had a weekend away all those years ago. Emily was content to forego more at the time while her husband worked to build the business.”

  A man married forty years wouldn’t be a latent warlock. He knew the men he was seeking would be younger. “Then I wish them both a wonderful time and many more years of happiness.”

  “Can I get you some coffee or tea? Most of our senior staff will be arriving shortly, and then we can brainstorm together to see what we can do to meet your needs.”

  “Coffee would be most welcome, thank you.” Fortuna accepted the invitation to sit at the conference table. He supposed that being on the West Coast, Parsons was one of those new age executives. The kind who tried to portray himself as just “one of the gang,” who promoted a more relaxed work atmosphere. He’d bet the man didn’t even have a decent corner office to call his own.