Storms of Lazarus (Shadows of Asphodel, Book 2)

by Karen Kincy

She grabbed him by the hips and dragged him closer, then bent over him again. His breath became ragged.

  “Ardis,” he said. “I’m close.”

  She paused. “Good.”

  Then she bent down again. She loved to explore him with her mouth, to find the places that pleased him the most. He held his breath and tensed. It didn’t take long to find his breaking point. He groaned as he let go.

  She held still as he shuddered. The taste of him surprised her, and she swallowed.

  Wendel staggered back. He looked weak at the knees. He dropped onto the berth, wrapped his arm around her waist, and dragged her down to him. She lay against his chest, his heartbeat hammering against her cheek.

  Ardis touched her fingers to her mouth, and Wendel kissed the top of her head.

  “Mmm,” he said.

  She smiled. “Is that all you have to say?”

  He tweaked her ear. “There’s still the preventive.”

  “Ambitious?”

  “Very.”

  “I’ll take the moment to catch my breath.”

  Wendel’s laugh vibrated through her chest. His arm tightened around her in lopsided hug. She kissed the hollow of his neck, then curled against him to steal the heat of his skin. His hand smoothed the tangles from her hair.

  She couldn’t remember why she had looked for him. There was no past, and no future, only this time in his arms.

  Ardis sighed and shut her eyes. She drifted through the darkness.

  “Don’t fall asleep,” Wendel said.

  “I’m not.”

  He slipped out from underneath her and kissed her softly. He wasn’t soft elsewhere, though, and she raised her eyebrows. She wanted to tease him about his impatience, but he kept kissing her until the feeling seared away her thoughts. He left her breathless while he found the preventive, then held himself over her.

  “Wendel,” she said.

  “Yes?”

  She smiled. “I felt like saying your name.”

  He smiled in return, though his was far more wicked.

  “I want you to moan,” he said.

  “Thief,” she said. “That was my line.”

  “I’m not giving it back. I will, however, give you something else.”

  He slid into her, slowly, and she savored every inch of him. She tilted her hips and pressed tight against him, until they were as close as they could possibly be. He drew back, and she whimpered an involuntary protest. When he thrust again, she urged him on with her fingernails biting into his buttocks. They found a rhythm together, hard and fast and unrelenting, her heart pounding a staccato beat.

  He never stopped, never faltered, and her anticipation built until she could barely breathe.

  Ardis gasped. “Wendel.”

  “Moan,” he said. “I love it when you moan.”

  After an instant of self-consciousness, she did as he said. The sound encouraged him to thrust even harder. She clung to him as she teetered on the edge, then fell over the brink and tumbled into ecstasy. He thrust one last time, shuddering, and held her tight. Wordless with the echoes of pleasure, she kissed him.

  Wendel tucked Ardis into the crook of his arm.

  With a sigh of sheer contentment, she closed her eyes. Now she could sleep.

  On Christmas morning, Ardis woke in Wendel’s arms, and the luxury of peace felt like the best gift in the world. She had spent far too many Christmases alone, even one travelling between jobs as a mercenary.

  When Ardis stirred, Wendel’s arms tightened around her.

  “Are you awake?” he whispered.

  “Yes,” she said. “How long have you been awake?”

  He laughed quietly. “I can never sleep on Christmas morning.”

  Ardis imagined Wendel as a little boy, too excited to stay in bed, and found the thought both sweet and sad. Wendel had been only eleven when his family discovered his necromancy and disinherited him. She doubted he had much of a childhood in Constantinople, during his time with the Order of the Asphodel.

  “Can’t wait to see what Santa Claus brought you?” Ardis said.

  Wendel paused. “In Germany, children find their gifts under the tree on Christmas Eve. So today would be too late.”

  “I didn’t know that,” she said.

  “Why? Haven’t you been working for the archmages for several years?”

  Ardis blushed. “Yes, but I spent the holidays alone. One Christmas I did buy a new tassel for my sword, after the old one fell off.”

  Wendel lifted himself on his elbow and looked into her face.

  “Are you joking?” he said.

  “No,” she said, still blushing.

  Wendel started to laugh, hard enough that he doubled over and pressed his face to the pillow. Ardis swatted at him to make him stop, but he couldn’t, and finally she started laughing with him. She laughed so hard that her eyes watered and her ribs started to hurt. At last their laughter faded, and they both lay silently.

  Wendel cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean to laugh,” he said. “But then I imagined how pitiful that tassel must have been.”

  Ardis sighed and dabbed her eyes. “I haven’t laughed that hard in months.”

  Wendel sat upright and flicked on the light. The porthole lamp glowed softly.

  “Ardis,” he said, “I promise you that we will have a proper Christmas.”

  “It’s not too late for gifts?” she said.

  “We can cheat.”

  She grinned. “Can I have you for Christmas? Wearing nothing but a bow?”

  “If you have a bow.”

  Wendel kissed her on the cheek, then leaned back and frowned.

  “Though I’m afraid that was the last preventive,” he said.

  Ardis crawled off the berth. She searched her clothes, turning out every pocket, but she returned to him empty-handed.

  “Sadly, you’re right,” she said.

  Her dream from last night crept back into her head, and she felt her stomach squirm. She didn’t want to take any chances.

  If it wasn’t already too late. A baby wasn’t the Christmas gift she wanted.

  Blinking away those thoughts, Ardis grabbed her shirt and started to dress. Wendel stretched out on the berth and watched. His hand strayed lower, and she glared at him. He didn’t even bother to look innocent.

  “Am I not allowed to touch myself?” Wendel said.

  “No.” Ardis smirked. “Save your strength.”

  She sat on the berth to tug on her boots. He knelt behind her and kissed the back of her neck. She shivered and tried not to let him notice.

  “I’m hungry,” she said. “I want breakfast.”

  His sigh stirred her hair. “I suppose I can put on clothes.”

  She snorted. “It’s a crime, I know.”

  Wendel didn’t stop smirking the whole time he got dressed.

  ~

  They found Konstantin in the zeppelin’s dining room. He sat at a table laden with food, though he didn’t seem to be eating. He hunched over a newspaper, a pat of butter precariously balanced on the knife in his hand.

  “Good morning,” Ardis said.

  Konstantin looked startled, and he barely avoided dropping the butter.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t see you there. Please, help yourself to breakfast.”

  Ardis tugged out a wicker chair. It felt surprisingly lightweight, as did most zeppelin furniture, with a cushion filled by air. Wendel sat to her right, opposite Konstantin, and reached for a platter with slices of meat and cheese.

  “Did you sleep well?” Konstantin said.

  Ardis nodded and hoped he couldn’t see her blush. She doubted Konstantin knew she had spent the night in Wendel’s cabin, though hopefully no crewmembers had rapped on her door in the morning before she woke.

  Wendel sucked in his breath. “Is that really…?”

  Ardis glanced at him. “Really what?”

  “Lebkuchen.”

  Wendel rubbed his hands together and dragged a plat
e of cookies closer. They looked rather like gingerbread. He handed one to Ardis. The cookie was shaped like a heart, frosted with a shiny white glaze that cracked under her teeth. Lebkuchen tasted sweetly spicy, like almonds, ginger, cinnamon, and orange.

  “Delicious,” Ardis said.

  Wendel looked wistfully at the cookie in his hand. “They remind me of Prussia.”

  Konstantin folded his newspaper. “They aren’t Prussian,” he said. “They are Austrian. They came from Vienna.”

  “Ah,” Wendel said.

  Ardis cocked her head. “You come from Austria, don’t you, Konstantin?”

  “Yes,” the archmage said. “Salzburg.”

  Frowning, Konstantin sipped his coffee. Wendel bit a lebkuchen heart in half. Both of them looked secretly homesick.

  “I have you both beat,” Ardis said.

  Konstantin peered over his cup of coffee. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m the farthest from home this Christmas,” she said. “San Francisco must be over five thousand miles from here.”

  “You win.” Wendel twisted his mouth. “Congratulations.”

  “Did you eat Chinese cookies at home, Ardis?” Konstantin said.

  She knew he was trying to be polite, but his curiosity made her blush.

  “Fortune cookies,” she said.

  Konstantin nodded, squinting. “A cookie for luck, then?”

  “Not quite.” She hesitated. “When you break open the cookie, you find a little piece of paper with your future written on it.”

  Ardis didn’t believe in fortunetelling, so she looked him in the eye.

  “They aren’t actually Chinese,” she said. “Someone invented them in San Francisco.”

  “But they remind you of home,” Konstantin said.

  “Yes.”

  Ardis helped herself to a slice of pumpernickel and slathered it with plum jam. She bit the bread and chewed for a moment.

  “Not that I’m dying to go home,” she said.

  “Agreed,” Wendel said.

  “Speak for yourselves,” Konstantin said. “Salzburg is a lovely place.”

  Wendel arched an eyebrow. “Why not take a slight detour, archmage? Salzburg must be better than flying to the front lines.”

  Konstantin glanced heavenward as if both tempted and exasperated.

  “I would love to go home,” he said, “but I’m too busy saving yours.”

  Wendel shrugged. “Prussia has an army.”

  Konstantin glared at him. “And so does Russia. Theirs is bigger.”

  “Ours is better.”

  “So I should ignore the wireless telegram that came this morning?”

  Wendel waited for the archmage to tell him what the telegram said, but Konstantin sipped his coffee and looked at him coolly.

  Ardis broke the silence. “What did it say?”

  “The Russians are marching on Königsberg,” Konstantin said.

  “Königsberg?” Wendel straightened, his fork in his fist. “No one loots that castle except me. It’s my birthright, damn it.”

  Ardis sighed. She didn’t know why Wendel insisted on acting like such a bastard around the archmage, when she knew Wendel cared about saving his home and his family. Would it kill him to admit he had a heart?

  “Your uncle isn’t too happy about that, either,” Konstantin said to Wendel.

  “Uncle?” Ardis said.

  “Wilhelm.” Konstantin paused. “King of Prussia, Emperor of Germany.”

  Ardis’s jaw dropped. “How far from the throne were you, Wendel?”

  Wendel brushed aside her comment. “Never close enough to count.” He looked Konstantin in the eye. “Archmage, I hope you have an excellent plan for our arrival in Prussia. One that involves undead Russians.”

  Konstantin smiled a secret smile. “Perhaps I will tell you more about my plans.”

  On the window of the starboard promenade deck, there was a rap-rap-rap. Konstantin frowned, puzzled, and Wendel looked at him as if the noise were his fault. Ardis, however, pushed her chair from the table and stood. When she walked to the promenade deck, she leaned over and peered out the window.

  A raven perched outside on the railing. It pecked on the window.

  “Wendel?” Ardis said. “You won’t believe this.”

  The raven shuffled along the railing, its claws knocking down small puffs of snow.

  Wendel looked out the window. “My God.” He laughed. “He’s a persistent little devil.”

  He fiddled with a latch and slid the window open. The raven eyed his hand as if he might be hiding food. Wendel tried to pet the raven, but it hopped away and croaked at him, rustling the glossy feathers at its throat.

  “For heaven’s sake,” Konstantin said. “Close the window!”

  “Can I keep him?” Wendel said, smirking.

  “No.” Konstantin tossed aside his napkin. “Just no.”

  Wendel ignored him and offered a crumb of lebkuchen to the raven. The bird flew into the zeppelin and landed on the back of a wicker chair. Wendel tossed the bird the crumb, and it caught it, blinking as it swallowed.

  Konstantin climbed to his feet. “Get that bird out of here!”

  “I’m naming him Krampus,” Wendel said.

  “Him?” Ardis said. “How do you even know it’s a him?”

  Wendel shrugged. “You know, it’s been far too long since I’ve had a pet. Krampus will have to be my Christmas present.”

  With another crumb, Wendel coaxed the raven to hop onto his wrist.

  “Krampus likes me,” Wendel said. “See? He knows I’m a good necromancer.”

  “That’s a little creepy,” Ardis muttered.

  Konstantin let out a sighing growl. He slid the window shut himself, then raked his fingers through his already wild curls.

  “If that bird dirties this zeppelin,” Konstantin said, “I will hold you responsible.”

  Wendel smiled. “I don’t think he’s housebroken,” he said cheerfully.

  Konstantin sucked in his breath, but he was interrupted by the arrival of Himmel. The captain held a bottle of crystal clear liquor in his hand. He saluted Konstantin, then glanced at the raven and raised his eyebrows.

  “Who brought the raven?” Himmel said.

  “No one,” Konstantin said. “It must have followed us here.”

  “Doubtful, sir.” Himmel shrugged. “At this altitude, the Wanderfalke flies about twice as fast as a raven. So it must be a stowaway.”

  Konstantin rubbed his beard. “I hadn’t taken the raven’s speed into account.”

  Perched on Wendel’s wrist, Krampus croaked and cocked his head. Wendel stroked the raven’s scaly foot until he bit him. Wendel flinched and inspected his thumb, though it looked like nothing more than a playful nip.

  “Never mind the bird.” Himmel lifted the bottle. “I wanted to invite you for a drink.”

  “Oh?” Konstantin said, clearly still distracted by the raven.

  “Apricot schnapps. I saved a bottle for Christmas.”

  Ardis eyed the bottle. She liked the sound of schnapps in the morning. But Konstantin kept frowning at Krampus.

  “If the invitation isn’t exclusive,” Ardis said, “I would love a shot or two.”

  Himmel dipped his head. “Please, join us.”

  “And I can take the archmage’s drink,” Wendel said.

  Konstantin blinked. “No, you won’t. Himmel, I hope you have enough for four.”

  Himmel had a husky laugh. “Don’t worry, this schnapps will knock you on your ass. Pardon my language. I’m off duty.”

  “Don’t mind me,” Ardis said.

  Himmel smiled. “My quarters?”

  Konstantin nodded. His cheeks looked pink, and Ardis wondered why he was blushing.

  Wendel glanced around the room. “What’s that noise?”

  Ardis heard buzzing drone by her ear. She spotted a wasp flying overhead. It landed on the table, its antennae twitching, and scuttled over to her abandoned plate. It chewed
on a crumb, tasting what she had tasted.

  “You let a wasp in through the window,” Ardis said.

  The wasp buzzed to her and landed on her arm. She held her breath. Ordinarily, wasps wouldn’t attack unless provoked.

  But this was no ordinary wasp.

  The wasp’s legs clicked with tiny mechanical joints. It reshuffled its wings, fashioned of silk and wire, over its enameled exoskeleton. Mesmerized, Ardis lifted her arm to her face to scrutinize the artificial insect.

  “It’s a clockwork wasp!” she said.

  With a flickering of its antennae, the clockwork wasp dipped its abdomen and plunged its stinger into Ardis’s skin. She swore at the piercing pain and swatted at the wasp, but it zoomed away before she could smash it.

  “Allow me to kill it,” Wendel said.

  “Don’t kill it!” Konstantin said. “Catch it.”

  Wendel curled his lip. “Why?”

  “So I can inspect it.”

  “Oh, obviously.”

  The wasp circled them in drunken figure eights, then landed on the table again. Wendel snatched an empty glass and clanked it over the wasp. Unbalanced, Krampus leapt from Wendel’s wrist and flew to a chair with a croak. The clockwork wasp scuttled against the glass, the clink of its tiny feet audible.

  “Are you all right, Ardis?” Wendel said.

  Ardis winced and rubbed her arm. Pain burned from the sting.

  “One little wasp sting won’t kill me,” she said.

  Wendel’s eyebrows angled into a frown. “Unless, of course, the poison is fatal.”

  “Are you that paranoid?”

  “Not for an assassin. If I were the Russians, my clockwork wasps would be deadly.”

  Himmel stroked his mustache. “We do have a doctor on board.”

  “I’m fine.” Ardis sighed. “If I feel worse, I’ll go.”

  Wendel glowered at her. “It could be a slow-acting poison. It—”

  She silenced him with a look.

  Konstantin knelt by the table and peered at the wasp. He tapped the glass, and the wasp buzzed its wings furiously.

  “What a marvelous piece of clockwork!” he said.

  “Archmage,” Wendel said. “Watch out.”

  “I’m not letting it out,” Konstantin said. “I’m perfectly safe.”

  “No, watch out!”

  Another clockwork wasp swooped from the ceiling and landed on Konstantin’s back. Himmel smacked the wasp and knocked it onto the table, then crushed it beneath the bottle of schnapps. He peeked beneath the bottle. The wasp twitched, and Himmel smashed it again until he pulverized it into pieces of metal.