Selene

by Lilith Saintcrow

  She slid her hand out from under the covers, approached his face. Paused before touching him, her fingers hanging in midair three inches from his cheek. The cold radiating from his skin made gooseflesh stand out on her arm.

  It’s a toss-up. I hate him almost as much as I need him. She touched his cheek, resting her fingertips against his skin.

  Strangely enough, his cheek wasn’t cold. The chill was more psychic than physical, a simmering curtain of Power.

  Her heart leapt and began hammering. She licked her dry, stinging lips. When will it be dark? A tired, drained Nikolai during the day she could handle. Maybe. If she had the advantage of a few wooden stakes, maybe a crossbow or a rifle, and a whole lot of luck.

  But when he wakes up, it’ll be full dark and he’ll be hungry, maybe. And here I am trapped in his nest. How am I going to get out of this one? I need a quiet place so I can go over Danny’s book.

  Her fingers were still against his cheek. Selene drew in a short, aching breath. She’d stiffened up, muscles protesting the unaccustomed running, tearing up stairs, and getting shot at.

  If he wakes up and I’m here, he might drain me. Nobody knows how thirsty a Nichtvren is when he wakes up, especially an old one. No matter how many Paranormal Anatomy classes it becomes necessary to take to keep your funding.

  But that would be silly. He’d never bitten her before, and she’d been banking on the fact that biting her would reduce her usefulness as a buffet table. Still. . .

  Selene slid across the silk, her skin running with prickles as the power blurring through the air pushed against her. She slid closer, and closer, and ended up next to him, her scraped knees against his jeans, her breasts pressing against his arm.

  His arm was taut with muscle, even when he was asleep. The silk sleeve rubbed against her nipple. She shivered slightly, the sensation spilling through her familiar as an old coat. He had lain next to her through so many nights, it was hard not to feel comforted.

  Even if he did think he owned her. Or, if she was to be absolutely honest, he did own her. If it wasn’t him it would be some other Power. She’d been lucky to stay under the radar, moving from city to city to collect her college credits. Nobody powerful enough to grab her and use her like a battery had ever noticed her and Danny.

  Until Nikolai.

  Memory swallowed her whole.

  Nikolai, waiting until the man gave her the roll of cash and went away with a spring in his step. Danny melted out of the shadows, his switchblade out to protect his sister—and Nikolai twisted his wrist, shunting aside Selene’s attack of razor-toothed Power and grabbing her by the back of her neck just like a mother cat would grab a kitten. He bent down, inhaling, smelling her hair, his own scent reaching out and wrapping around her. The silken weight of his attention closed around her, a psychic and physical predator scenting prey but not feeding.

  Yet.

  Simply watching, making the point that they couldn’t harm him, that he could do what he wanted with them both.

  “Peace,” he finally said, the Power in his voice stroking and teasing her skin. She went limp and trembling against him, the curse making her own body a traitor, liquid heat pooling between her legs. “Peace, Selene. And you too, Daniel. You are under my protection. I am Nikolai, and you have heard of me, verscht za? Now we will discuss a few things, and you will go to your new home.”

  He had handed Selene a thick roll of bills, enough to cover first, last, deposit—and several more months of life in a decent apartment. Tossed her brother the keys to a temporary room in the apartment house on Flight Street, along with a receipt for two weeks’ rent. And to finish everything, he flushed her with enough Power to last her for weeks.

  And afterwards, she never had to feed in alleyways again. There was always Nikolai, even when she tried to find another source of sex for the Power she needed. Nikolai, who had, she suspected, smoothed the way for her teaching job and some of the other. . . less normal jobs she took to bring in some cash, like helping Jack track cold case criminals and cleaning out poltergeist infestations or hauntings. Always showing up, always bailing Selene out, always Nikolai pushing her, seducing her, cajoling her—

  She brushed her knuckles against his cheek. His skin wasn’t like hers—it was a different texture, slightly rougher, but with a finer grain than human skin. It was why he looked so pale, and so perfect. If he had been awake, he might have leaned into her touch, rubbed his cheek against her. Then he might have turned on his side and touched her too.

  If he was hungry. If he needed the charge feeding off sex would give him. And maybe he even liked it. Most people liked sex, they just felt guilty about it afterward.

  But he wasn’t strictly a person, either. He had been once—every Nichtvren was before they got Turned—but he wasn’t now. He was old, she didn’t know how old. The older a Nichtvren got, the more their psyches changed.

  Immortality was hard on humanity. Or anything that might be called humanity surviving in a pale, perfect, bloodsucking shell.

  She brushed his lips, shivering again as her finger sank past the skin and met the smooth enamel of his teeth, careful not to brush the sharp edges. She was wet again between her legs, her heart pounding and her breath coming in light, quick bursts.

  Selene trailed her fingers down his chin, touched his jaw, slid her fingers down his throat. No pulse. His collarbones were still, not moving with human breath. Daylight sleep. She could see where the stories of corpses rising came from, centuries of Nichtvren living in the shadows, merely rumors and bad stories before the Awakening, when everything turned out to be all too real.

  And very, very dangerous.

  She skated her fingers over his chest, felt muscle under the silk. The Turn gave them denser bone and muscle, greater endurance, greater speed and agility. And, of course, enough paranormal magick and Power to run a block generator. The juice only seemed to accumulate, the older they got.

  She touched the waistband of his jeans and bit her lip again, ignoring the pain. Human enough for some things. Her fingers traced the brass button on his waistband. Alive enough for some things.

  The medallion rested chill against her skin. She still didn’t know what the damn thing said. Although it did seem to frighten off most of the small-fry paranormals. Even some of the bigger ones. If it held Power, there might be a way to charge it, and use the trickle of energy to stave off the worst effects of her Talent. Somehow.

  The cold in the air stilled, lying heavily over the bed. Selene traced the edges of the brass button, thinking.

  It’s tempting. Very tempting. After all, he’s been hanging around for how long? Acting like he owns me, but Jorge and Netley saved my life. I suppose I should be grateful.

  Then again, how is he involved with this? “Give my regards to Nikolai.”

  She looked at his face again. With his eyes closed, and without the flush of life, he was carved out of some white rock, polished to an unforgiving matte finish. His lips were pale, barely darker than his skin, and the shadows of his eyelashes and eyebrows were ink lines, drawn carefully by an artist.

  I don’t even know when he was Turned, or where he’s from, or who he was when he was human. She worked the brass button between her fingers. Or why he follows me around. I’m a tantraiiken, and valuable, and he’s the. . . I don’t know. Am I just easy food? A good lay?

  “Give my regards to Nikolai.” Another Nichtvren, most likely. Dammit, I have enough trouble with this one.

  The cold prickling power in the air pulsed. Selene gasped and scrambled back, her entire body singing a three-part chorus medley of pain. And to top it all off, she was hungry, and needed the bathroom.

  She propped herself gingerly on her raw hands and looked around. A bed, two leather wingback chairs in front of the empty fireplace and mantel with its single vase and dead dried rose perched atop it, a table between the chairs, a closed set of doors that looked like a closet, an iron-bound door made of some dark wood with a bar of iron as thick as b
oth her legs together across it, and another door, this one slightly open, showing a yellow slice of electric light and the edge of a mirror.

  That’s probably a bathroom. The situation immediately looked brighter.

  She slid out of the bed slowly, wincing as her feet hit chill hardwood. She limped over to the double doors and found that they were indeed a closet, complete with a light switch that turned on some very dim overhead fixtures, with suits and silk T-shirts hung in neat rows, jeans and chinos and—she raised her eyebrows at this—ten pairs of leather pants all neatly hung up, as well as racks of shoes, from loafers to engineer boots, and several pairs of Nikos sneakers.

  What a clotheshorse, she thought, biting back a laugh. The sound was thin and weak in the absolute quiet.

  She took a gray cashmere sweater down from a hanger, and contemplated the pants. Doesn’t this man have any sweats? Another tired giggle escaped her. Christos. I wish I’d worn jeans yesterday.

  There, on a set of shelves, were a few pairs of sweats and some tank tops, neatly folded. They looked like workout gear. A pair of padded gloves lay on top of the pile.

  She took a pair of gray sweatpants, trying not to feel like a thief. I need clothes, I can’t run around naked, and I didn’t bring anything with me, she told herself sternly. I wasn’t allowed to bring anything with me. I need a shower, and then I’ll look at Danny’s book. I can’t have slept that long, Nikolai should still be out for a good while.

  With her course of action decided, she hobbled out of the closet and left the doors open. He’d be able to tell she’d been poking around in there anyway.

  She glanced over and saw him lying on his back, still and cold. The bed was rumpled right next to him, with a dent in the white pillows where her head had rested, and a warm feeling crept up from her belly. Her cheeks flamed.

  Stop it. He’s not human, and he wouldn’t even let you go and see Danny. That’s what’s important—finding whoever hurt my brother. And keeping one step ahead of whatever leverage Nikolai’s going to use on me next.

  The image of Danny’s apartment rose up in front of her again, and Selene closed her eyes, swaying. Her ankle ached. She’d have to be careful unless she used some Power to help her body heal. But that would only speed up the inevitable—she’d need Nikolai again. Or someone else.

  She limped into the bathroom, finding that it was functional, even if it was done in black lacquer and dark-blue tile. I don’t think much of his color scheme. Her forlorn little giggle bounced off the tiles and echoed in the huge shower stall. The sunken bathtub was big enough to keep koi in, and the bank of mirrors and vanity space along one wall would have been kind of amusing if it wasn’t so chill and clean. There was nothing personal about this room, and Selene shivered. He probably doesn’t use it. Nichtvren don’t need a lot of cleaning up.

  She closed the door behind her, tossed the new clothes over an acre of counter space. Stepped out of her panties, wincing as they slipped past her raw knees. Hobbled to the toilet, and for a minute or two, all other considerations were lost in sheer relief.

  I will never, she told herself for the ten thousandth time, go camping. Or go anywhere without basic toilet facilities. So help me God. I had enough of outhouses growing up.

  After she flushed, she yawned and decided a shower would be best. She might drown in the huge glossy black bathtub, and they wouldn’t find her for days.

  It took her a second to figure out which set of knobs went with the side of the shower she wanted to use, and hot water was soon cascading down, filling the air with steam. There were black towels hung up on a rack, and she took down two of them and tossed them on top of the clothes.

  Hot water stung her cuts and scrapes but felt wonderful against her bruises. It was hard to wash her hair—her shoulder ached every time she moved her arm—but she managed. It was a good thing he had shampoo—some European kind, with the bottle done in French. It smelled strange, like musky roses, but it got the job done, and she stood for a long time under the heat, water beating on her nape, running down her back, sliding over the curves of her body.

  Hot water had always been a luxury. It cost two candy bars or fifteen cigarettes for five minutes in a shower. Why bother when you could bathe in a bucket? She shivered, and let her mind go blank, enjoying the sheer, gratuitous extravagance.

  Her eyes closed. She lost herself there for a long time, swaying on her throbbing ankle, the medallion glinting under the hot water. Pure heaven.

  It was a shock when fingers brushed up her back. Selene whirled, her ankle giving out, and almost fell against the slick tiles.

  Nikolai caught her, his arms sliding under hers. He set her carefully on her feet again. She hadn’t even heard the shower door opening—always assuming he’d opened it, and not just materialized in the damn stall using that shimmer-thing he was so fond of.

  “Goddammit, Nikolai!” she yelled, the sound bouncing off the tiles. Her own voice made her flinch. “Don’t do that!”

  He cocked his head to the side, water beating against his shoulder. His hair was already starting to stick to his skull, weighed down with water, and he smiled. It was the good-natured grin again, white teeth gleaming, and Selene felt her knees give out and her heart give a shattering leap. Oh, Christos, don’t tell me he’s naked—of course he’s naked, we’re in the shower. She glanced down, then just as quickly glanced back up.

  There seemed to be no air left in the entire room.

  He still watched her, black eyes fixed on her face. “I see you’ve made yourself at home.” His voice cut through the sound of rushing water and made Selene’s already-burning cheeks flame even hotter.

  Why the bloody hell doesn’t he leave me ALONE? A traitorous bubble of excitement burst at the base of her spine. He was definitely interested—completely erect, a hard length pressing into the softness of her lower belly. Her throat was absolutely dry, and she couldn’t back up. The only place to go was against the tiled wall, and that would make the situation even more interesting.

  Time to beg a little. Christos, can’t he leave me alone? “Not now. Please. Not now, Nikolai.”

  “Then when?” he asked, softly, crowding her even more. She only reached his collarbone, and even if she tipped her head back and looked up at him it was uncomfortably like admitting defeat. She did it anyway, shoving her wet hair back over her shoulders, her elbow bumping into his chest. It was like hitting a rock, and she flinched.

  “It’s bad manners to even ask at a time like this.” She set her jaw and glared at him. For Christos’s sake, my brother was just murdered and all you can think of is sex? Just like a goddamn man.

  He actually laughed, and slid away to the side. Selene’s entire body swayed, leaning after him. But he turned his back on her, stepping under the jet of hot water, and she crossed her arms over her breasts. Her nipples were as hard as chips of rock.

  Well, he’s got a cute ass, at least. She watched muscle move under his skin as he reached up for the shampoo. The signet ring gleamed on his hand, but that wasn’t what caught Selene’s attention. There were four silvery scars down his back, running from his shoulders almost to his hips. They looked jagged. I’ve never seen those before. And Nichtvren don’t scar; those are from before he was Turned.

  Before she knew what she was doing, she had stepped forward, flinching as her ankle sent up another burst of pain, and laid her hand flat across two of the scars. They were smooth and hard, different from the rest of his skin. She moved her palm up gently a few millimeters, wondering where they had come from.

  Nikolai was completely motionless, his hand raised halfway to the chrome rack holding the soap. He might as well have been a statue. Liquid heat pooled in Selene’s belly. She licked her lips, tasted the water—and oddly enough, him. It was as if he’d kissed her, night and dark and something not quite human on her tongue.

  “Where did these come from?” Her voice bounced eerily off the tiles.

  He said nothing, but his head dropped forwa
rd a little, dark hair running with water.

  Oh, I get it. I’m good enough to fuck, since I’m a tantraiiken, but he won’t tell me a goddamn thing. Because I’m only human, even if I’m a paranormal. She swallowed the lump in her throat again. I’m just off-balance because of Danny, that’s all. I should never have asked. He’s just playing games. Fucking sucktooth games. “Fine. Forget it.”

  She fumbled for the shower door and wrenched it open. Thank God this thing is big enough for a hippo to bathe in. There wasn’t a bath mat and she didn’t want to slip and crack her head open, so a fresh towel got flung on the floor. One of the towels she’d thrown on the counter went around her hair. The third towel she used to start patting herself dry, avoiding some of the scrapes and dabbing gingerly at others until she was reasonably sure she wouldn’t freeze to death.

  Selene couldn’t stop calculating the cost of the laundry, or the sheer volume of hot water still running in the shower behind her. She struggled into the gray sweater, her shoulder grinding, stepped into the sweatpants. The water just kept on pounding, and the air was thick with steam. Nikolai said nothing. Through the glass of the shower door she could see the pale shape of him against the wet blackness of the tiles, his arm still upraised. He hadn’t moved.

  Her ankle threatened to give at any moment, but she managed, leaving the wet towels tossed on the floor. Why bother being neat? He’s rich enough. She yanked the bathroom door open and limped out into the sanctum. Bedroom. Sanctum. Whatever.

  She scrubbed at her hair as she hobbled across the room. The bed was neatly made, and there was—surprise, surprise, how does he do it, folks—a fire in the fireplace now. That was good—she settled gingerly in one of the chairs and let the heat leach into her. She scrubbed at her hair fiercely, and was surprised to find tears welling up in her eyes again.

  I don’t care. He’s only a sucktooth, anyway.

  Nikolai’s thralls were human, so there was food in the house. Best of all, Jorge brought a covered tray into the room. He was pale, but seemed all right, even though he moved very slowly. Selene leapt to her feet as soon as the sanctum’s door creaked open—or she tried to, she had to stop halfway and hold onto the chair. “Jorge!” She hobbled as quickly as she could across the floor and tried to take the tray from him.