Selene

by Lilith Saintcrow

  “Nothing worth having comes easily,” he replied obliquely, still watching Rigel. “Eternity has taught me that, at least.”

  Now what the hell does that mean? “How old are you?” She hugged the purse to her belly. The dress shifted against her skin, rich pretty silk that she might have liked if he hadn’t given it to her. “Who were you when you were human? What are those scars on your back? And why are you doing this?”

  “Doing what?” The limo slid down the paved drive, winding down the hill, shimmers of Power riding the air now that the sun was going down. There were layers of invisible defenses on the nest, standard for any Prime Power. And besides, Nichtvren took their nests seriously.

  “Why did you give Danny work you knew would kill him? And why are you so obsessed with screwing around with me?” She glanced at Rigel, who looked away quickly, not daring to meet her eyes.

  “I did not know the work would kill him. I did everything possible to keep him safe.” Nikolai’s eyes half-lidded as his fingers continued their even, soothing motions.

  Selene took a deep ragged breath. Her heartbeat, rabbiting under her ribs, seemed to pace itself a little. Her lungs stopped burning. It seemed almost possible that she might be able to just sit for a minute and collect herself.

  Give my regards to Nikolai. An evil voice, as evil and self-centered as the creature sitting right next to her. Goddamn Nichtvren. They played their games with other people’s lives, and never paid the price themselves.

  Rigel moved, leaning forward as if he would say something.

  Nikolai glanced at him and Rigel immediately sat back, his mouth thinning. “I am sorry, Selene. You have trusted me this far.” His fingers continued touching her shoulder, making little patterns on the silk. “You may as well continue.” Then he did something strange. He leaned over and pressed his lips against her cheek, crowding her against the side of the limo again.

  Heat spilled through Selene’s entire body. She drew in a short, sharp breath, closing her eyes. It’s just a kiss, she told herself, but her entire body flamed, a trickle slipping down between her legs. Stop it, it’s just a kiss.

  Her body didn’t know that, though. The tantraiiken part of her knew only that he was powerful, and that he had fed her. Her body responded, changing into liquid. He might as well have branded her and put her on a leash.

  Selene’s head tipped back, and she melted. “Nikolai. . .” It was wrung out of her, a despairing moan. Not in front of Rigel. Panic swimming through her. Please, not in front of Rigel—this is private. Don’t do this to me in front of someone else.

  As if it mattered.

  “Who else would not use this against you?” His lips moved against her cheek. “I know you, Selene. I know more about your need than you do. Be a little kinder to me, if you please.”

  She shut her eyes, a delicate shudder running down her arms and legs. Her pulse pounded in her ears and wrists and throat, hammering against the mark he’d left on her. She pushed the curse away, her muscles locking one by one as she fought with her rebellious body. “Get off me,” she whispered. “Goddamn you, get off me.”

  He did, moving slightly away, but his hand came up and stroked her shoulder again. Now a steady, comforting heat came through the velvet and silk, sinking into her skin. “We will have to discuss this, Selene, when I have finished and ensured your safety. I am no longer willing to be quite so patient with you.”

  “You can’t break me.” I may be a tantraiiken, but I have my pride. Or at least my dignity.

  Yeah. Sure.

  Rigel moved again, restless. He was looking out the window, but a faint flush had risen in his sallow cheeks. The diamond earring glittered at Selene, who blinked and filled her lungs again. There wasn’t enough air, she was suffocating. Suffocating and trying not to sob out loud.

  Nikolai didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

  Everyone in the car probably knew she was wrong.

  ***

  The alley came off Heller Street, and there was a crowd. Since the Awakening, the press and a certain slice of jaded pleasure-seekers had started clustering around every place the Nichtvren were known to gather, hoping for all sorts of things. Most of the world had worshiped celebrities before the rise of the Republic of Gilead, and after the War things had gone back to business as usual—only with different famous faces to make the little people feel better about their drab, rationed lives. Now that the rations were being lifted and the world was starting to recover, the hunger for celebrities was growing exponentially.

  The limo sliced through, shadows pressing away, and Nikolai’s hand slid down Selene’s arm, his fingers loose around her wrist. “Listen to me, dear one,” he said, his voice soft instead of chill and hurtful. “This is a Nichtvren haunt. Do you know what that is?”

  Of course I know. Selene’s throat was dry and smooth as glass. “A communal feeding-ground,” she said, slowly. “Serves a dual function, social and—” Her voice broke again. This wasn’t a lecture-hall. This was real.

  He nodded. His skin was warm. He could almost pass for human, except for the perfection of his skin and the sheen of his eyes, and the Power that cloaked him. The vamparazzi probably loved him. “You will see many things here. Know that I will not allow you to be harmed. But you must stay close to me, and you must obey. Otherwise we will never find Danny’s killer.”

  Carrot and the stick, right? Okay, I’ll play. Selene set her jaw. She nodded.

  Nikolai let go of her wrist to slide his fingers through her hair, pulling some of it forward. Then he stroked her cheek. Selene submitted, her skin crawling. The Power prickling in the air around him scraped against her, moved over her skin under the silk, slid between her legs. “This will be disturbing for you, Selene.”

  How could I get any more disturbed? “I’ve got a degree,” Selene said numbly. “It took a hell of a lot of work to get. I might as well get some field experience.”

  The limo came to a smooth stop. The front passenger door opened, and Selene found herself looking up at Nikolai’s face. He was smiling, the amused and ironic half-tender smile she had just recently begun to see on him. His fingertips touched her face again, tracing the arc of her cheekbone. Then he took his hand away and glanced at Rigel, who nodded.

  The limo’s door opened. People milled around—vampire groupies, Selene thought. If I start to laugh now I’ll never stop, I’ll keep laughing until I suffocate myself.

  She looked up at Nikolai. Do I really have to do this?

  Yes, I do. For Danny.

  “Courage, dear one,” he said softly. Rigel had already unfolded himself gracefully out of the limo. Nikolai followed him, with one last lingering look at her, his eyes free of the catshine and suspiciously dark.

  I could just stay in here. She stripped her hair back from her face with stiff, aching fingers. Then she slid across the seat, made sure her purse was secure and her long skirt was in place. Only it isn’t my skirt. It’s Nikolai’s.

  The mental image of Nikolai wearing the dress made a thin laugh well up inside her. She slid her foot out of the car, made sure she had good footing on the damp pavement, took Nikolai’s hand. He steadied her as she slipped out of the leather-covered interior.

  Maybe I should have a drink or two. Only she wasn’t sure what they would serve in this place. She’d heard whispers about the House, it had been open before the War, even. The Nichtvren had always come here, even when they had to pay bribes to the Gilead enforcers.

  They always had the money, and the Republic hadn’t been as pure as it wanted everyone to think.

  Flashbulbs popped. Nikolai’s hand was warm. Rigel closed the door behind them. The other thrall—a slim blond man who looked tense and ready in his long black coat—stood on Selene’s left, not-quite-posing.

  Nikolai bent down and printed a kiss on her forehead. More flashes, a tide of them, pictures taken. Exclamations. “There,” he said softly. “Let them feast their eyes on that.”

  He turned neatly,
and somehow had her hand tucked into his arm. Then he paced forward, elegant as a panther, his step soundless. Selene’s heels clicked on the pavement. He did not walk quickly, so she could keep up even in the heels.

  There was a door made of black iron, with a blinking red neon sign whispering Pain over it. The door was slightly open, glitters of light pulsed out. She could hear a faint heartbeat, music booming. Two bouncers only slightly less massive than gorillas hulked near the door, glowering at all and sundry. They each had guns strapped to their chests, and one of them had an axe that he held in a meaty, hairy hand. The ax-blade was bright silver.

  Selene smelled Power, and paranormal, and a loud zoolike stink. Are they. . . they can’t be. Not right out here in front of everyone. She blinked. Nikolai shepherded her down a long aisle of people taking pictures and pointing excitedly. There were brass stands and red velvet ropes holding the crowd back. She heard her own name, called several times. Ignored it, holding her head high. Rigel and the other thrall flanked them. Nikolai managed to make it look as if he was accompanying Selene instead of the other way around.

  He must’ve had practice. Hot bile-coated pressure rose in her throat again. She blinked, swallowed it.

  There was a row of gleaming motorcycles along the wall, and a sinuous low gray hybrid car—that’s a Reformed Lotus, Danny would like that.

  The spike of pain in her chest almost made her stumble. Nikolai’s opposite hand came up, clamped over hers. It looked like he was enjoying himself, instead of steadying her as her feet faltered. He was smiling, the tips of his teeth hidden, nodding graciously as if he knew several of the reporters. Maybe he even did.

  She’d seen pictures in the papers and magazines of Nichtvren haunts and the media circuses they caused, but she had never envisioned being in the middle of one. People screamed Nikolai’s name, and one enterprising reporter vaulted the red velvet rope and ran for them, snapping pictures all the while. He was balding, overweight, in a long tan trench coat.

  Selene inhaled sharply, bracing herself.

  Rigel met the man halfway, made one swift movement, summarily dragged him back to the rope and dumped him over it, saying something in a low tone. The crowd hushed. Nikolai’s steps never faltered.

  They reached the door, and the huge paranormal with the axe looked down at them. I’m seeing a werecain up close, Selene thought with a kind of dizzy wonder. She’d never seen one except in teaching films—they didn’t like the smell of tantraiiken, and didn’t feed on sex with humans. Humans were too fragile to play with werecain. Even a tantraiiken’s ability to heal after rough play wouldn’t help.

  The loud stink that followed ‘cain around, shutting off only when the nasal receptors were overloaded, was also a distinct damper on any cross-species playing.

  The werecain with the axe coughed slightly. “Prince,” he rumbled, and nodded. “Apologies. No normals. Orders.”

  Nikolai paused and merely looked at him.

  Selene glanced up at Nikolai’s profile. His eyes had gone dark. Almost completely black, lid to lid. The crowd drew in a collective breath. Selene shivered as the cold wave of Power that was Nikolai’s strength spread out in a single pulse.

  The werecain lowered his axe. “Apologies. My mistake.” But his yellow eyes slid down Selene’s body, and he smirked. “Ya, Charlie,” he said to the other werecain, who was watching with a great deal of interest, “we gotsa beggar here. Look at that.”

  “Charles and Algernon,” Nikolai said calmly. “They are no doubt overwhelmed by the honor of meeting you.” His eyebrow lifted a bare centimeter, and Selene’s breath caught. The Power spilling out from Nikolai was enough to make her dizzy, her shields flaring in response.

  Rigel rejoined them, and Selene almost flinched as the second werecain—the one without the axe—pushed the door open. A tide of light and music poured out. The vamparazzi strained forward, shouting, flashbulbs popping.

  No fear. I’m going straight into a Nichtvren haunt with Nikolai and his thralls. Great. Danny, if you weren’t dead I’d kill you myself. The black humor helped her hold her head up, helped her step into the House of Pain as if her legs weren’t shaking and her entire body feverishly hot with fear—and excitement. I’m about to see a Nichtvren haunt. I’m really going to see this. There are people that would give their eyes and hands to see this.

  There are people that probably have.

  They stepped into the pulsing lights, Selene looked around. There were four more werecain here, one sitting on a tall three-legged stool at the end of a small enclosure hung with red velvet. The music was loud, a monstrous heartbeat thudding through the air, some kind of techno beat. Selene smelled heat, and the heady smell of Power hit the back of her throat in a rush. She’d done coke once, just out of the camps and in her first college program for refugee kids, and the brain-tingling chemical skyrocket had felt a little bit like this.

  I could feed off this, she realized, and licked her lips. The outer edges of her shielding shivered and thinned, taking in the flood of energy. Electricity raced along the back of her neck, dipped down her spine—and Nikolai’s hand was still clamped over hers.

  Three of the werecain were sidling up on them. Rigel stepped forward. He cocked his head slightly to one side, said nothing, his dark hair falling down on either side of his face, framing him like a Byzantine ikon.

  “No humans except preyfalls,” one of the werecain said—a huge no-necked thug in a wool sweater dark with sweat under the armpits. “Not even prettybits.”

  Selene stared, fascinated. The werecain had hair on his cheeks and even growing on his knuckles, a short brown bristly ruff covering his head and vanishing under his collar. His eyes glowed yellow in the dim light. He wasn’t even trying to pass for human. Instead, he was half-changed, somewhere between camouflage and huntform. His nostrils flared—scenting her, probably, under the layer of Nikolai’s distinctive smell.

  “Nikolai has brought his Acolyte.” Rigel pitched his voice loud enough to be heard over the music. “She’s marked, you can smell that. Cut the crap.”

  Selene glanced up at Nikolai, who now stepped forward, bringing her with him. Sweat, wine, hash, coffee, sex, copper—it was the smell of paranormals, of Nichtvren in particular, with different fascinating tangs. The zoo odor of the werecain vanished after a few deep breaths—something about their scent filtered itself out quickly, like violets did for ordinary humans, something that had to do with certain sensory receptors. Selene had read about the effect, but never dreamed of experiencing it herself.

  There was a whole lot happening lately she hadn’t thought she’d ever personally experience. Lucky me.

  Nikolai reached up, took her chin, and tilted it to the side, exposing her throat and the vivid bruised mark. Selene bit down hard, the urge to tear her arm out of his and back away trembling under her skin. He let go, and she shook her hair back, glaring at the werecain.

  The massive fur-covered ‘cain threw its head back and laughed, a snorting howling sound that managed to cut through the noise. Still laughing, he backed away and waved a hand. Nikolai pulled her forward, the red velvet billowing as he guided her down two steps and into a chaos of noise and light. Rigel and the other thrall flanked them, and Selene’s jaw threatened to drop.

  Four paces into the House of Pain, Nikolai stopped and half-turned. Selene, confused, didn’t realize what he was doing until he had cupped her face in his hands and bent down, his lips brushing hers. There was only a bare moment’s worth of warning before his fingers tensed and his tongue slid into her mouth.

  Her traitorous body leaned into his, her mouth accepting his invitation, soft human flesh sliding against the rough catlike surface of a Nichtvren tongue. Her eyes closed, and she swayed into him, wishing she’d had a pair of panties to wear, because the insides of her thighs were wet already, and the Power hazing in the air around them made her entire body shake.

  Nikolai broke free, and Selene blinked at him, remembering where she was. What the he
ll was that for? Can’t you keep your hands to yourself for—oh.

  Then she saw them, the assembled Nichtvren. Bright eyes and pale flesh, groups of them at small tables, reclining on frayed purple velvet couches, laughing in the shadows. A group of werecain at the bar, calling for beers. The dance floor, a cavernous space hung with drifts of what looked like white chiffon that waved gently in the churning air, was crowded with writhing bodies. Four kobolding, their leathery grey-green skin covered with rough stonelike warts, hammered their tankards on the table and yelled for another round. There was even a contingent of swanhilds, their feathered ruffs standing erect; if Selene looked closely she would probably see other species too.

  A tall, stick-thin Nichtvren female stalked past them, her sharp angles poured into a leather catsuit, her slim hand holding a leash that glittered in the revolving lights. Attached to the leash was her pet.

  Bile rose in Selene’s throat. The man was covered in sores and small cuts; he loped after the Nichtvren, an expression of dreamy happiness plastered on his chubby face. He wore only a pair of socks and a tasteful red silk tie, and his genitals swung as he followed the Nichtvren who twitched the chain absently, just as a human would play with a dog’s leash.

  Two Nichtvren males stood, deep in conversation, one of them in a Chinese-collared silk shirt and loose silk pants, his nose pierced with a gold ring. The other wore bottle-green velvet Louis XIV might have approved of. Between them lay a naked woman, her eyes glazing as she convulsed, a thin trickle of blood slipping down from the mark on her throat—a mark very much like the one Selene could still feel pulsing uneasily on her own flesh. The woman’s lips were blue, and she was deadly white, even her nipples oddly chalky-looking. Her long black hair tangled over the Chinese-collared Nichtvren’s shoes.

  Nikolai’s hand folded over Selene’s, and he pulled on her, gently. “Come,” he said, not seeming to shout, but his voice cut through the din. “Walk with me, Selene. Trust me.”