“Fine.” He turned around, embittered by this new conclusion, but sobered as well. “Take care of the security.”
“I can find her for you, if you want me to.” Jorin strode at Enrue’s side and together they left the empty meeting room. They moved along in silence until they reached Nema’s office.
“Yes. Find her if you can.” He wanted to hear it from her, to have her say the words. Enrue cleared his throat, reached for a stack of data cards his secretary needed him to review and prepared to adjourn to his room for the night.
“If my people find her, I have your permission to interrogate?”
Swirls of panic turned in Enrue’s stomach. The thought of Melia being held prisoner, captive and drugged, filled him with dread. As much as he knew Jorin was right about what she was, he didn’t want to see her hurt, or much worse…dead.
“Only on my terms. Here, in the palace. There are holding cells in the lower part of the east wing. I don’t use them anymore. Never could understand why they were built at all. The last place I want a prisoner is near me.” He tucked the data cards under his arm, realizing the irony of his own words.
Jorin smirked. “I see, my Shiemir. I will have Nema alert you once we have the Cossia in custody. You’re more than welcome to witness the interrogation. Many officiates find my methods…enlightening.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Enrue excused himself.
He made his way to his bedchamber, setting the cards on the side table. As he undressed, he stared at his com, hoping Melia’s face would suddenly appear there. The night wore on and he counted himself a fool for his longings. He settled beneath the covers and stared at the ceiling for hours until a tone interrupted his thoughts.
“It’s her again, my Shiemir.”
He rolled on his side. “Put her through, Nema.”
Melia wore something white and lacy, and he could only see a hint of it at her shoulders. She looked tired and seemed to have lost the lustrous spark of surety in her eyes.
“Why did you leave?” he asked.
She twisted her hair. “I had a date.”
“Much younger and more attractive than me?” He smiled, hoping she’d do the same, but her mood didn’t lighten.
“Hardly.”
“When can I see you again, Melia?”
She turned back to look at something, and he caught the edge of what appeared to be an easel in the background. “Someone’s at the door,” she muttered. Returning her attention to him, she licked her lips. “Why do you want to see me again? Our business is over. You refused the Empire’s terms. Now I have to do the other part of my job.”
“And what’s that?”
She reached across and disconnected.
His heart pounded in his chest. “Damn.”
Chapter Fifteen
Desire
Collin sat at the foot of the bed, naked and blushing. Turned sideways, he looked over his freckled shoulder. Melia sat up and tried to get a better view of his assets. “Let me see you,” she told him, craning her neck. “Are you really so shy?”
“I’ve never done anything like this before.” He stood, reluctant, his cheeks bright pink.
“Well, we haven’t done anything yet.” She surveyed his nude body, her gaze travelling down his fair skinned abdomen to the nest of auburn curls above his erection. “You have no reason to be embarrassed.” She held out her hand, beckoning him.
He took a few steps, anxious, but nervous. At the side of the bed, he halted, staring at her lace-clad chest, his eyes wide. “You’re so beautiful.”
She reached for him, taking him by his hands, and pulled him up onto the bed. “Don’t talk,” she whispered before she kissed his thin lips. He stifled a moan. She pressed his mouth for more, demanding attention. Timid, he opened his mouth and she delved her tongue inside. He tasted of wine. She imagined it was the Fury she’d drank at the palace, that his mouth was Enrue’s. Closing her eyes, she let her fantasy take shape.
Collin eased onto the bed, lying on his back. Melia straddled him, continuing her assault on his inexperienced mouth. His cock pressed at the apex between her thighs. She wanted to tear off her panties and force him inside her, to have her way with him. She ran a hand over his chest and located a peaked nipple. Pinching the small nub, she delighted in his groans of startled pleasure.
She doubted Enrue would submit to her whims. Theirs would be a battle of passion and drive. He wouldn’t lie still and whimper when she pleasured him, not like this man. She sat up, pushing away from her prey. Prey? Is that what he is to me? The realization struck her. Never had it bothered her before now to use anyone…or to kill a mark.
“What?” Collin appeared as confused as she felt. “Did I do something wrong?”
She shook her head and sat, folding her legs beneath her. “I—I’m sorry.”
He turned on his side. “Look, Darla, this doesn’t have to happen. If you changed your mind, I’ll understand. It was so sudden, really.”
The need to be with someone had caused her to call him up moments before she’d commed Enrue, her sole intent to seduce him. Now, she didn’t want him. She didn’t want anyone else except the man she was assigned to kill. She didn’t know what to say. Regret bit at her for leaving the palace earlier.
“I don’t want tonight to be the last time I see you.” He crawled forth on his hands and knees, and drew his arms around her trembling shoulders. “I can wait as long as you want.”
She wanted to shrug off his hold and felt cruel for it—feeling cruel never bothered her before now. He hugged her and she let him. Soon, he pulled her against his chest and curled around her body.
Melia stared at the fanciful mural of the night sky above her bed as she listened to Collin’s breathing grow steady. His warmth soothed her. He was a kind person who didn’t seem to want anything from her—a first. She combed through his hair and imagined what Enrue was doing. Collin snored. She traced the scant red hairs on his chest, hugged him close and fell asleep.
* * * *
A com tone woke her in the morning. She reached absently for the device, flipped it open and stared at her boss’s stoic visage. “What’s your status?” he asked, his black eyes smoldering.
“I met with my mark. He denied the offer.”
“And?”
“The time wasn’t right.”
“Take him out, Melia. Don’t fuck around. I have orders on your next hit when you finish up in Taraf. Hicklan is anxious to replant and set in roots. The Empire has a representative to send once you’ve disposed of your mark.” His expression remained unreadable as ever.
“Yes, sir.”
She closed the sharer and leaned back against the pillows beside Collin. He reached for her, his fingers nestling over her left breast. His green eyes opened a crack. Smiling, he closed them once more. “Morning,” he muttered. “Sleep good?”
“Actually, I did.” She kissed his forehead. “But I have to go out for a while.” She shimmied toward the side of the bed. He moaned. “Can’t you stay a little longer? I was having a good dream.”
“It shouldn’t take long.” She turned on the TV and found the local news, listening as she rifled through her bag for something suitable to wear. “Just a small errand.” She chose fresh undergarments, a blouse and pants for ease of movement and paused. Collin was snoring again.
…a benefit for the Habiri Church of Taraf, Shiemir Alonwei will speak as well as three officiates from the Trade Council. Also appearing today…”
Scanning the image of a gigantic church with high walls and pristine landscaping, Melia set it to memory. “Perfect.” She gathered her clothes, noting the time of the scheduled speech and hurried to shower and get ready. If all went well, she could send Enrue to the next life and be back before midday for lunch with her shuttle steward.
She rushed through her shower, soaping and rinsing in record time, refusing to allow herself to think too much, a trick she’d learned in training. ”Shut off your emotions. There’s
no place for regret in this line of work, Mel.” It was her teacher’s dry voice as devoid of compassion as her boss. She turned off the water, toweled dry and glared at her reflection in the mirror.
The cat-eyed woman staring back at her looked just like her mother did the day before she killed herself. “Shit.” She touched the glass and frowned. “Who am I?” She swiped a line across the edge of mist on the mirror. “This is crap. I’m killing him and getting out. Last hit, last one, Mel. I swear.”
She reached back and braided her wet hair, tied it off and sprayed a single shot of her favorite perfume on herself. She rubbed her wrists together and touched her neck at either side. “Gonna need a new bottle.”
Satisfied, she strode out of the bathroom, blew Collin a kiss where he slept on the bed, and left the hotel to hail a shuttle for the church. The sky harbored gray clouds, and lightning stuttered across the orange skyline in snaking shockwaves. Thunder boomed in the distance, almost drowned out by the hum of hovercrafts. She climbed aboard the first shuttle to stop, gave directions and sat back in the black vinyl seat, letting the cold seep into her veins.
The driver spoke scarcely a word, a gray-haired gentlemen intent on the windshield. It was for the best. She was in no mood for idle conversation. Melia inhaled, picking up the stench of Hemec, the old, stale odor of tota smoke and something sweeter, flowers? Juice? She glanced at the empty front seat and noticed a package there. Grader’s Nursery. Flowers. She wondered if the old man had a wife. Maybe he’d gotten them for her.
Seconds ticked into a half-hour. The shuttle eased into a spot at the rear of the church parking lot. It drifted in midair, droned and slowly touched down. “Five shens,” the cabbie sputtered. “You’re early for worship.”
“Yes. I know. I want the tour.” She didn’t feel like smiling. Melia fished in her purse and tossed the man the money.
“May the light of Habiri guide you.” The cabbie nodded in her direction, his warm brown eyes twinkling.
“Yeah.Right.” She opened the door and almost spilled out on the gravel road. She felt his eyes on her as she made it to the metal walk, took the side stairs and walked beneath the archway toward the church’s main entry. Melia glanced over her shoulder. The shuttle’s engine fired up, and it circled before whizzing back into the traffic higher up.
When she was sure he was gone, she backtracked to the service entry and picked the keycode security. She let herself in. Darkness embraced her. She liked it best that way. Most humans couldn’t see in such a place, but she could well enough to move around. The scent of incense clung to the air, old and mystical. A barrier of curtains stood between her and the worship area. Peeking through them, she spied on a few black-clad men placing candles on the stage at the head of the pews. It would be a while before camera crews began setting up for the speeches.
“Perfect.” She slinked along the curtains’ edge to a service ladder and made her ascent to a small platform. It led to a series of access halls overlooking the worship area, and she guessed a choir might use them.
Melia found her spot in a high corner overlooking the backstage area. She imagined the Shiemir in his finest attire, primped and ready to meet his end. “Holy Mother, this is too easy,” she whispered.
Chapter Sixteen
Speaking for the Church
Enrue sighed at his reflection while his attendant adjusted the Shiemir’s sash and inspected his hair. He hated speaking at events such as this. Fundraisers, charities, were all necessary means to an end, and required to keep up his image. The Habiri Church’s dressing room was clean and orderly, if not sparse. He reminded himself he only had to take up fifteen minutes on stage and then he could be done. “I need a drink,” he said.
His attendant froze. “What do you desire, my Shiemir?” His lean features curdled as he waited for an answer. Ever obedient, the man would find whatever Enrue asked for, whether it was in the best interest of Taraf or not. Such loyalty both pleased and disgusted the Shiemir.
“Fury, but it can wait until I’m back in my room, Robert.” He glanced around the tight space. “Sure is dark here.”
“The Habiri believe it soothes the soul.” Robert held the door open for him.
He exited, thinking the darkness was not acceptable or soothing at all. The wide hall leading to the stage was devoid of decoration. The crowd had gathered already, and their garbled voices echoed all around Enrue. He rehearsed his speech in his mind. His attendant hung back at the stage entry. Just past the arch, three of Jorin’s guards stood vigilant and armed in case anything went wrong.
He took the first step. Black curtains at his side moved in the air from the vents, drawing his attention. A familiar scent gave him pause. He halted midway up the stairs. She’s here. With that thought, a cold sliver of metal touched his throat. A body pressed him from behind and tugged him sideways toward the curtains.
“Melia?” he asked, startled.
Her breasts, small and round, crushed into his back. Steady breathing sounded in his ear. She’d caught him. He knew he was dead. Jorin was right about her.
“Goodbye Shiemir,” she murmured, her lips brushing his ear. “It’s been a pleasure.”
He reached up and grasped her wrist. “Say my name.”
The blade pierced his skin. Warmth dribbled down his neck.
“What?” she asked, her voice quavering.
“If I must die, I want to hear my name from your lips one last time.” He took a deep breath, drinking in her perfume and the softer, more pleasing flavor of her skin. Enrue closed his eyes and ran his thumb along her wrist, wishing he’d kept her in the meeting room yesterday and fulfilled his fantasy. “Say it.”
Her words caught in her throat. The blade gouged deeper, cutting into him. He welcomed death, welcomed an end to his life and as he waited, hoping she’d say the one word he desired, he realized there was nothing of consequence he’d be leaving behind. Just an empty palace, ghosts of the dead, and the promise of rebellion…lost.
“Say my name,” he choked out.
Her lips parted against his earlobe, hot, inviting. “Enrue.”
He gripped her wrist and hauled it away, impeding her attempt to kill him. Spinning around, he faced his would-be assassin and stared into her golden eyes. He wanted her before and even now, he desired her, needed to possess her and hear her say his name a thousand times more.
The blade slipped from her fingers, clattering on the steps.
“Say it again,” he ordered, his free hand rising. He ran his fingertips across her lips at last, marveling at how supple they felt.
Behind her, Jorin’s guards hurried forth, one holding an injector high over his head, like a mountain scorpion ready to strike. They want her alive. Jorin will keep her in the confines and squeeze her mind for information, Enrue reminded himself. He didn’t like the idea any longer. The desire to gather her in his arms and carry her into the tight, dark dressing room sent heat racing to his loins. It made no sense.
The injector came down, piercing her shoulder. She winced, her eyes holding his. “Enrue,” she repeated, her pain evidenced by her softer tone. “I should have killed you…”
Her eyes glossed over in seconds. She slumped forward, her knees buckling. He caught her in his arms and held her to his chest. He didn’t want to hand her to the guards, to have them carry her away to Jorin’s torture, but what would they say if he didn’t let go? What would his allies think of him?
The guards pried her from his grip.
“She is not to be harmed.” Enrue reached up and placed his hand over the cut on his neck, staunching the blood. She should have killed him and had her chance only moments before. Her hesitation proved she felt something too. “Robert!” he barked. “Fetch me a fresh shirt and a bandage. I have a speech to deliver.”
* * * *
That evening, the Shiemir stood behind a plasma window witnessing Melia’s torture. Jorin upped the medication, trying all he knew to loosen her tongue. She was strong though, far more
stubborn than Enrue expected. Her limbs trembled and shook. Her eyes rolled this way and that. As the hours wore on, drool seeped from her lower lip, spattering on the floor. Still nothing. She wouldn’t even admit to killing Wyther.
Jorin lifted her face and shook his head. “There’s always tomorrow, assassin. I have an endless supply of Curak. All for you, my dear. You will tell me what I want to know.” He glared at her for a while before storming out.
Enrue sighed. “Is this really necessary?”
Jorin narrowed his eyes. “You are not wary enough.” Shaking a finger at the Shiemir, he went on. “The Empire will eradicate us before we become a threat…if we let them.”
“How long will these drugs last?” He stared at Melia through the window and tried not to shudder. Shackles held her arms high. Her head hung lax, black hair loosened from a mussed braid and clinging to her cheeks.
“She will be coherent by midnight, but then she will be too tired to care.” He patted his pocket, indicating the store of injections he kept on his person. “I’ll return in the morning to begin again.”
“Very well.” Enrue didn’t feel like prolonging the conversation. He wanted to rush into the holding cell and release her hands, at least set her along the cot to rest properly. He was not one for excessive cruelty—either his prisoners supplied the information they had, or they were put to death. Holding anyone for very long was a waste of resources. Torturing people was inhumane.
Jorin’s steps clacked into oblivion. Enrue raised a hand over the security keypad, hesitated and dropped it to his side once more. He spied on her in silence. Guards patrolled every so often. He missed dinner and though his stomach grumbled, he finally reached up and entered the code.
The door droned as it opened. He stepped inside, past the interrogation chair, and seated himself beside Melia. Her breathing came and went in long, raspy pulls. He gathered her hair and hooked it behind her ear. Bending to see her face, he whispered, “Can you hear me?”
Urden, God of Desire Page 8