The Agency, Volume I

by Sylvan, Dianne

  He never went anywhere near the violin again, and in fact he noticed that the next time he stopped by, it was nowhere in sight.

  Still, Jason's hands occupied his fantasies for weeks. He dreamed of nibbling up the palm of one hand, tracing Jason's long lifeline with the barest touch of his lips, biting the mound of flesh at the base of each finger. Hands, and wrists…and what those hands could do to Rowan…drawing up along his sides, peeling off clothes as if he were opening the violin's case, unwrapping wood and string, his dragon-guarded treasure…and god, that mouth, that stern line softening, lips parting, Rowan's hands sliding up around his neck, weaving into his short dark hair, one mouth seeking the other with centuries of hunger.

  What would a vampire taste like? Oh, he knew…darkness…wine …chocolate…wind through bare-limbed trees…it was against all the prejudices of Rowan's people, but he craved a taste of Jason's blood, to see if the legends were true. A drop of salt-sweetness on his tongue, and they would be connected, mind joining into mind until they consumed each other as one flesh.

  He wanted to tear the fatigues off of Jason's body, right after he was done with patrol and still sweaty from walking all over Austin. To lick the sweat from his skin, starting at the throat, knowing it would drive the vampire mad with need. He wanted to dive tongue-first into Jason's mouth and not emerge until he was reborn. To lay beneath him on the floor, nails tearing into the rug, pressing his hips back to draw the vampire in deeper, deeper, that perfect hard cock finally filling all the empty places that had ached so badly, for so long.

  And he wanted to wake up there on the floor, with Jason still inside him, their arms twined around each other, the candles burning themselves out. He wanted to feel Jason breathe on the back of his neck, to hear him whisper…

  No. No. It couldn't happen. He had to accept that. Jason might even want him someday, maybe, but it wasn't worth the risk, not knowing what could happen if he let loose the energies he'd been controlling with an iron grip for over a decade. He might have lost all his skill, he might hurt Jason--or worse, the most humiliating thought of all for a rethla, he might be bad in bed.

  He might as well just kill himself if that were the case.

  Pain coursed through him, and he turned his face into the pillow to stifle the moan. It was going to be a bad night, a very bad night.

  Just as he was about to reach for another pill to knock himself completely unconscious, there was a knock at his door.

  Rowan debated answering it, but was on his feet, a bit unsteady but upright, before he could really stop himself. There were warm tones of concern in the hallway, and he knew who it was before he even opened the door.

  "Hi," Sara said.

  "Hello," he replied, and they stood staring at each other for a moment. She had obviously come with something to say, and forgotten it when she saw him.

  For his part, he had to clench the doorframe to keep from seizing her sweet body right there in the hall.

  "Is there something I can do for you, Sara?" he asked, trying to keep his voice even. He could only imagine what she was picking up from him right now, and at the very least the waves of sexual energy filling his apartment had to be hitting her pretty hard.

  "I'm sorry for just dropping by like this, but I was worried about you," she said. "I wanted to check if you're okay.”

  "Oh…yes, I'm fine. Thank you."

  "Are you sure?" she asked, clearly unconvinced. "You look like hell. Can I come in?"

  "Um…all right." He was a bit dazed from the oxycontin, and from the energy that he had unintentionally raised in his living room as he lay there thinking things he should have locked away long ago. "Would you like a drink?"

  Sara looked around with interest, and if she felt the sex permeating every fiber of every object in the room, she didn't comment. "Sure, what do you have?"

  "Tequila?"

  She looked at him, raising her eyebrows. "You drink alcohol?"

  He sighed. "Of course not. Elves only drink enchanted spring water and we only eat acorns."

  Sara grinned. "Sorry. Sure, I'd love a shot or two. It's Friday, and it’s been a hell of a week."

  "It certainly has."

  She sat down on the couch while he gathered up the necessary supplies: shot glasses, limes, salt, and a mostly-full bottle of Cuervo. Might as well do it right.

  When he returned she was staring at the prescription bottle on the coffee table, and looked up guiltily.

  "I'm just the nosiest person in the history of ever," she sighed. "I don't know why I do that. I guess I just…when I care about people I want to fix whatever hurts them, and it really bothers me when I can't. Finding out where you came from was just…awful. And after we've been working together so closely for the last couple of weeks, I think I'm more sensitive to you than I should be.”

  He smiled, lining up the ingredients and filling two shot glasses. "I told you the empathy was going to be the bane of your existence. You and I need that sensitivity to accomplish what we need to accomplish together, and it's been working very well in my opinion. Whoever was your first teacher, even if it was one of those horrible coven people, should be congratulated."

  She didn't reply until they'd had their first shot and she was sucking on a lime wedge. Rowan had never expected to feel envious of a citrus fruit. "No," she said, plucking the lime from her mouth. "It wasn't them. Before I started looking for a coven I took classes from a woman who ran a different store in town. One of those feminist bookstores. I bought every book, did every meditation…a lot of it was crap, but I found enough that made sense that I was hooked."

  "So are you a Wiccan, or some other flavor of NeoPagan?" he asked, setting up two more shots, then four more behind those.

  "Wiccan, mostly, with a little bit of Sufism, Hinduism, and Buddhism thrown in for spice. I've always done my own thing." She knocked back another shot, this time without salt or lime, making a face. "What about Elves? What kind of religion do you have?"

  Rowan pointed vaguely at the shrine on the far wall. "Duotheistic. We worship a celestial Goddess and a God of the Earth. It's actually very similar in flavor to Wicca, just a bit more organic and less ceremonial. Given the way our energies mesh together I would imagine our religious beliefs would, too."

  "I think you're right," she said with a nod, only slightly fuzzy. "And so your village got attacked and turned into slaves?"

  He was just drunk enough, between the tequila and the drugs, not to feel any real pain at the question. "Sort of. They killed off most everyone and sold those with particular skills."

  "What skills?"

  Was now the time? Was Sara someone he could speak openly with? He wanted so badly to trust her. Or was he simply tired of living like a ticking time bomb full of secrets?

  Or was he just drunk?

  Only one way to find out.

  "Among my people I am, or was, known as a rethla," he said, almost too softly for her to hear. "Rethla are a special kind of healer—we work magic through sex."

  "Oh, like in the Temples of Aphrodite, back in the day?"

  "Yes, very much so. It’s one of the highest callings among the Clans. When we were attacked, the rethla were taken to be sold as slaves in the sex trade. I spent twenty years being bartered from one bordello to another, chained to one bed and then to another. I was a birthday gift once, party entertainment many times, and mostly…mostly just a whore."

  "Oh my god," Sara whispered, and now she really was crying. He continued to speak, almost pushing the words out like children from a burning building.

  "You see, our powers work whether we consent to the sex or not. When we're willingly engaged with a lover it's amplified, of course, beyond measure, but even chained naked to a wall and gang-raped by soldiers, those soldiers will have the best sex of their lives. They keep coming back over and over until your body simply gives out.”

  She took a deep breath and asked, “Were they all men?”

  “No…but mostly. The promise of the
ultimate orgasm overrides sexuality--men, women, straight, gay, given the chance to use something like me, they figure an orifice is an orifice. It helps that I don’t look particularly masculine. They can pretend I’m whatever they want me to be.” He could feel a violent shaking beginning around his heart, speaking about it like this. It was overwhelming, terrifying…but the only thing worse was remaining silent forever.

  “Did anyone else survive?”

  “Not that I’ve found. My entire family—my parents, my grandparents, even my daughter—were all put to the fire that day. I never saw any of them again after I was thrown in the truck...but I could smell the bodies burning. I never know whether to wish them survival or simply a quick death."

  "You had a daughter?"

  He had to take another shot before he found the strength to reply.

  "Her name was Kaeli. After I came to the SA I sent out contacts to try and find her, or anyone of the Clan still alive. There was nothing to find. They're either dead or in hiding."

  Sara sat down her shot glass with a thunk and scooched across the couch to put her arms around him in a slightly sloppy hug. "I'm sorry, Rowan, I'm so sorry. What can I do to help you?"

  He leaned into her shoulder, staring down at her small, agile hands. What could hands like hers do, he wondered? He knew hands that made music and hands that could kill. Once upon a time his hands had healed. What about Sara's hands?

  He took one of them in his and lifted it to his lips, feeling the warmth of her perfectly human, perfectly mortal skin. Temporary…they were only temporary. The urgency of human life was so beautiful, and so horrible, the way it drove them on and on.

  A different kind of urgency, one he had never felt before, closed over Rowan, and he leaned in and touched his mouth to hers.

  Surprised, she started to pull back, but thought better of it and came back to him, this time ready. The kiss began tentatively, but grew from there into the dark Earth of parted lips and hot breath; Sara started to break apart and say something, more than once, but found she couldn't. Mouth danced over mouth, tongue tasting the soft edges of her lips, moving down to nuzzle behind her ear. A light nip against her throat, and she moaned softly, her hands moving up his arms, curving around his shoulders.

  He slid his hands under her thighs to lift her into his lap…and stopped.

  “I can’t do this,” he said, shaking his head.

  She was dazed, her pupils dilated and her breath shallow. “Why…why not?”

  He leaned his head on her shoulder, feeling the weight of his years, all 420 of them, dragging him down even further into despair. “About a dozen reasons.”

  Sara rested her hand on his neck, stroking gently, the touch more comforting than any he’d felt in years…in fact it was the only real comfort he’d had in years. “Is Jason one of them?”

  He would have looked up at her in surprise, if he had been surprised. As it was, he simply felt weary and old, and so tired of denying himself, he merely sighed. “Only one,” he answered honestly. “Another being that Elves aren’t monogamous, and I would hate to risk hurting you. Also, it’s been so long, I actually could hurt you.”

  He heard a smile in her voice. “You know, I’d be willing to chance it.”

  Now he did look up. “You would?”

  “Of course. You’ve done a lot for me already—if it weren’t for you I wouldn’t even be here. If there’s a way I can help you, I’ll take the risk. Besides, I don’t know if you’ve seen yourself lately, but you’re just about the hottest thing walking around this base, and if you shag half as good as you kiss…” She shook her head. “I’m not looking for romance, here, and I know you’re not either. You’ve got your heart planted in different soil entirely, and that’s fine with me. Let me be your friend, Rowan. Let me help you find what you’ve lost.”

  He stared into her eyes, seeing nothing there but the truth, with no ulterior motive whatsoever. They were already linked enough that they knew each other’s energy, and she knew most of his past yet wasn’t treating him like a freak or an invalid. She wanted to help, and she wanted sex, and really, despite his fears, he couldn’t see a problem with either.

  “You are a remarkable woman, Sara Larson,” he said. “You are going to change all our lives.”

  She grinned, stood, and offered her hand. “Yes, I am.”

  Returning her smile, he reached over and downed the last tequila shot, then took her hand and rose.

  Agents’ quarters were larger than those of the regular staff, but they had basically the same layout, so she led him to the bedroom without having to ask where it was. He was amazed that after four shots of tequila in the space of ten minutes she wasn’t having any trouble walking—he had an Elf’s super-efficient liver, or he might have been facedown on the rug already himself.

  "Candles?" Sara asked.

  He nodded, inwardly marking off an item on the list of things he had sensed about her. He took the box of matches from the bedside table and handed it to her, letting her decide how much light was enough, and soon the room, decorated in the greens and grays of the forest, was bathed in soft golden warmth. He had always loved his apartment; it was a haven, away from the press of so many minds and emotions and the chaos of case after case. This and the labyrinth were his favorite places in the world, so far from the darkness and cold he had borne for so long.

  Sara came back to him, taking his hands again, and said, "This is the part where I make my mother proud."

  He gave her a quizzical look and she chuckled. "No, not that. I mean, grown-up responsibility. Obviously you've had…a lot of experience, and so have I, for a human anyway. You've got almost four centuries on me. So…I'm guessing you probably don't have any condoms, what with the celibacy and all."

  "No," he replied, "but as it happens, we don't need them. Elves and humans aren't genetically compatible—it's part of why we're dying out. We can mate all we want, but nothing, er, comes of it. We also can't carry your diseases, or vice versa."

  She looked surprised, and he added, "If you'd like we can go break back into my Personnel file and you can see my medicals."

  Another laugh, this one merry. "I think I'll just take your word for it. I trust you."

  "Plus in about five minutes, you'll know if I'm lying."

  "Huh?"

  "You'll see." He slid his hands up her arms, drawing her closer, and kissed her again, this time with much more surety. She leaned into him, and as he reached up beneath her shirt to feel the smooth softness of her skin, he touched her mind, the same way he did every day at their sessions but with much more obvious intention. She responded as she did every day, lowering her barriers to let him in; instead of taking control of her psychic abilities and implanting knowledge, however, he extended a tendril of energy down through her body, wrapping it around her, caressing her lightly from the inside.

  She groaned into his mouth, her kisses becoming more demanding, and he felt her pushing back with her own energy, both to his surprise and delight. He hadn't expected any sort of aggression from her; his skills were definitely eroding, then. That thought might have filled him with panic, even an hour ago. Right now it didn't seem so important.

  Sara guided him back onto the bed, and stepped away, letting him watch as she pulled her shirt off over her head, tossing her hair as she tossed the garment onto the floor. Next went her jeans, and she knelt in front of him in a black bra and a pair of panties with a silver moon-and-stars pattern all over them.

  He bit his lip to keep from laughing, and she giggled rather girlishly. "Well I'd have worn something sexier if I'd had any idea I was going to show them to anyone," she told him, lifting her fingers to undo the buttons of his shirt. As she exposed his shoulders, she leaned in and kissed the skin, her lips warm, insistent.

  Slowly, almost reverently, they undressed each other, his hands almost trembling on the hook behind her back, she making appreciative noises at the feel of his muscles. They wound up lying face to face on the bed, candl
elight waltzing over the bare curve of her hip.

  "Tell me what I can do for you," she whispered.

  He smiled. "That's usually my line."

  "Are you doing okay so far?"

  He nodded, realizing it was true. This part was easy; nothing too deep, so far, everything unfolding in its own time. He hadn't fully engaged his powers, yet, but he knew he would have to…he wanted to…it was terrifying, but there was no other way without going back.

  Sara touched his face. "I'm here," she said. "Trust me."

  "All right…” He nudged her onto her back, moving up against her, hoping she wasn't put off by how hard his heart hammered. "Then let me serve you, my lady."