by Karen Chance
I looked at Louis-César in surprise. "You fought him?"
The Frenchman nodded distractedly. "Tomas challenged for leadership of the Latin American Senate. Its Consul asked me to stand as his champion and I agreed. Tomas lost." He said the latter with a slight shrug, as if it almost went without saying. It seemed to me that maybe Louis-César needed to lose once in a while. Carrying around that much of an ego had to be tiring. But then, if he lost he'd probably end up dead, and in this case, so would we. All things considered, maybe a little arrogance wasn't so bad. And at least the lack of a bond was explained. Servants won through force had to be kept that way; it was never as close a relationship as through blood.
Something occurred to me. "You challenged? But you'd have to be a first-level master to do that." I'd known Tomas was powerful, but this was a shock. That Louis-César could hold a first-level master in thrall was a hell of a statement about his strength. I hadn't even known it was possible.
"Tomas is more than five hundred years old, mademoiselle. His mother was a high-ranking Incan noblewoman before the European invasion," Louis-César said carelessly. "She was forced by one of Pizarro's men, and Tomas was the result. He grew up in a time when a smallpox epidemic had killed many Incan nobles, leaving a vacuum of power. He organized some of the scattered tribes into a force to resist the Spanish advance, and thereby came to Alejandro's notice. Although a bastard, he—" Tomas gave a growl, and Louis-César glanced at him. "I use the term technically, Tomas. If you recall, I, too, am a bastard."
"That I am not likely to forget."
The shimmering tides of power were back, stronger than before, and this time I got caught in the middle. It felt like two showers of scalding water had been flung at me, and I yelped. "Cut it out!"
"My apologies, mademoiselle." Louis-César inclined his head. "You are quite right. I will chastise my servant later."
Tomas glared at him regally. "You will try."
"Tomas!" Mircea and I said it at the same time, in the same exasperated tone.
Louis-César shot him a warning look. "Be careful how you speak to me, Tomas. You do not wish me to make your punishment even more… thorough."
"You are a child compared to me! I was already a master vampire before you were even made!"
Louis-César smiled slightly, and his eyes flashed silver. "Not enough of one."
Billy waved a pale hand in front of my face. "Are you listening to me? Breaking news here!"
I mouthed, "Later," but he didn't go away.
"This is big, Cass! The Black Circle has kept the trade quiet by snatching witches who were fated to die young, in an accident or in the Inquisition or whatever. They could grab them at the last minute and sell them to the Fey without worrying that someone would miss them and report it. No one expected to see someone taken by the Inquisition again—they didn't acquit too many, you know? It was a neat trick to get around the treaty."
"But how did they know?" How could anyone know ahead of time when someone was fated to die? Unless… Mircea gave me an odd look, and I smiled innocently at him. It was a mistake. Those sharp dark eyes flitted about the room, but even a master vamp can't see Billy.
"That witch you saved was snatched by a group of dark mages that same night," Billy elaborated. "The gypsies have always stayed outside both circles, so I guess they figured they could take her without alerting the white knights." I frowned. That still didn't explain how she ended up in our century, if people from her own time took her, but there was no way for me to ask.
Mircea intervened before things could heat up any further between the vamps. "May I remind you that while you are grandstanding, time ticks away and our chances with it? Your quarrel will wait; our business will not."
"But la mademoiselle does not want to do it," Louis-César said, running a hand through his hair. It seemed to be a nervous habit. I noticed that his curls were darker than I remembered from my vision, or whatever it was. I wondered whether that was a trick of the light, or if hundreds of years out of the sun darkens auburn hair. "I was afraid of this. And we cannot force her."
Mircea and I looked at him, then at each other. "Is he for real?" I couldn't help asking.
Mircea sighed. "He has always been that way; it is his only real flaw." He smiled at me, and it was Tony's smile—his let's cut the crap and get down to business smile. It was the expression that reminded me of the job Mircea did for the Senate. He was the Consul's chief negotiator, and despite the rumors, he had not received the position because of the respect given his family name by vamps worldwide. They might be pleased to meet him for the prestige of it, something like a normal person getting to sit down with a favorite movie star, but it wouldn't cut him any slack at the bargaining table. No, Mircea had won the seat fair and square, by making the best deals of any representative the Senate had ever had. And that was with people he didn't know nearly as well as he knew me. "What will it take, dulceaţă? Security, money… Antonio's head on a silver charger?"
"That last one sounds tempting. But it's not enough."
Mircea and I had skipped over the whole refusal thing and gone straight to haggling. There was no point in mentioning that Mircea would kill me if I said no. He would do it because he'd have no choice—if he didn't, the Consul would give someone else the job—and because he would be quick. Quicker than Jack. I didn't like the errand they had set me, but next to an evening with the Consul's bright-eyed boy, it was a picnic. But just because I had no other options didn't mean I shouldn't get as much for my services as possible. It was, after all, a seller's market. Who else were they going to get?
Mircea was looking as if he wondered whether acting outraged because I'd demanded the life of one of his oldest retainers would work. I rolled my eyes. "Don't bother. Giving me Tony's head is no big deal and you know it. He betrayed you—you have to kill him."
He smiled slightly. "True. But it would also solve a problem for you, would it not?"
"But it won't cost you anything. Isn't your life worth a little something?"
"What else would you like then, my beautiful Cassandra?" He stepped forward, a gleam in his eye, and I put the chair between us.
"Don't try it."
He grinned at me, unrepentant. "Then name your price."
"You want my help? Tell me what happened to my father."
Rafe gave a startled squeak and looked wide-eyed at Mircea, who sighed and shook his head in disgust. I sympathized; Rafe had always had a lousy poker face—I'd started beating him at cards by age eight—and he obviously hadn't improved. He subsided under Mircea's displeasure, but the damage was done. Mircea braved it out anyway, of course; I would have thought less of him otherwise. "Your father, dulceaţă? He died in a car bomb, did he not? Is that not one reason why you are upset with our Antonio?"
"Then what did Jimmy mean? He told me not to kill him, because he knew the truth about what happened."
Mircea shrugged. "Since he was the 'hit man'—is that not the phrase? — on the job, I am sure he does know details, dulceaţă. Why did you not ask him?"
"Because Pritkin blew a hole in him before I could. But you know, don't you?"
Mircea smiled, and once again I saw where Tony got it. "Is that knowledge your price?"
I looked at Rafe, and he looked back. I thought he was about to speak when Mircea's hand descended on his shoulder. "No, no, Raphael. It would not be fair to give our Cassandra information for which she has not yet paid." He smiled, and there was more calculation than affection in it. "Do we have a deal?"
I glanced at Billy, who was floating near the ceiling with an impatient look on his face. He didn't comment, so I assumed his news didn't have any bearing on my choice. I sent him an irritated look and he disappeared, in a snit because I hadn't dropped everything for him. Typical. I'd have preferred to find out more before agreeing to Mircea's terms, but I didn't have a lot of options. It's hard to push the price too high when you're a sure thing and the buyer knows it. I literally had no choice but to he
lp them, so technically Mircea was being generous by offering anything. Of course, he probably wanted me doing my best on the errand, so keeping me in a good mood was worth a concession or two. Or maybe he was fond of me. No, that kind of thinking was dangerous.
"Okay. We have a deal. Tell me."
"In a moment, dulceaţă. First, I believe we need to inform the Consul. Tomas, if you would be so good? She may have final instructions." He noticed Tomas' mulish expression. "You have my word that we will wait the attempt on your return. You will be accompanying her, will you not?"
"Yes." Tomas looked at me challengingly, but I didn't object. If Rasputin did show up, it would be nice to have someone along, especially someone who had shown he could handle himself in an emergency. Even if it was only to have company when everything went to hell. Tomas started to say something else but stopped when Mircea stepped to my side and put a hand on my shoulder.
"Now, Tomas!" Louis-César looked impatient. Tomas glared at him but he left, slamming the door behind him.
"And we need the Tears, do we not, to be on the safe side?" Louis-César nodded and left right behind Tomas.
"The Tears? Do I want to know?"
"Nothing to be concerned about, I assure you." Mircea smiled reassuringly. "The Tears of Apollo are an ancient concoction. They have been used to aid in meditative trances for centuries. They are quite safe."
"But why do we need them? I didn't have them before."
"And you quickly ran out of energy before. They will help you, Cassandra. Remember, I have a vested interest in seeing that this goes well. I would not lie to you." I believed that answer more than I would have a heartfelt declaration of concern for my welfare, and nodded. I'd use the damn Tears, whatever they were. Anything to up the odds.
Mircea glanced at Raphael. "Would you be so good as to see if clothing has been arranged for Cassie? She must be tired of wearing such a bulky robe." He gave an odd little smile. "Take your time."
Rafe looked uncertain—I could tell he didn't want to leave Mircea and me alone for some reason—but he went. Mircea locked the door behind him and leaned against it, regarding me with suddenly serious eyes. "And now for the real negotiations, my Cassandra."
Chapter 12
I looked at Mircea warily. "I'm not your Cassandra." He began unbuttoning the remaining toggles on his shirt. "Give me a moment, dulceaţă, and we will see." He peeled off the shirt and tossed it over the end of the couch. He wore nothing underneath.
"What are you doing?" I sat up, my pulse leaping although he hadn't done anything really alarming. But he stood between me and the door, and that enticing face was suddenly pretty intense.
Mircea began removing his highly polished shoes. "I would prefer that we had more time, dulceaţă. I have long anticipated renewing our acquaintance, but did not envision quite this scenario. However" — he paused to place his shoes and socks neatly by the sofa—"I am beginning to learn that, with you, it is best to assume the unexpected."
I could have said the same about him. "Cut it out, Mircea. Just tell me what is going on."
He watched me steadily as he slowly removed the belt from the loops of his slacks. "You do not wish to be given over to the Circle, I assume?"
"What does that have to do with you getting undressed? What is this?"
Mircea prowled across the room—there was simply no other word for the way he moved—and knelt at my feet. He looked up at me soulfully. "Think of it as a rescue, dulceaţă. I am your knight come to save you from all those who would do you harm."
I choked back a laugh. "That has got to be the corniest line I ever heard."
Mircea put on an exaggerated look of outrage that brought a reluctant smile to my face. "You wound me! I assure you, once upon a time, as they say, that is exactly what I was."
I thought about it and, technically, he was right. Of course, real knights in shining armor hadn't been quite the same as the legend. Most of them had spent more time harassing the peasants for taxes than rescuing ladies fair. "Okay. And what are you now?"
He didn't answer, but I noticed that his eyes had turned a glowing cinnamon amber. The only time I'd seen that before, he had been threatening Pritkin's life, but he didn't seem to be angry now. He reached behind his head to slide the platinum clasp out of his long, dark hair. "The Circle demands your return, dulceaţă, and by our treaty with them, we have no right to refuse. If you were a normal human, a claim by any master would be enough to hold you, but not for a powerful seer. The Pythia's court has control over all such individuals." His hair spread over his shoulders and back like a dark cape. The contrast between his midnight hair and the pale perfection of his skin was mesmerizing.
He saw me admiring it, and his voice dropped to just above a whisper. "You liked my hair once, dulceaţă, don't you remember? You enjoyed braiding it as a child. I went around Antonio's court with as many styles and ornaments as a doll." He lifted my hands and placed them on his shoulders, under the heavy weight of that hair. It fell like a skein of silk over my hands, and I wasn't sure which was more distracting, the feel of it or the hard muscles of his shoulders. "I did not mind you playing with me, dulceaţă." He moved his head to press a kiss to the back of my hand. "I do not mind it now."
I opened my shields slightly to see whether he was imitating Tomas and trying to influence me, but there was no sign that power was being exerted. The exhilarating rush I'd felt earlier was simply not there. But then, he didn't really need it. He rubbed his cheek languidly against my hand and I knew he could probably hear the pounding of my heart in my wrist. I swallowed. "What's your point, Mircea?"
His hands had moved while I was distracted, and it was a shock to feel them suddenly slide into my robe and encircle my waist. I hadn't felt him remove the belt, but it was gone. The robe didn't gape far, but it was enough to bare a line of flesh from my neck to my navel. I moved to close it, but Mircea lifted my hand away and pressed the palm to his lips. I felt a smooth hint of tongue as he swept it slowly over my skin, as if savoring the taste. A bolt of desire ran from his kiss down all my nerve endings, causing me to gasp.
"Mircea…"
"Do you know how you taste, my Cassandra?" he asked me softly. "I have never known anything like it. You go to my head like aged brandy." He breathed deeply of the skin above my pulse. "You cannot imagine how intoxicating I find your scent." His thumb moved slightly on my waist, up and down the center of my rib cage. It wasn't an overly sexual touch, but I caught my breath. "Or how very good you feel."
"Mircea, please."
"Anything you want," the great negotiator whispered, leaning in so that he spoke just above my mouth, his breath warm on my lips. His mouth ghosted over mine, gentle, barely there, and I shivered. He had said we were going to negotiate, but he wasn't even trying to make a deal, which alone was scary. "Anything in my power to give, it is yours." His hand moved back to the front of my robe, one finger tracing the line of exposed skin from neck to navel. Goose bumps sprung up along that path, and my breath caught.
I tried to get angry, to find any emotion that could hold back the spine-tingling flash of pleasure. "Damn it, Mircea! You know I hate games!"
"No games," he promised, pushing himself between my legs, parting them with his body. The robe gaped halfway up my thighs, but I couldn't close it with him kneeling there. I tried to shove him away, wanting some distance between us so I could think, but it was like pushing at a granite statue. "Do you want me to beg you?" he whispered, looking up at me with those glowing eyes.
"No, I…" I looked around for Billy, but he was off sulking. Damn it!
"I will beg," he murmured, before I could get a sentence together. He was close enough that I could tell that he smelled as good as he looked, not like expensive cologne as I'd expected, but clean and fresh, like the air after rain. "And plead" — his hands slid into the robe to caress my calves—"willingly" — they moved up to my knees, stroking the sensitive skin behind them—"gladly" — they massaged a path up my thighs�
��"eagerly" — his hands stopped on my hips, thumbs kneading the flesh gently. "If it pleases you."
He buried his face in my stomach, and my hands moved on their own to comb through that dusky hair. I spread it out on his shoulders, while he kissed his way up my body. I fought to clear my head, but then his lips claimed mine in a searing kiss that burned all the way down to my fingertips. Then he dropped his head and began to kiss back down the way he'd come, with slow, almost worshipful motions. The feel of cool air on my breasts as he pushed the robe completely open jogged me out of the haze slightly, but it was difficult to put thoughts together while pleasure coursed through me.
"You are beautiful, dulceaţă" he murmured, hands ghosting over me reverently. "So soft, so perfect." His touch felt so warm I expected it to leave imprints behind. His breath on the tender skin of my nipple was electrifying; his tongue, when it followed a moment later, was almost overwhelming, and when he began to suck, pulling deeply, pleasure burst inside me so large that it was almost pain.
"Mircea, please… tell me what is going on!"
In response, he suddenly swept me up into his arms and carried me to the bedroom. He waved a hand and the curtains over the windows snapped shut. He laid me gently on the bed and began unbuttoning his trousers. "The Silver Circle wants you very badly, Cassie. Antonio told them that you died in the car with your parents, and they only learned differently when your ward flared for the first time a few years ago. It was the Circle's own ward that your mother had transferred from herself to you, and it is unmistakable. They have been hunting you ever since. As long as you remain only a rogue sybil, they have rights over you, as they do all human magic users. There is no way to dispute their claim without risking a war. Well" — he stepped out of the trousers—"almost none."