Sacred Circle

by James, Rachel

  “Do you actually think I would divorce you—now that I’ve finally got the only thing I’ve ever wanted?” he asked. Brianna’s mind whirled at his question. His hands snaked up her arms, and hauled her close to his body. “Good God, woman. We shared a healing wash.”

  A sob tore from Brianna’s throat.

  “I thought you didn’t remember. I thought I diverted it.”

  “Divert a healing wash by the Ancients? You’re not that good.” He wrapped his arms around her midriff and held her snugly. “I have loved you since I was ten, you moron. And I have wanted to marry you since I was sixteen.”

  “What?! Then why the divorce?”

  “To bring you to your senses—so you’d admit that we belong together. Even that obnoxious pet of yours knows it.” Bending, he planted a wet kiss on her lips, and then, lifting his head, he met her gaze. “Do we belong together, Mrs. Janus?”

  She thought of saying no just to tease him, but her heart was hammering so wildly that all she managed to get out was a simple, breathy “yes.”

  Hearing the word, he released her waist, stepped around her, and scooped Nicodemus from the windowsill. Crossing the room, he tossed the growling cat into the hallway, shut the door, and locked it.

  “What are you doing?” Brianna queried, choking up.

  He headed back her way.

  “I’m going to have hot, steamy sex with my wife.”

  “Don’t be absurd.”

  He stopped in front of her.

  “What? You don’t think I can arouse you to a fever pitch a second time?”

  “Don’t be an ass. We’re not having mind-blowing sex in a hospital bed.”

  He gathered her into his arms and his grin was devilish.

  “So you admit the sex was mind-blowing?”

  Brianna tossed her head at him.

  “Change the subject, or there won’t be any sex between us ever—hot or cold.”

  His voice softened as he lifted her chin and gazed deep into her eyes.

  “If you think that, Snow White, you’re not the smart High Priestess I know you to be.” The last of his words were smothered on her lips and, to her delight, this time the kiss was slow and erotic. She savored every moment of the burning fire on her lips, and then his mouth left hers to nibble on her earlobe. Brianna’s trembling limbs quickly clung to him, and then, scarcely aware of her own voice, she whispered in his ear.

  “We have to let the Council know we’re not divorcing.”

  He ignored her words, his mouth wandering down the tingling cord of her neck.

  “They already know. They got the message when I tore up the papers,” he finally murmured.

  His mouth wandered back up along her jawbone, and then, with a soft sigh, he settled his mouth on hers again. Caught up in the pleasure pulsing through her, Briana nestled against his supple strength and parted her lips in mute invitation. His tongue swept inside immediately, and overwhelmed by the spreading heat, she broke the kiss and buried her face against Devlin’s throat.

  “If the stars are in a favorable conjunction tonight, I might let your naked body claim mine.”

  “Even if the stars aren’t in a favorable conjunction tonight, my naked body is going to claim yours,” he responded. “That’s a promise, and as a High Priestess, you have to do what your High Priest thinks is best.”

  “I’m more interested in knowing what Mr. Janus thinks is best,” she murmured.

  His fingers fumbled with the buttons of her blouse.

  “He thinks Cinderella should keep Prince Charming satisfied, day and night.”

  His lips recaptured her mouth, his fingers skirting inside her bra, to magically stroke the smooth flesh. The caress was so male and so bracing this time, that for a long moment, she lay drowned in a melting sweetness. This was what it was to be blissfully happy, and fully alive. Her arms slipped around his neck and she caressed the tendons she found there. He broke the kiss, his breathing labored.

  “You’re killing me here, Rapunzel.”

  “I certainly hope so.” she murmured.

  Her lips met his half-way this time. Soon, nothing else mattered, except the strong and vivid desires that shook both their bodies and claimed their hearts.

  EPILOGUE

  High on the rise, overlooking a painted circle, Nicodemus stood guard, ears twitching, waiting to be summoned. Alongside, Devlin watched the scene below, listening to the raucous giggles reverberating in the night air. Brianna’s laughter soon joined in, and Devlin saw her lift her hands toward the full white moon hanging low in the sky.

  “Begone!” she ordered.

  The moon slipped behind a cloud, and the five young girls in the circle clapped and spun, not the least bit frightened by the orb’s sudden disappearance. Instead, they began a silly chant for the moon to return and chase away the darkness. When it re-emerged from its hiding place a moment later, showering them and the clearing with a neon brightness, they giggled and twirled. Oohing and aahing, they attempted to catch hold of the prisms of light bathing their raised arms.

  Seeing the bright rainbow, Devlin grinned. The girls were about to experience a last, shocking surprise. Brianna’s hand waved towards the moon again, catching the girls’ attention and directing it upward.

  “Abra . . .ca . . . dabra . . .” she began. The girls giggled in delight at her silly reference.

  “No, it’s hocus pocus, Mrs. Janus . . . hocus pocus, stinky, okus . . .” The youngest of the girls twirled on her toes, and her cohorts joined in. “Hocus pocus, stinky, okus . . .”

  The girls squealed at their own silliness and then fell silent, eager for the surprise Brianna would shower on them. Devlin knew Brianna wouldn’t disappoint. She pointed her finger skyward.

  “Oh, magic genie, I order you to open sesame . . .” The girls held their breaths, their glances shooting back and forth along the skyline in anticipation. And then a loud “rrr-oww” split the air, and the group looked down, startled to find Nicodemus lying peacefully in the center of the circle, staring up at them with his bright yellow eyes. The girls clapped in unison.

  “It’s Nicodemus,” Miranda O’Connor cried first. “What a clever, clever cat.”

  Joining hands, the girls began to dance and twirl around Nicodemus’ outstretched form, chanting his name over and over. Lifting his gaze, Devlin spotted Brianna striding the rise. Reaching the crest, she slipped into his arms.

  “There’ll be no living with Nicodemus now,” she scoffed. “Their flattery will go to his already over-stuffed ego.”

  “Rotten cat for a rotten brat,” Devlin muttered. Turning her face up, he deposited a wet kiss on her lips, and then spun her around. Slipping his arms around her waist, he dropped his head on her right shoulder, and studied the giggling figures below. The shrill chants revved up, allowing the pair a moment to savor the energy surrounding the clearing, and bask in the power of spirit. Finally, he heard a contented sigh.

  “The joy in magic still lives, Devlin. Can you feel it?”

  “I can feel it.” He molded her curves closer into the contours of his body, and his mouth grazed her earlobe. “It’s right here in my arms.” His lips seared a path down her neck to her shoulder, and then with a quick spin, he swept her, weightless, into his arms. He immediately devoured her lips, reveling in the shared intimacy of the kiss—until, to his annoyance, a strong pressure knocked against his legs.

  “Rrr-ooww.”

  The kiss ended abruptly, the pair springing apart.

  “Damn cat,” Devlin drawled.

  Brianna’s laugh echoed as she backed out of his arms.

  “He means well. He’s reminding me, I must close the circle.” She spun around and headed back down the incline. Reaching the circle, she gathered the girls together and began powering down the energy cone.

  Watching the group from the ridge, a grin overtook Devlin’s features.

  “Rrr-owww.”

  “Yes, I know. It’s not at all proper to envision my hands roami
ng intimately over a High Priestess’s naked breasts.”

  Nicodemus sneezed his dislike immediately, and Devlin’s grin turned up a notch. No one was going to keep him from rousing his wife to a frenzied state of love-making in the next hour. Not even a damn, magical cat.

  More from This Author

  (from The Kindred by Rachel James)

  THURSDAY — 10 AM — ASPEN, COLORADO

  A shadow of alarm touched Janice Kelly’s face, and she stepped back from the three-legged easel, tossing her paintbrush into a jar of cloudy water. The painting before her had changed background colors again. On its own. No, she brought herself up sharply. Paintings did not change colors by themselves. She had done it. She had changed the colors. She let her gaze travel across the now bright yellow background, struggling with the uncertainty it aroused. Had her divorce from Jimmy finally sent her mind over the edge? If so, this mind-fugue was dangerous. She might hurt someone. She might hurt Sarah. Horrified, she raised a hand to her temple. Damn! If she weren’t careful, she’d work herself into a full-blown migraine.

  Unaware of the streaks of brightly colored paint she was dabbing into her flaming red hair, she rubbed the sore spot vigorously. This was no regular headache she was battling. That’s why the pills she’d taken this morning had done nothing to quiet it. No, she’d experienced this kind of pain before, and she knew what it meant. Now, more than ever, she could not put off her trip to Maine tomorrow. She had to go and not just for the debt she owed to her mentor.

  Fingers trailing down her temples, she strode back to the easel and began to pack up her paints. She needed sleep desperately — the dead-to-the-world kind. She had been on a five-state gallery tour for months, skipping meals, signing autographs and hopping trains. And now, just when she got home, she was leaving again. No wonder her face had looked pale and pinched when she woke this morning. She was so tired her nerves throbbed. “Mama, what’s a Si-Pip?”

  Janice jumped at the sound of the high-pitched voice and quickly brought her gaze from the paints to the open doorway. Her eyes lit with pleasure as she spied her daughter, Sarah, bouncing from foot to foot in the middle of the alcove.

  “Sarah, sweetie, I don’t think I know that word. Where did you hear it?”

  “From Aunt Bibi.” She bounded through the doorway and sailed onto a cushioned workbench beside Janice. Once there, she eyed the huge canvas. “Is that my Daddy, Mama?”

  Janice grinned, amused.

  “No, sweetie, I don’t know who the man is.”

  “Aunt Bibi told Uncle Roddy he’s your dream lover.”

  Janice’s grin vanished, replaced by a quick frown.

  “I’ve asked you not to spy on your aunt and uncle, Sarah, remember?”

  “Uh-huh.” She tucked her feet beneath her rump and tipped her face to Janice. “Who is he, Mama?”

  Her persistence brought Janice’s focus back to the painting, and she let her gaze sweep the dove gray breeches and matching topcoat. An absolutely gorgeous rake. And her sister was right. She was becoming enamored with the handsome figure she had painted, seemed inexplicably drawn to him.

  “Mama?”

  “He’s just a man I’ve been seeing in a dream, sweetie.”

  “He’s handsome.”

  “Yes, he is. Devilishly handsome.”

  “Is he as devilish as me?”

  The question was cheeky, and Janice chuckled, tweaking one of Sarah’s bright red curls. Sarah was an adorable poppet, no doubt about it. She took a moment to study the snow-blasted cheeks as Sarah began to riffle through her paints.

  “Aunt Bibi says you’re a Si-Pip, Mama.”

  Janice lightly smacked the prying fingers and gave a sarcastic laugh.

  “Little pitchers have big ears.”

  “What’s that mean, Mama?”

  “Nothing, sweetie. C’mere.”

  Dropping to the workbench, Janice opened her arms and wiggled her fingers. She must divert Sarah’s attention from the tubes of paint. Sarah toppled forward and sprawled across her legs eagerly. One hand flew beneath her cheek to wait patiently for an answer to her earlier question. But which question? Janice wondered. A contented sigh singed her ears, and Janice gave another bright laugh, tickling the round belly peeping between the folds of the yellow flannel jogging suit. Sarah squirmed and giggled, their hands entwining.

  “Stop, Mama … you know that tickles.”

  “But you have such a yummy laugh, I can’t help myself.” Janice cooed. She slid her fingers along Sarah’s tummy again, eliciting more spontaneous giggles.

  “Stop … Mama … please!”

  Hearing a serious hiccup, Janice stilled her fingers and, with a swift tug, righted Sarah to a sitting position in her lap. She dropped a quick kiss on her warm cheek and gave her a light bear-hug. Sarah’s face sobered, and Janice knew her attention was back again on getting answers to her questions.

  “What is a Si-Pip?”

  “Psychic. The word is psychic. I’m a psychic.”

  She saw the flash of alertness in the eyes studying her face.

  “What’s a Si-Kick?”

  “It’s a person who can see things before they happen, see things that are way off in the future.”

  “Like the gip … gip-sies who look into the ball?”

  Janice craned her head thoughtfully.

  “Umm … more like a television set. I see pictures in my head, sweetie, kinda like our television set downstairs. The pictures can be funny, sad, scary … ”

  “Mon-sters?”

  Janice smiled, once again brushing back a stray curl along Sarah’s temple.

  “No, no monsters. At least not the kind you mean.”

  “Does the television set hurt your head?”

  “Why no, sweetie, what makes you think it does?”

  “Aunt Bibi’s gettin’ you some ass … ass-prin from the drawer. She says your head aches.”

  Janice rolled her eyes.

  “Bless your Aunt Bibi.”

  She gave Sarah’s cheek another brief kiss then slid her back onto the padded bench. Rising, Janice returned to the portrait and picked up her paintbrush. Why did she feel compelled to embellish on the yellow hue when the painting was already quite perfect? She didn’t know, but found herself less than a minute later ignoring the mocking voice inside and dressing up the background with a few flourishes of her brush. Beside her, she heard a light humming and joined in. It was marvelous the way she could tune into Sarah’s boundless energy. Recharge from it. Without warning, the sound of spit bubbles began to mingle with their humming.

  “Pa-tew … pa-tew.”

  Janice looked over in amusement.

  “Whatever are you doing, you silly bear?”

  “I’m spittin’.”

  “I can see that. But why?”

  “Aunt Bibi says I’m the spittin’ image of you, Mama.”

  A choking laugh bubbled out before Janice could stop it. What a delightful ragamuffin she and Jimmy had produced. And so infinitely precious. Yet her sister’s comment was true. She and Sarah were unmistakably related. She swished her paintbrush into the water jar, stealing a peek at the appealing face now displaying Janice’s own familiar signs of thoughtfulness. Their faces were identical delicately carved facial bones, both blessed with the Mignon family trait of a full-bodied lower lip.

  Scanning the young features, Janice sensed the face so pink with eagerness at the moment would eventually showcase high, exotic cheekbones like her own. As for their hair, Sarah’s was bright red, too, but not quite so crackling red as her own. She decided they were as alike as two peas in a pod — except for the eyes. Sarah had extraordinary blue eyes, as blue as the Aspen summer sky, while her own eyes gleamed emerald, like deep green ice.

  There was another difference between them. But as of yet Janice couldn’t bring herself to discuss it with anyone, not even her sister. She knew without question Sarah did not possess second sight. She would hold no psychic tremors in the coming years. And th
at relieved Janice immensely. Not that she would have changed things for herself. But she was glad Sarah’s carefree nature would not be hindered, her eyes lose their sparkle when carrying the weight of the gift.

  She looked at those eyes now, twinkling with untold mischief, and she heard the giggle, unmistakably Sarah’s own. Responding, Janice made a sudden dive for the workbench. Sarah screeched in delight and vaulted from the bench. She hit the floor running, and Janice marveled at her fleet-footedness. Was she raising a future track and field star? Perhaps not, since in the next instant Sarah collided with a pair of long, tanned legs. Janice’s sister, Bibi, glass in hand, reared back to absorb the unexpected impact, and Janice heard her call out sharply.

  “Hey, slow down! I’m carrying a full glass.”

  Sarah’s giggles echoed louder as she grabbed Bibi’s knees, using the tall, sturdy body as a shield.

  “Mama’s gonna tickle me, Aunt Bibi. Don’t let her.”

  “Have you been teasing her while she’s painting, you naughty munchkin?” She attempted to shake Sarah loose of her leg, but the motion only managed to slosh water over the rim of the glass. Seeing the juggling act, Janice sank onto the workbench in convulsive laughter. Across the space, Bibi prodded Sarah more sternly.

  “Sarah Anne Kelly, you let go of my leg this instant! Your mother and I need to talk. Go help Peter out of his snowsuit this minute.” She gave a last shake of her leg, and Janice heard her say even more sharply, “Go!”

  Janice caught a brief flash of yellow as Sarah bounded out on the landing and tripped down the hallway. Her sing-song call to Peter echoed back gaily.

  “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

  Bibi entered the loft, her face finally turning up in the smile she’d fought from showing.

  “She’s a sunny little thing, Jan. She reminds me a lot of Anna sometimes.”

  Janice propped herself on the bench, swiping at her eyes.

  “Anna?”

  Her sister came forward, offering Janice the glass of water plus two aspirin tablets in her palm.

  “Oh, she’s you through and through, but she has a tiny little imp inside her that jumps out every now and again. Like Anna.”