“All of this is highly entertaining, but shouldn’t we be figuring out what we’re going to do for the next Tribunal scene?” Nameless asks. “Since we’re tasked with a flogging scene, I guess that puts me first up.”
“Why is that?” I keep my tone innocent, but I’m pretty sure all three guys notice my heart rate increase. And just that moment, Bob waltzes into the room, hair damp from the shower, looking good enough to eat. He gives me a lingering kiss before he grabs a coffee and plops down beside me. “Morning.” He looks at me with eyes so filled with love, my heart overflows.
“Morning, babe.” I grab a dish, scoop eggs onto it, and set the plate in front of him.
“Thank you, beauty.” He looks around the table. “What’d I miss?”
“Nothing yet,” Francis says. “Nameless here was just about to tell us why he thinks he should be point man on the next trial.”
“Last time went well. I passed. So, I haven’t really been thinking about the fact that it is a trial. I keep forgetting that Bob going to the earthly realm to confirm my identity is the reason we’re being evaluated,” I say.
“I’m sure Bob’s not forgetting,” Nameless says. “This time, Aphrodite will decide whether he will stay with the clan.” He says this as if Bob’s removal is a foregone conclusion, and we only need to wait it out.
“Wait a minute.” My head swivels between Francis and Bob. “You mean to tell me if Aphrodite decides she doesn’t like my scenes, she can just take Bob from us?” I grab hold of his hand. “From me?” Panic surges through me at the thought. I just found him. I am not going to lose him again.
“Not that it should really matter since they’ll be dropping your ass back to earth in a couple of weeks anyway.” Another of Nameless’s announcements.
Francis looks pissed. I sit straight, resolve firm in my heart. I will not lose my Bob again, never mind the rest of these guys. Gods be damned. I just found out there is a lot of sexual activity I have yet to try, and no one is taking that away from me.
“That’s simply not going to happen. I refuse to go back to the earthly realm.” And that second, I decide I’ll do whatever it takes to stay with my guys. I turn and face Bob. “Who’s in charge here?”
Bob’s brown eyes swing to me in concern. “That would be Zeus, sprite, but you can’t just see him.”
“Why not?” I glance around the table. All four guys are eyeing me as if I have a death wish. “Is approaching Zeus a no-no?”
“Babe, you know who Zeus is, right?” Caleb gentles his voice as if I need special care. I give him the stink eye.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning he’s king of the gods, and you can’t just see him because you want to,” Nameless says as he slides his empty plate to the middle of the table and grabs his guitar. He stands up. “Now, let’s do some planning for this scene. You can wedge in a half hour before going to the academy, correct?”
I look at my nonexistent watch out of reflex and then nod.
The others wipe their mouths and push their chairs back when Dorbhe flutters into the room as if she’s on fast-forward.
“Miss-Mrs-uh-Tate,” she pants. “Reed Bell has been put in holding by the guardians.”
“What did that giant ham-faced ass do now?” I ask.
“He forced himself upon Dixongan.” Dorbhe’s color changes in unmistakable anger.
Adrenaline spikes through my body, and I go full administrator, gathering the details from Dorbhe as I stride through the halls after her buzzing form.
Behind me, I hear Nameless say, “Come on, clan. Mr. Reed T. Bell awaits our examination.”
Once Dorbhe has shared all she knows and left us to return to her office, my brain goes back to mulling over my other obstacles. I need more information on Aphrodite and her trials, and I need to reach Zeus so I can avoid returning to the earthly realm. And I know just who can help me. Plan in place, I perk up as I realize the guys have turned down a corridor I’ve never seen.
We stop in front of two of the hunky men Mick called her guardians, only this time, they have wings. Beautiful blue-and-black wings . . . and tails. Their wings are spread, blocking the door, and behind them, a weird light shimmers.
One of them holds up a hand in warning. “She stays here. If she goes inside, we can’t protect her.” The sharpness of his voice feels as if it lances against my skin. He crosses his massive forearms and gives me a pointed look.
19
— Francis —
If I recall correctly, and of course I do, the two guards blocking the cell door are Mongah and Pingnally, two of the twelve Daijon guardians tasked with exacting order at the academy. They were gifted with special powers, and nobody fucked with them, not even the headmistress. Only the gods, who gave them their mission to protect the academy, could be assured of commanding them.
The second Mongah makes his pronouncement, Tate pushes past us and steps right into his personal space, something anyone only does once in my experience. Mongah, standing on the left, his arms crossed, frowns down on Tate from his lofty height while Pingnally shifts his gold gaze to me. Sard.
“Step aside, please.” Headmistress Tate comes out in full force, but Mongah simply frowns down at her, curved horns twitching.
Pingnally swings his challenging gaze from me to Tate, who doesn’t seem the least bit intimidated by the two entities. “No. We have orders to keep you out,” his voice cracks like thunder after Mongah’s sharp lightening.
Seemingly undeterred, Tate just stares up at them. Her mind whirls with possibilities. My curiosity to see which one she’ll choose makes me hesitate a zeptosecond too long.
“I don’t mean to sound disrespectful, but you’re interfering with my job. You protect the academy that I run. Please step aside.” Neither Daijon moves. With a huff, Tate frowns up at Pingnally. Let’s see what your balls look like in a vice. That unexplained needle of light makes another appearance, leaping from Tate’s hand to Pingnally’s nether region.
Suddenly, Pingnally grunts and winces, but manages to stay erect. It takes one hell of a lot to put one of these guys down.
Tate glances at me. Did I do that? Her eyes are wide . . . and gratified. I give my head a warning shake, and the needle of light flickers out.
“Help me understand why you’re barring our entrance?” Tate gives both guys her best smile. “Please. Let’s start over.” She sticks out her hand to Mongah. “My name is Tate, and I’m the new headmistress here. And you are?”
Mongah looks at her hand, looks at her face, then back at her hand before growling, “Mongah. First Guardian of the Guards.” He points a blue finger at Pingnally. “Pingnally, Second Guardian of the Guards.” He keeps his arms folded. Tate looks pointedly from her outstretched hand to him and back again. I damned near drop into a vampiric coma when he enfolds her small hand in his massive paw.
“That’s better,” Tate beams up at him. “Pleased to meet you. Now, Monty, may I call you Monty? And what species, precisely, are you?” She seems more curious than anything else.
“We are the guardians,” Monty says. Sard, now she has me calling him by a nickname. I glance at the others. They seem as fascinated by Tate as I am. Caleb, I understand—he, like me, hasn’t seen Tate for four centuries. Ever since Zeus banished Tate to protect her. The memory flits through my brain so fast I almost miss it. I catch and shelve it for later consideration. Monty’s growl pulls me back to the present.
“Yeah, yeah,” Tate says, hands on hips. “I got that. What is your species?” She glances at Bob. He shrugs. She turns back to Monty. “Or race, whatever?”
“We are the sacred race of Daijon.” Monty and Pingnally raise their arms in some sort of salute before resuming their stance. Tate’s sigh is almost audible. This is getting us nowhere.
“Look, I don’t have any quarrel with you, but I’m told that as the new headmistress, I’m to stay with these examiners all of the time.” Her voice assumes the persuasive tone I recall so well. Sard. I glance at B
ob. His expression matches mine—smug certainty. These guys won’t know what hit them.
“Now, since I have to stay with these boys, and they need to process Mr. Bell here, we have a dilemma.” Both Daijon start to get a glazed look over their eyes. Strong as oxes and good guys for oxes, but they weren’t the brightest bulbs in the realm. Tate continues to smile. “Of course, I don’t want to get you guys in trouble, and I’m quite sure I will if I need to speak to your boss—if I’m not, in fact, actually your boss, which I suspect I may be, but either way, why don’t we save us all the trouble. Tell you what, if the subject comes up, just tell your boss—again, if it’s not me—that I excused you. I have that authority as headmistress, right?”
Both Mongah and Pingnally look confused. Tate pats Mongah’s arm. “There, see. We’ve reached a compromise. Now just step aside. And, Monty”—Tate reaches up and pats his arm again—“don’t worry. My guys will take care of me, but you’re welcome to come in and watch if you like.”
“No, they can’t,” Caleb says, his voice unnaturally belligerent.
Bob, Nameless, and I exchange a worried look. Caleb’s talons have descended . . . His animal is coming out to play, and though he might be useful in dealing with Reed, the unpredictability of Caleb’s monster spells disaster more often than not. Tate remains oblivious.
“Yes, they can. I assume you’ve taken all the appropriate oaths and signed all the appropriate confidentiality and nondisclosure agreements, right?” She looks up at the Daijon expectantly.
They exchange a look and seem to decide it’s best to just go along. They nod obediently, although I’d bet my fangs they’re not sure just what they’re agreeing to.
“Excellent. Now move aside, fellas.” She points to the door, and they lower their wings. A blast of eerie green light shines through.
Nameless and Caleb push ahead of Tate and charge into the room, testosterone overcoming good sense in their eagerness to strut their stuff for Tate. Robert and I follow Tate. I glance over at him.
“Was she like this in your most recent life?”
“Oh yeah.” Robert shrugs but smiles. As much as he grumbles about her antics, his enjoyment leaks from him.
We enter what looks like the standard interrogation room in one of Robert’s favorite cop movies. Tate’s chin nearly hits the floor as Nameless’s wings pop out and unfurl in all of their purple glory, shielding Tate from Reed’s weak attempts to throw negative energy. He swings his guitar around as Caleb takes his stance on the right side of the metal table, his animal out as much as Bardo will allow, ready to pounce. Tate gapes for three seconds then focuses her attention on the task at hand. She peers around Nameless’s leathery wingspan to Reed, seated and bound to a metal chair. His slumped head snaps up the moment he feels Tate’s ether.
Tate gives Nameless an is-it-safe look, and he gives a quick nod, his strumming and humming so low it’s almost supersonic. The sound waves swirl around Reed, keeping the sickly green and black ether spewing from him behind its invisible barrier. Robert takes the chair on the left, opposite Reed, while I take the right. Robert is all business, his enormous concentration focused on Reed. I open my mind to Reed’s thoughts and almost wince as the force of his malice hits me.
Robert shifts the papers in front of him on the desk. He focuses a penetrating stare on Reed and taps the file folder with his index finger. “Reed, you’ve been charged with one count of sexual bullying and inappropriate touching by one of your colleagues. As you know, this is an informal investigation to give you the opportunity to give your side of the story. How long have you worked at Sexy Sins?” Robert’s voice is warm and rich, his natural charm weaving bronze ether around Reed. I add a little vampire thrall to the mix. It will induce him to tell the truth.
Reed smiles in turn as he eyes Robert and then me, licking his lips in anticipation. “Hey man, let me guess. You’ve picked me to play in one of your scenes.”
Reed seems divorced from reality—gripped with a confidence and enthusiasm he should not have in this situation.
“What scenes would that be?” Now Robert’s voice is deceptively innocent.
“You know. The whole academy is buzzing with the news of how you fucked over Hades at the Tribunal last Saturday night.”
Robert sits back and smiles again. “We’ll get to that after we take care of the business at hand. How long have you worked here?”
“Two years, give or take. Don’t bother asking me how many people I’ve fucked since I got here. Speaking of fucking, I’d like a piece of this new headmistress. She’s one hot babe.” He leers at Tate as he tries to sit forward, but Caleb’s paw slams him back against his chair.
I glance over at Caleb, who growls low in his chest. Tate bristles behind me, her body poised to step in.
Barely audible, I hear Robert say, “Easy, sprite. We’ve got this.”
She subsides.
“So, now we add disrespect and insubordination to the list of your crimes?” Robert, in all his studied casualness, gives the impression that he couldn’t care less.
Despite Caleb’s animal’s threatening presence, Reed can’t fight my thrall. “Hey man, there’s no disrespect if it’s the truth. She’s hot.”
Robert ignores Caleb’s second growl and flips open the file. “Yes, she is. Two years, you say. So, you’re well aware of the rules about consent and the consequences for breaking them, correct?” He glances up from the file. Reed nods his head.
“So, what remains is for us to determine your consequences. Have you anything to say in your defense?” He looks down at the file. “I see here you’ve already done two extra stints at the Manic Sins Academy. Were they unable to restore balance?”
“Oh, they did. Yes. I worked through my obsessive relationships in the earthly realm. They called it stalking, and I came to agree. But my love for Dixongan is different. It’s not manic. It’s powerful. It’s pure. No one could shake the power of my love for Dixongan. She just needs to admit it to herself now.” Reed nods as if he’s delivered the wisdom of the ages with this pronouncement.
Robert studies him for a moment, letting his Health Manipulation power diagnose Reed’s condition. “You’ve been infected by a succubus and caught in obsessive love, which combined with your previous predilections, does not bode well for your recovery. If we free you, you will continue your attacks on Dixongan, which we cannot allow. If we kill the succubus, its hold on you will diminish, but not quickly enough for your peers to be safe. Any final thoughts before we decide whether to return you to Manic Sins or send you to the Sexy Sins Prison?”
Reed tries to leap up, but Caleb’s growl and the magical ether chains keep him pinned to the chair. “You can’t send me to the prison, man. I haven’t done anything that bad. Besides, you can’t blame me for being in love. And I don’t want to go back to Manic Sins. I don’t want to stop loving Dixongan. And she’s so close to recognizing I’m her destined mate.” Reed’s whining voice grates on my nerves. Seemingly, it has a similar effect on Tate.
“You sure have on hell of a way of showing it. What possessed you to think that forcing yourself on her was a great way to show this love of yours?” Tate pushes herself in front of Nameless, stepping carefully around his wingspan.
A finger of blackish-green ether leaps from Reed toward Tate, and the whole room erupts in light.
20
— Tate —
One minute, I’m enjoying watching my guys manage a succubus-infected stalker, the next I’m fending off a black ether tendril trying to work its way into my unity brand. What scares me more is that there seems to already be black ether in the unity brand, and it seems to beckon the tendril, reaching to bridge the distance. How did you get in there?
Instinctively, I jump back and wrap my hand around my brand, but the black ether simply slips between my fingers and sets my every nerve ending on fire.
Light erupts in the room around me, and Caleb’s man-beast goes into attack mode, knocking and pinning Reed to the
floor, seconds away from ripping out his throat. Francis leaps up and channels intense energy toward Caleb in the form of a stream of light. “Hold.” Caleb holds still, immobilized with his captive, but continues to snarl.
My back slides down the wall as the black ether infects my system. Soft lips fasten to mine, and I breathe in Bob’s healing ether, which sends the black ether scurrying through my body. I have brief seconds of relief before the Daijon guardians bound into the room, not unlike kangaroos, they land on either side of Reed.
“Gentlemen, escort this man to the Sexy Sins Prison. There is no redemption for him.” Bob makes this pronouncement with finality in that scary way he gets when anyone tries to hurt me. And gods, I love when he does that. It’s hot as hell. And here in Bardo, it’s as if I have the feeling on steroids.
The Daijon strong-arm Reed to his feet, tightening the golden power chains, binding his wrists and ankles. They lead him away.
Using the wall for balance, I regain my feet. I feel faint but don’t want to alarm the guys. I cross to the table, my clothes scraping against my sensitive skin, but haven’t taken two steps before all four guys are at my side.
“You all right, sprite?”
Black smoke invades my vision.
“She’s faint.” Francis sounds like a doctor, but of course, he’s just inside my head. “Black ether,” he announces.
“I thought I—” Bob’s voice fades because before I have time to breathe, I’m in Francis’s arms being flown toward our quarters.
I come to on my bed with all four guys at my side in one way or another. Bob lies beside me, cupping my cheeks, using his hands along with his eyes to search my system for signs of damage. I consider pretending I’m worse off than I am just to get another one of those wonderful kisses he calls healing when Francis’s thought drops into my head. I think not, mo chridhe.
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