by A. J. Menden
“It’s about time you got here,” I said to Cyrus, fighting my way toward him.
“I had to come from the floor below. Had to run up the stairs, and I’m hopelessly out of shape,” he puffed. He reached out for the nearest Dragon cultist, a man unsheathing a knife, and snapped his neck. Hard-core. Who knew that Cyrus could be this dangerous? Fighting evil men like this, he was such a warrior. It was so hot.
He reached out to grab my arm. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“Wait, London,” I turned back trying to find her in the crowd. I couldn’t leave her there, even if she did try to serve me up the Dragon’s people. She had been trying to protect her family. “London!” I couldn’t find her anywhere; she must have bailed out of there the moment the Dragon’s people showed up. Someone tried to grab my arm, but I just managed to evade. I pushed the attacker into the others, and a large mob of them fell down. Cyrus yanked me hard, and I stumbled along behind. We burst into the hall.
“Wait!” I pointed to the open door. “Bruciate,” I whispered. It burst into flame.
Cyrus pulled me again, and we reached the fire alarm in the hallway. He yanked the handle down, and alarms started going off everywhere. People started peeking out into the hallway, clearly scared of the noises from London’s apartment but more scared of burning to death. Sprinklers went off overhead. Cyrus and I took advantage of the chaos to head for the stairwell.
“After them!” I heard the woman from the hallway shriek.
“This is one trap you should have left alone,” Cyrus grumbled as we ran down the stairs, pushing other occupants of the apartment building out of our way. One glance back proved that several Dragon cultists were hot on our heels.
“I promise I won’t walk into any more traps after this.”
Cyrus flung open the door to the lower floor and we rushed through. The air suddenly felt less heavy, lighter.
“We’re clear of the antitransport spell,” Cyrus said. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“We’re going back to my place,” I said. “Aprite il portale.”
Before we were safe, the last thing I saw was the members of the Dragon cult throwing open the door and rushing for us.
CHAPTER SVENTEEN
We burst into my bar with a crash. Normally, to access my universe a magic-user would have to know where the door is: down a dark alley in Megolopolis, behind a biker bar named The Watering Hole. Portals to another reality are the ultimate club security, better than scary bouncers or secret passwords, though I have used both of those as backup from time to time. Since I own the place—or to be more specific, found the place and set up its protective magics—I know how to bypass its security. I can open the metaphysical bathroom window, so to speak.
I’d shut the bar down when leaving with Adam, which had turned out to be a good move. Had it really only been hours ago? I’d sent my djinn and the patrons on their merry ways, as I didn’t like the bar running without me. Not that I’m a control freak, exactly—okay, I am—but I also don’t like the idea of people roaming around my house when I’m not at home. I’d never been happier to have that phobia than now.
As I stepped inside, the bar was silent and empty. Shadows were everywhere, and every noise we made seemed to echo louder than the din when the place was crowded with casters. It had always been a bit creepy unoccupied, and I always felt a bit on edge when I was here alone—which was probably why I’d ended up eventually breaking down and bringing it closer to the regular world again.
But, I wasn’t completely alone here. Not now.
“Thanks for the help back there,” I said to Cyrus, panting after the fight and then the run down the stairs and hallway. What? You try doing all of that without getting winded at more than 2,000 years old, especially in a cocktail dress and high-heeled boots!
“No problem,” Cyrus said, sounding just as out of breath.
“We should be okay now,” I announced. “I’ve never seen any of those guys around my place, so I kind of doubt they know where we went.”
“Unless they followed your teleportation signature,” Cyrus said.
That, of course, was when the loud metaphysical bang sounded on my front door. It was a warning of sorts, as cultists then started trying to push into my reality.
Since my wards were what protected this universe, and because I was so magically tied to this place, all damage they did was reflected to me. I cringed at the ensuing white-hot shear of pain. The walls around me shuddered like they were going to collapse; the cultists weren’t at the doorway between realities, which they could have easily accessed and not hurt anything, but were trying to follow me by other means. They were trying to push through the walls, which was extremely painful.
I whirled on Cyrus. “Why would you say that?”
“It’s not like I told them to do it!”
“No, but you practically willed it to happen by saying it!” Too late I remembered the spell they’d cast that turned my arm numb. “They marked me with some sort of tracer spell. Quick, see if you can take it off.”
Since those kind of spells are notoriously hard to take off oneself, I turned my attention to pushing back the cultists’ attempts to get in. I gritted my teeth and spoke quick words in Italian, but another wave of pain hit me. Damn it! If they got through, I would sustain a significant amount of damage; I probably wouldn’t be any help to Cyrus in fighting them back. They could cart me off to wherever they wanted, and I’d be helpless. I spat out the words to a ward. No way was that going to happen.
Cyrus took my arm in his grasp and started tracing symbols on it, all while whispering what seemed an endless stream of numbers. The feeling of his finger running up and down my bare arm was doing strange things to me, making me shiver but also be too warm at the same time. It was seriously distracting me from my fight against the cultists.
I shook my head to clear the spike of lust. Now was not the time for attraction.
A spasm of pain wracked me, and I could see a slight flicker from the other side of the room, like a crack starting to open in this reality. I cursed under my breath.
“I can’t break it without a spell book,” Cyrus said. “I don’t know the counterspell and this tracer’s on too tight.” He dropped my arm and saw the light. “Oh, shit. Fantazia!”
“I see it,” I said, teeth gritted.
“Lock it down!”
“I’m trying! Siamo vicini.” But telling our assailants that we weren’t open for business wasn’t helping, and they pushed their way in farther. Every inroad felt like a punch to my stomach.
I doubled over in pain just as I saw Cyrus hurry over to the other side of the room. He punched one of the cultists who had somehow made it halfway inside. They scuffled momentarily; then Cyrus got the upper hand and pushed the cultist out.
“Shut it down!” he hissed.
“What do you think I’m trying to do? I’ve already tried hanging out the closed sign, but it’s not exactly working.” I was beginning to see stars from the pain.
“Then try something else!”
“The only other thing is kind of drastic.”
“Will it keep them out?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Then do it!” He pushed another cultist outside.
The pain and stress had gotten to me. “Fine,” I snapped. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Ce ne andiamo.”
As the words left my mouth, the walls shuddered horribly. The rift disappeared, causing Cyrus to fall over from the sudden end to his shoving match. The transmitter Mindy made for me squealed with feedback and then went silent. I ripped it off and set it down on a table. But . . . it felt like a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I leaned against the nearest table for support and breathed deep.
Casting the spell had taken a lot out of me, as did the aftershocks of the cultists trying to break in, so I sank to the floor exhausted but relieved. From my position there I could see that someone had stuck gum under one of my tab
les. Nice. I suddenly wished I had better chairs than these strange but stylish abominations scattered around the bar. I could use magic to change them, I supposed, but I’d done enough casting for one day. Especially after that last spell. I decided to just lie on the floor and collect myself.
“You did it!” I heard Cyrus say across the room.
“Yes, I did,” I agreed. “But at what cost?”
I could hear the frown in his voice. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I sighed. “I took us away for a while. My last spell did, anyway. I moved the pocket universe away from reality so no one can access it for a while. Nor can we leave.”
I heard scrambling as he sat up. “You’re kidding!”
Sighing, I dragged my tired body into a sitting position. I could see him getting to his feet. “Sorry, but I’m not,” I said, using the table to help force myself upright. Maybe I didn’t want to stand up, though, considering the way he was frowning at me.
“For how long?” he asked.
I shrugged. “Until that tracer spell dies. A day. A week. A month. For however long it takes. I built my spell on theirs. And when we do get back, I’m going to have to change the locks,” I realized. “I can’t have cultists busting in here to kidnap me when I sleep.”
I sighed, realizing a few other things. “The door everyone used before is permanently shut down. Talk about bad for business. None of my good customers are going to be able to come around for a while—at least, not until I get them a new address. Of course, one of my good customers is trying to kill me, so . . .” I shut off the steady stream of babble when I saw his eyes darken.
“Well, what did you do it for, if it’s going to cause so much trouble?” he blasted. “Surely there are other spells you could have used.”
“Not any I could think of. Not with you pressuring me to hurry!” I frowned at the irritation he was projecting. “Listen, you were the one getting all bossy back there and telling me to do whatever I could to make them go away. I did, and now you’re getting grouchy? If you can do better, next time you cast the spells and I’ll punch the cultists!”
“The last time you did that, I had to come to the rescue!”
So he had. And, as terribly old-fashioned as it was, that he had come to my rescue was a huge turn-on. I hadn’t been rescued in years. I kind of loved it.
At the same time, it made me mad that he’d reminded me of it. A combined rush of exhaustion, lust and anger made me flustered. “Well . . . you’re . . .”
“I’m what?” he challenged.
“You’re . . . being such a guy right now,” I snapped.
He looked surprised. I guess he’d been expecting a better comeback. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means what it means.” I didn’t even know what I was saying anymore; all I knew was that I was so tired and irritated that I was practically punch-drunk. But my biggest distraction was being turned on by Cyrus having burst in and save the day like that. Even now, bickering back and forth, I couldn’t help but notice the dark glint in his blue eyes, the way his rumpled shirt tightened around his shoulders and biceps . . . My weird attraction to him had only grown, and now my ancient blood craved him like a drug.
Deep down, I knew why he did it for me. I could admit it now. When I looked at him I didn’t see a dangerous, brutish thug. I didn’t see a former villain, or even someone whose true nature was all about looking out for number one. I saw the real Cyrus, and I liked what I saw. I saw the man willing to give up everything for a child who would never know him. I saw a warrior, someone who would fight until the death if need be for whoever was at his side. It was making me rethink my entire attitude toward mortals. Though I didn’t relish the thought of watching him grow old and die. But he wasn’t going to do that at right this moment.
“Well . . . you’re being a woman.” His comeback turned out as lame as mine. He didn’t seem to be paying attention to what he was saying either. I suppose neither of us was in any shape to argue. I had gone from drop-dead tired to straight-up ogling, and the way he was starting to look at me was anything but congenial. It was more like he wanted to rip off my clothes here and now. Maybe he was even wound up enough that he would.
“Please tell me I’m not the only one thinking very dirty thoughts right now,” I whispered, moving toward him. When had my breathing sped up? I prayed he wouldn’t react like he had the other times I’d come on to him. Although he hadn’t exactly pushed me away during that last kiss . . .
“It’s not just you.”
“We’re locked in here together,” I said carefully, closing the distance, “for who knows how long. At least twenty-four hours.”
“This is true.” He didn’t move as I approached him, just eyed me with caution, like I was wild animal that might turn on him at any moment. Maybe I would.
“There is something we could do to pass the time,” I said. “Something we probably should have done a long time ago.”
“But we’d still have to find something else to do for the other twenty-three hours and fifty-seven minutes.”
That did it. I burst out laughing.
He just smiled.
“God, don’t be disappointing me like that, Cyrus!” I said, taking his hand and leading him toward the bar. “Weren’t you the one that promised me a life-changing experience?”
I didn’t say another word but skirted the bar and walked to the curtained-off area that was my domain. I brushed the heavy black drape aside and set about turning on the lights—not the off-putting spotlight I usually kept here, but a softer and diffuse magical light, as if there were many candles scattered around the room.
Cyrus dropped my hand but followed me in. I closed my eyes and cast the last spell I would for a while. It was the magic I usually cast at the end of the night, changing my throne room into a bedroom. Gone were the two facing couches, and in their places was my large, lush bed. It took up most of the space. I turned to see Cyrus watching me with a strange, almost wistful look. What was that about? Weren’t we both about to get what we wanted?
I decided to ignore it, and with a sexy grin I reached behind me to the zipper of my dress, sliding it all the way down. He didn’t move. I went to slip the dress off my shoulders, letting it fall into a pool at my feet, watching him the whole time. His eyes glittered with barely controlled heat, and I could see his jaw move, but he stood frozen, like a statue.
“Why are you doing this?” he asked, his jaw tight, like he was practically biting off the words. It was strange: I was getting naked for him, and he was getting mad?
“Because I want to . . . ?” I didn’t know why he was asking or entirely how to respond. It was my turn to watch him cautiously. I had a sudden thought that I’d gone too far, overplayed my hand, and he was going to mock me and leave. Except, he couldn’t.
He made a noise in the back of his throat, almost like a cross between a laugh and a growl. “Come on, Fantazia. Look at you and then look at me. Women like you do not seduce guys like me. You don’t follow through. Women like you don’t have sex with guys like me unless you’re extremely drunk or have an agenda.”
I was confused. “I’m not drunk, Cyrus . . . so, are you saying I have an agenda?” I put a hand on my hip and stared at him. That seemed to unnerve him, and he looked down. But then he met my eyes again and we locked gazes.
“Before I knew you this well I’d have said yes, you always have an agenda. I used to think that was why you flirted with me all the time just like you do with everyone else: to get the upper hand, to get power over me. It was all part of your persona. But now . . .” He shook his head. “Now I have no idea. Because you’ve had power over me for a long time. And I have no idea why you practically jumped me in the EHJ headquarters earlier. Because I cannot for the life of me figure out what you’d want with someone like me.”
“You get on me for being distrustful of the world, and look who’s even more distrustful.” I walked over and put my hands on his upper arms. O
oh, nice biceps. I ignored the momentary distraction and pressed on. “I’ll explain my motivations as clearly as possible, Cyrus. I want what everyone wants in this situation: Sex. An orgasm. And I want it with you. At this point, that’s my only agenda.”
He burst out laughing. “Jesus. Leave it to you to be that direct.”
“You’re the one asking what my agenda is.” I trailed my fingertips from his arms to his chest and stomach. Nice. Very nice. People mistakenly think Cyrus is soft, but they’re wrong. I found a wall of solid muscle.
His body was incredibly tense, like he was barely holding himself back. The muscle in his jaw twitched, and when he spoke his voice was rough. “Come on. Don’t pretend like you don’t know what I’m talking about. I know what I look like, Fantazia. I can’t just walk into a bar and have my pick of the women. I’m not hideous, but I’m no pretty boy either.”
“Thank God,” I said.
He gave me a disbelieving look. “Women like pretty boys. Don’t act like you’re any different. I’ve seen the guys you’ve flirted with here.”
That stung. I took a step back. “That’s because you’ve never seen me with any guy I was actually interested in. I kind of gave up on all of that after Andrew died. I chose flirting with the pretty boys because I knew I’d never get serious with any of them.” I kept my gaze steady. “I’m old, Cyrus. Very old. I’m from a time when ‘pretty’ wasn’t a big attraction for a woman. The pretty boys weren’t going to protect you from an invading army. Pretty boys might be nice to look at, but they’re practically useless when it comes down to the rough stuff. The necessary stuff. The only men I’ve ever really been interested in were soldiers and warriors.”
He was staring at me like I spoke in tongues. “You think I’m a warrior?”
“If you weren’t my particular brand of kink, Cyrus, I wouldn’t keep throwing myself at you—especially not when you’ve shown absolutely no interest in me all these years. It’s not like that’s not humiliating or anything.” I motioned to my state of undress. “Much like stripping down and then getting rejected yet again.”