Veiled Menace

by Deborah Blake

  She hesitated for a minute, not sure if he was even speaking to her. She’d been partially responsible for the death of his father, after all, so she’d hardly blame him if he wanted nothing to do with her. But his mother was right; he shouldn’t be alone.

  Coming up behind him, she put one hand hesitantly on his shoulder and said, “They’ve all gone. How are you holding up?”

  He shrugged, not looking at her. “I’m fine. It’s not as though we were close. I hardly knew him.” His muscles tensed under her hand in a way that belied his calm words.

  “That’s not the point, though, is it?” Donata answered. “You barely had any time with him at all. It’s not fair. You should have had a chance to become close, and someone stole that from you. It’s okay to be angry about that. It’s okay to be sad.”

  She paused, not sure if now was the right time to say what she was thinking. In the end, she proceeded, not knowing if she was making things better,or worse.

  “I’ll do anything I can to help; I hope you know that. Whatever you need.” She tightened her fingers, trying to send as much comfort and compassion as she could through that simple touch. “I’ll help with the Pentimento if you want me to. And I’ll help you find out who killed Raphael, if it is within my power. I promised him that, and I promise you.”

  Finally he turned to face her. “He spoke to you, didn’t he? Out in the mausoleum, he appeared to you?” His face was a study in contrasting hope and apprehension.

  Donata nodded. “Yes, he did,” she said softly. “He gave me a message for you.”

  Peter blinked, long black lashes temporarily masking his dark brown eyes. “What did he say?”

  She swallowed hard, fighting back tears. Relaying the words of the dead to their loved ones always tore her up, no matter how hard she tried to separate her own emotions from those of the deceased. This time was the worst of all, because of her strong feelings for Peter. But this was part of her gift, and maybe Raphael’s final communication would start the healing process for his son.

  “He said he was proud of you,” she told him. She could feel him tremble, and moved her hand from his shoulder to lay it over his heart. “He said he loved you, and that you were his greatest treasure.” His heartbeat fluttered rapidly under her fingers, and she wavered, but eventually added, “You made him happy, Peter. Just by existing, you made him so happy.”

  Chapter Forty-one

  Peter gave her a wan smile, one lone tear slipping down his cheek.

  “Thank you for telling me, Donata. It helps, really it does.” He sighed and pulled her close, burying his face in her hair, loosened for once from its confining braid. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  She wrapped her arms around him as tightly as she could. “I’m glad too, Peter. I’m so sorry about your father. And I meant it when I said I would help in any way I could. Just tell me what you need.”

  He raised his head, eyes dark with passion and loss locking onto hers. “You want to know what I need?” he asked hoarsely.

  Donata nodded, reaching slim fingers up to wipe the salty teardrop from his skin. She didn’t trust herself to speak, and could only hope that he could see her answer in her gaze.

  Peter took the hand she’d used to wipe away his tears and held it up to his lips. He brushed a soft kiss across her palm and she shivered.

  So quietly she could barely hear him, he whispered, “I need you, Donata. God, I need you right now.”

  “You have me,” she said. And she kissed him.

  As their lips came together, she tried to put the searing sweetness she felt into the melding of her mouth against his. His lips captured hers, aggressive and sensual, as though he could possess her wholly through only that single point of contact. His hands fumbled with the buttons on her shirt as he pushed her roughly up against the wall next to the picture window.

  “I want you,” he said again, his palm slipping under her bra to cup one breast. He pulled it out of its confines, and she gasped as his warm, wet mouth closed on the sensitive tip.

  “Yes,” she groaned. “Yes.”

  And that was all it took.

  Peter shoved her skirt up over her thighs, pressing his solid length against her body. One hand slid underneath, gliding over silky stockings to find the soft bare flesh above her garters. He kissed her hard—no gentle wooing this time, only animal passion and brokenhearted urgency.

  His touch burned, but she welcomed it anyway. Guilt and longing and affection were swept away on a sea of arousal such as she had never felt before. She met his rough kisses with even more violent ones of her own, moving her mouth to nip at his neck and chin.

  With a growl, he tore her panties aside and thrust himself inside her. The shock of his entry was borne away on waves of pleasure, and Donata clung to him with a fervor that must have left marks on his back.

  Lifting her higher in his muscular arms, Peter plunged into her again and again, knocking her against the wall with the force of his movements. Donata could feel the heat rising within her, consuming her like fire. It rushed from her core into her limbs and out the top of her skull, and she let out a primal scream as the joyous convulsions rocked her body from head to toe. Peter’s roar of triumph mixed with the sound of her cries as they clutched at each other in one final release.

  Donata could feel her knees tremble as he lowered her feet back to the floor; she wasn’t completely sure she could stand on her own. Peter gave a low satisfied chuckle as he pulled her skirt back down before walking them both a little shakily over to collapse onto the couch.

  They curled up together, his large body wrapped loosely around hers. Donata relaxed into his embrace, marveling at the sensations still pulsing through her tender flesh. Holy crap.

  “Wow,” she said with feeling. “That was . . . that was . . .” She gazed up at him.” I don’t know what the hell that was. But it was definitely amazing.”

  He laughed, brushing the damp hair away from her face. “Yes, it was.” His lips trailed languid kisses down the back of her neck. “And I feel much better, thank you.”

  “My pleasure,” she responded truthfully. “If you start feeling bad again in an hour or two, by all means, let me know.” She favored him with a saucy grin that made his eyes light up. “I’d be happy to do whatever I can to help you with the grieving process. Really. It’s the least I can do.”

  Turning her around to face him, Peter planted another kiss on her mouth. “Oh, don’t worry,” he said, “I think you can do much, much more. Here, let me show you what I had in mind.”

  Chapter Forty-two

  Donata slipped away reluctantly with the dawn. Since she’d driven over with Doc the previous day, she had to take a taxi home so she could shower, change, and head into work. She left Peter standing in front of the Pentimento, staring broodingly at his father’s notes.

  “I’d feel better if you would put that someplace safer,” she’d said as she was leaving. “I still think that attempted break-in might have been the Cabal. If they’ve realized the painting still exists and tracked it here, neither it nor you are safe.”

  Peter had only shaken his head and shrugged. Clearly not a morning person.

  She resolved to discuss it with him again later, and then the cab honked out in front of the metal gates and she’d kissed him briefly and ran out the door.

  Back at her own apartment, she closed the door behind her and slipped off the dress jacket she’d worn instead of her usual leather. Yawning, she prepared to toss it over the back of the couch on her way across the room.

  There was the sound of a voice clearing loudly behind her and Ricky said, “I hope you’re not planning on just dropping that there, Missus. I spent all night cleaning.”

  Goddess, it was like living with her mother.

  Still, she hung the coat off of the rack by the door instead.

  “Hey,” she said, “
I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to call you last night to tell you I was staying at Peter’s after the funeral. Things got kind of . . . um . . . complicated.” She smiled to herself, feeling the slight ache of the previous day’s activities as she walked toward the bedroom to grab some clean clothes.

  “Complicated,” the Kobold said grumpily. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” She yawned again and he took pity on her. “I’ll go make some coffee. You take a shower; it will be ready by the time you come out.”

  She blew him a kiss as she passed him, and he blushed as he scrambled onto the stool that would allow him to reach the kitchen counter.

  “Oh, hey, Donata,” he said when she was almost out of the room, “I forgot to tell you. That creep Anton called a couple of times last night. He sounded kind of peeved. Just said to call him, and asked why you weren’t answering your cell.”

  Donata came to a halt in the doorway that led down the short hallway to her bedroom and bathroom. She dug around in the purse she’d carried yesterday and finally found her cell phone in a side pocket. She’d turned it off during the funeral, and had been too preoccupied with Peter to turn it back on afterward.

  Crap squared.

  Sure enough, there was a series of text messages from Anton, asking her to meet with him. The last one simply said, “Will come to yr apt 8 PM Wed.”

  Wednesday. That was today. Great.

  Well, she’d wanted to talk to him, although she’d been hoping to find someplace a little more public, like a café or the library or the park. Still, she felt pretty confident in her ability to handle him, and she had an ace in the hole that he didn’t know about.

  “He’s coming here tonight at eight,” she said to her ace.

  Ricky growled in protest. “I don’t like it, Missus. I don’t trust him. It’s not safe.”

  “I really don’t think he means me any harm, Ricky,” she said. “Besides, you’ll be here. He’s not going to do anything in front of a witness.”

  The Kobold perked up. “You mean I get to come out in the open?” He usually had to hide when she had guests, unless it was another Paranormal. Doc knew about Donata’s diminutive housemate, but Donata and Doc didn’t spend much time together at either of their places, preferring to go out to Benders, instead. In truth, she rarely had guests of any kind, and she suspected the little man was a tad bored with her relatively uninteresting company.

  “You bet,” she answered, resuming her course toward the bedroom and a hot shower. “Since it turns out he’s not Human after all, there’s no reason for you not to show yourself. And if you’re sitting right there, at least he won’t be expecting me to jump into bed with him.”

  With Ricky chuckling at that, she went off to get ready for work and what passed as her normal existence.

  * * *

  “I suppose you’re wondering why I called you all here,” Donata said in her best mystery-movie-dénouement voice. Peter and Doc sat across from her, the remnants of three overloaded sandwiches from the neighboring deli scattered on top of Donata’s desk amid a few stray chips and the end of a pickle. The stacks of files that usually lived there had been temporarily relocated to the floor and an extra desk chair swiped from the office next door so they could hold this impromptu confab.

  Donata figured it was time she shared with them what she’d learned from her aunt about the Major Anemoi; especially since she was meeting with Anton tonight. Tatiana wouldn’t be happy if she learned that Donata had let others in on the secret that had been passed down only through the family for so long, but Donata didn’t care. What she knew was too important to risk losing the information if it turned out she was wrong about the intentions of her former boyfriend.

  Peter raised one eyebrow quizzically. “I did think it was kind of odd that you suddenly insisted on having lunch with both of us, but to be honest, I thought you were just trying to cheer me up.”

  Doc grinned at both of them equally. “What, she didn’t do enough of that last night?” She snorted into her milkshake.

  Donata blushed and kicked Doc under the desk. Sheesh. She was never telling that woman anything ever again. Peter just laughed, giving Donata a smoldering look that raised her blood pressure and made her want to boot Doc out so she could throw him down on the nearest flat surface and have her wicked way with him.

  Taking a deep breath, she tried to regain her focus. This was too vital to allow wild hormones to get in her way. Besides, there was always later . . .

  “Never mind that,” she said sternly to Doc. “Miss Big Mouth.”

  “That’s Doctor Big Mouth to you, young lady,” Doc said without missing a beat. “So, what did you want to talk to us about, if not your finally interesting sex life?” She chuckled, completely unrepentant.

  Argghhh. Time to change the subject.

  “I’ve found out the identity of the missing sixth race,” she said. “Thought you might want to know.” Ha! That ought to get their attention.

  Doc’s eyes widened. “Shut up! Seriously? You found the answer? How long have you known?”

  Peter stared at her in shock. “Did you figure something out from looking at the painting and not tell me?” He shoved his chair back, putting a little more distance between them.

  Donata rolled her eyes. “No, I didn’t figure out anything from the Pentacle Pentimento, except to recognize the symbols on the painting as maybe being the same as the tattoo on Anton Eastman’s neck. Which we didn’t get a chance to talk about, because you got all snippy with me.” She turned to Doc. “And I found out the day before yesterday, but I just didn’t get a chance to tell you before now. There’s been a lot going on, in case you hadn’t noticed. Raphael’s funeral, for one.”

  The petite coroner cast a guilty glance in Peter’s direction. “Yeah, okay, I see your point.” She ignored Peter’s scowl and asked, “So if you didn’t find out from the painting, then how do you know who they are?”

  “Believe it or not, my Aunt Tatiana told me.”

  Stunned silence greeted that unlikely pronouncement.

  “That sweet old lady?” Doc said with bewilderment. “How on earth would she know?”

  Peter had never met Tatiana, although he’d had the dubious pleasure of spending time with Donata’s mother and sisters when they were helping to rescue Lily from the clutches of the sinister Cabal.

  “Isn’t that the aunt who’s a hundred years old?” he asked, equally confused. “Are you sure she knows what she’s talking about?”

  “One hundred and seventeen,” Donata said. “But she’s as sharp as a tack. And apparently she’s also the keeper of a world-shattering secret that’s been passed down through the generations on my father’s side of the family. Even my parents don’t know. She’d been planning on telling me when she thought I was ready, but when I mentioned Anton’s tattoos it kind of moved up her timetable.”

  “What do Anton’s tattoos have to do with anything?” Doc asked. She leaned forward in her chair, looking confused. “Everyone has tattoos.”

  “Not me,” Donata said.

  Doc stuck her tongue out. “That’s just because I haven’t gotten you drunk enough yet. It’s just a matter of when, what, and where you’re going to put it.”

  Peter banged his hand on the desk, making the chips jump. “Can we focus, please? Donata, are you saying that your pal Anton’s tattoos really do match the symbols we found on the Pentimento? And if so, what does that mean?”

  “It means,” Donata said with a grimace, “that the answer was right under my nose all along.” She was completely annoyed with herself for not having figured it out sooner. “Aunt Tatiana told me that the missing sixth race is called the Major Anemoi. And those markings on the back of his neck mean that my pal Anton is one of them.”

  “Major Anemoi?” Peter said with astonishment, at the same time Doc exclaimed, “I knew I didn’t tru
st the son of a bitch!”

  Donata waited until they’d both stopped shouting and then shared almost everything Tatiana had told her about the Major Anemoi. She wasn’t quite ready to get into the issue of her unusual heritage.

  “So you can see why I have to meet with Anton and let him at least have a chance to explain why he did what he did,” Donata finished. “I don’t forgive him for drugging me and trying to trick me, but I understand that someone could get desperate if the fate of his entire race was on the line. And if the Major Anemoi are somehow involved in this upsurge in Paranormal crime, maybe he has information that could help me find out just who is behind it.”

  “You can’t be serious!” Doc exclaimed. “The man is a weasel; you can’t trust anything he says. I don’t want you meeting with him. What he did was inexcusable.”

  Donata shook her head in denial, although in the back of her mind, she felt a flutter of shame and violation. And to be honest, she had hardly slept since that last bunch of nightmares, except for a few hours the night before, in the safety of Peter’s arms.

  “I need to find out what he knows,” she said stubbornly. “There is too much at stake.”

  “Fine,” Doc said, equally mulish. “Then let me go with you. If he tries anything, I’ll hit him with my shoe.”

  Laughter bubbled up at the thought of the tiny coroner tackling a high-powered Paranormal being that used to be thought of as a god. There was something very David and Goliath about the vision. But she wasn’t about to risk her friend getting hurt, so she shook her head. “Not a chance.”

  “Then I’ll go,” Peter said, an aggressive gleam in his dark eyes. “I’ve been wanting to meet this guy anyway.”

  “Oh, yeah, that would go well,” Donata responded. “I don’t think my apartment can take that much testosterone all at one time.”

  “Your apartment!” Peter and Doc exclaimed together.

  Peter stood up, hands curled into fists. “You can’t possibly think it is a good idea to meet up with this guy in private, Donata. What is wrong with you?” His face showed a mixture of concern, anger, and frustration. “I insist you let me be there if you’re going to see him at your apartment.”