by Karen Kincy
He held himself, frozen, before pounding into her, hard and fast and at an angle that hit her with intense pleasure.
When he came, spurting into her, his groan brought her to the brink.
Wendel II watched with shadowy eyes. “But I want to come in your mouth.” He tilted his head. “Or between your breasts.”
“Wait,” she said. “Let me ride you.”
Panting, Wendel I climbed off of her. “Give me a moment.”
When she stood, wetness slid down her thighs. Wendel II’s gaze dropped, his lips parted. She shoved him on the bed and straddled him. He bucked his hips, eager to enter her, but she took him slowly and savored every inch.
“Touch yourself,” he said.
And she did, flinging her hair back and closing her eyes while she came in hard waves. Panting, she bent over him and kissed him. He took advantage of the lull to stroke inside her, gently, since she was still sensitive.
“Come again,” he murmured into her mouth. “Moan for me.”
It was easier the second time, and the third. She arched her spine, her bones liquid. Lying beside them on the bed, Wendel I watched them with heavy-lidded eyes, caressing himself with lazy satisfaction and simmering hunger.
“I’m close,” Wendel II said.
She circled her hips, tormenting him, until he drove even deeper and grunted, coming hard. Sweat glittered on his forehead.
Wendel I let out a husky little laugh. “My turn.”
He flipped her onto her back and sank into her, bollocks deep. “You’re so wet.”
She let out a breathless laugh. “Your fault as much as mine.”
While Wendel I started to thrust again, Wendel II knelt beside him and kissed him, with surprising tenderness.
“Oh, God,” she gasped.
They broke apart, if only so Wendel I could concentrate on hammering into her harder. Pleasure hit her in a tsunami, obliterating all thought, and she clung to him. When she opened her eyes, she saw him smirking at her.
“Is it that easy?” Wendel I said. “We only have to kiss?”
“Why not more?” she said, daring him with her eyes.
They glanced at each other.
“Would that please you?” Wendel II said, his voice gravelly.
“I’m asking you the same question,” she said.
Wendel I grunted. “I would prefer to come inside you.”
“Oh? Then come.”
He didn’t have to be told twice. Closing his eyes, he took her fast, then slow, throbbing deep inside her with a hoarse moan.
Spent, the three of them lay on the bed in a tangle of limbs and sweaty skin.
“My God,” Wendel II said. “I should get married more often.”
Wendel I laughed. “Agreed.”
Like a shadow, the thought of Thorsten darted across her mind. But tonight didn’t belong to him. She tugged a sheet over herself, shivered, and closed her eyes. Wendel–she wasn’t sure which one–kissed her on the forehead.
At last, she fell asleep.
~
In the snowy light of morning, Ardis took a bath. At least, she meant to, but each Wendel had other plans. They abandoned the tub only after the water went cold. Shivering, she toweled herself dry and combed the tangles from her hair.
“My muscles are sore,” she said.
“Which?” His hair wet, Wendel I rubbed fog from the mirror.
“Everywhere.”
Wendel II laughed. “You’re welcome.” He stroked his beard. “Should I shave?”
“Don’t,” she said. “Makes it easier to tell you two apart.”
“Oh?” Wendel I arched an eyebrow. “I thought it was obvious he was the evil one.”
Wendel II snorted. “You’re no saint yourself.”
Ignoring their banter, Ardis tugged on a clean pair of clothes. “I’m starving.”
“You should be,” Wendel I said.
She rolled her eyes. “Get dressed. No nudity at breakfast.”
They headed down to the lobby together. Lured by the scent of coffee and bread, she entered the cafe. She lowered herself into a chair and winced at her aching thighs. Hopefully no one had heard them last night. Or this morning.
“Good morning, madam and sirs.” A waiter slid menus across their table. “Could I interest you with something to drink?”
“Coffee,” Wendel II said.
“Plenty of it,” Wendel I added.
Ardis smiled. “I’ll have the same.” After the waiter left, she spread the napkin in her lap. “We have work to do today.”
Wendel I looked at her with simmering eyes. “Work or work?”
“Thorsten.”
Wendel II grimaced. “How disappointing.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but Himmel strode into the cafe. The captain’s hair was rumpled rather than combed smooth.
“Have you seen Konstantin?” Himmel said.
“I haven’t,” Ardis said.
“He took Fang on a walk. I thought he might stop for a cup of coffee.”
Wendel II leaned forward in his chair. “When did he leave?”
“An hour ago.” Himmel raked his fingers through his hair. “Why?”
Wendel I glanced at his doppelgänger. Though neither necromancer said anything, they both had tension in their shoulders.
“Tell him,” Ardis said.
“Christ,” Wendel II said. “Thorsten Magnusson is alive.”
Himmel frowned. “What does the Grandmaster have to do with this? You don’t think–?”
“Thorsten loves to play with his prey.” Wendel I spoke in a hollow voice. “The more defenseless, the better.”
“But Konstantin?” Himmel said, glancing between them. “Why?”
The waiter returned. No one spoke, the silence broken only by the gurgle of coffee pouring, until he left their table.
Wendel I peered around the cafe. “I know what’s been driving Thorsten insane.”
“There are two of us,” Wendel II said.
“Exactly. He knows we can’t be twins, not by birth, because he saw the two black daggers. He forged only one Amarant.”
Ardis raised her eyebrows. “Thorsten forged your dagger?”
“Had it forged.” Wendel II brushed a crumb off the table. “He wanted to find more ways to exploit my necromancy.”
“Is that why he wants Konstantin?” Himmel said.
“No.” Wendel I matched stares with his doppelgänger, his eyes piercing. “He wants to know if one of us traveled through time.”
Wendel II nodded. “And Konstantin is the expert on temporal magic.”
Fear tightened Himmel’s face, but he squared his shoulders. “Understood.”
Ardis stared into her black coffee, watching steam whirl and vanish. She hadn’t drunk a drop. Dread weighted down her stomach.
“Has anyone seen my mother?” she said.
“No,” Wendel I said.
She shoved her chair from the table and strode from the cafe, at a normal pace, though her heartbeat thudded against her ribs.
Upstairs, she knocked on Jin Hua’s door. To her immense relief, it opened.
“Yu Lan?” Bleary-eyed, her mother wore a dressing gown. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” Ardis bit the inside of her cheek. “Not nothing. Wendel II returned last night, and he knows Thorsten isn’t dead.”
Jin Hua swore in Chinese. “I had a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.”
“It gets worse. Konstantin has been missing for the last hour.”
“Why would Thorsten want the archmage?”
She shook her head. “Come down to breakfast. Wendel can explain it better than I can.”
“Give me a minute.”
When Ardis brought her mother down to the cafe, Himmel and Wendel II had already left. She glanced at Wendel I.
“Where did they go?” she said.
“To look for Konstantin.” He grabbed his coat from his chair. “No time to lose.”
~
Snow blotted out the sky as Ardis, Wendel I, and Jin Hua walked the streets of Kiel.
They found Fang on the dirty slush of the street. The white shepherd paced, whining, her flanks quivering. Blood stained her muzzle.
“Come here, girl.” Wendel dropped to his knees by the dog. “Are you hurt?”
With a whimper, Fang held still and let him inspect her.
“She’s fine,” Wendel said. “The blood must not be her own.”
Gripping her sheathed sword, Ardis glanced around the street. “Any sign of Konstantin?”
“Not yet.”
From the rooftops, Krampus winged overhead. “Grok.” He landed on a lamp post with a thunk of talons and feathers.
“Ask the raven,” Jin Hua said.
Wendel tilted his head. “Krampus? Find Konstantin.”
Fang barked at the raven, who leapt into flight. Ardis spotted the dog’s leash trailing in the slush and wrapped it around her fist.
“This might be a waste of time,” Wendel said.
Fang tugged on her leash, following the raven, and dragged Ardis along.
“Any brilliant insights?” she said.
“Not at the moment.” He shook his head with a grim smile. “Hardly Sherlock Holmes.”
Bitter wind howled though Kiel and stole their warmth. Ardis hugged herself tight, her jacket no match for the Prussian winter.
Krampus flew over the city, away from the Hotel am Meer, parallel to the shoreline.
Jin Hua kept pace beside them. “Where are the others?”
“By the docks,” Wendel said. “Searching near the airship sheds.”
The buildings were decaying here; bricks crumbled into dust. Fang barked and dragged Ardis across the street, toward a hotel with boarded windows. In an alley nearby, Krampus perched on the hood of a black automobile.
“Ardis,” Wendel said.
Blood dotted the snow, a single drop outside the auto.
A homeless man huddled, sleeping under a ragged blanket, on the threshold of the hotel. Maybe he had seen something.
When Ardis crouched by him, Fang let out a low growl. “Excuse me.”
The homeless man didn’t stir. The scent of alcohol and urine clung to him.
“He’s dead,” Wendel said.
She leapt back. “Why didn’t you say so?”
“I wasn’t sure.” He tugged the blanket away. “Too recent.”
Ugly bruises purpled the man’s neck. He had been strangled in his sleep.
“Thorsten,” Jin Hua said. It wasn’t a question. “No witnesses.”
Wendel braced himself, his knuckles in the snow, before he glanced at the door to the lobby. “I should go alone.”
“No,” Ardis and Jin Hua said, at the same time.
He pushed himself to his feet. “You don’t understand. Thorsten–”
“Thorsten will kill you.” Jin Hua stared at him with hard eyes. “Again.”
“Thank you for the vote of confidence,” Wendel muttered.
“She’s right,” Ardis said. “We get Konstantin and we get out.”
Another growl rumbled from Fang’s throat. The dog wanted to fight, but she would be too noisy for a stealthy approach.
“Take Fang.” Ardis held out the leash. “Find the others.”
Jin Hua locked gazes with her. “Hurry.”
“We will.”
The fur along Fang’s spine bristled, but she obeyed Jin Hua. Together, they crossed the street and vanished around the corner.
When Wendel stared at the blank sky, his eyes looked gray, almost colorless.
“If I die,” he said, “my doppelgänger won’t be here to bring me back.”
“Lend me your necromancy,” Ardis said. “It worked in Constantinople.”
He grimaced. “You want to revive me?”
“Insurance.”
“Good point.”
Wendel cradled her face between his hands. His skin burned with cold fire. Closing his eyes, he kissed her on the forehead.
She gasped at the surge of magic. His necromancy–only a little–settling in her bones.
TWENTY-THREE
When they broke into the abandoned hotel, mildew polluted her nose. Cobwebs draped every corner like funeral shrouds. The hotel had never been a grand one, with a tacky carpet ruined by stain upon stain, and peeling wallpaper the color of pus. Wendel gripped her hand, her heartbeat pulsing against his calloused fingers.
This was a suicide mission. Thorsten Magnusson, the Grandmaster of the Order of the Asphodel, had a lifetime of experience. She had been fighting for only two years. While Wendel may have been the best of Thorsten’s assassins, she doubted Wendel knew how to fight the way Thorsten still ruled over his thoughts.
“Ready?” he murmured.
Fear made her tongue taste metallic. “Yes.”
Wendel drew the black dagger. Shadows hissed over their skin. Together, they crept down a hallway. Silence choked the air; no light leaked beyond the doors. She turned a doorknob, wincing when the hinges whined.
This room had been stripped by thieves, leaving only a stained mattress.
“We can’t check every door,” Wendel whispered.
“Agreed,” she said.
“When we find them, free Konstantin. Distract Thorsten, whatever it takes. I will attack under cover of darkness.”
Her gut tightened. “No.”
“No?”
“That’s exactly what Thorsten expects.”
“But–”
“You should free Konstantin, hidden by shadows, while I attack Thorsten.”
“Ardis.” A rasp roughened his words. “He will strike to kill.”
“I know.”
At the end of the hallway, they reached a staircase. He held the door. Together, they climbed to the second floor.
Wendel placed every footstep with care, sliding his boots along the filthy carpet, scarcely disturbing the shadows of the black dagger. Ardis mimicked his stealth, nudging aside rodent bones so they didn’t crunch underfoot.
What if Thorsten didn’t want Konstantin for his knowledge of time magic? What if, instead, he wanted him to break the Hex?
Her back stiffened as she imagined a bullet between her shoulders.
“Wendel,” she said, barely above a whisper.
But he quieted her and tugged her down the hall. She understood the need for silence; even a single cough could betray them.
A rat skittered across; she flinched and swallowed a curse.
Blood speckled the carpet. One footstep away. She froze until Wendel followed her gaze. Together, they tracked the blood.
It led them to the last door on the left.
Halting, she held her breath, though she heard only the pounding of her heartbeat. With infinite care, Wendel pressed his ear against the door. She did the same. Through the wood, the faint murmur of voices traveled.
“…could refer you to an excellent textbook on the subject. What did you–?”
Konstantin was interrupted. Abruptly.
Wendel stiffened, his fingernails biting her hand. She couldn’t see his face, in the dark, but she could feel his fear.
Taking a breath, she grabbed the doorknob. It rattled but didn’t open.
Wendel swore, stepped back, and kicked down the door. They rushed into the room, shadowed by the black dagger.
Konstantin slumped on the carpet, his wrists roped behind his back.
By the window, Thorsten stood in silhouette. Dim light crept through the dirty glass and glinted on the blade in his hand.
“Wendel.” Thorsten cocked his head. “And Ardis?”
Blood stained the ragged sleeve on his right arm–Fang had bitten him.
From the floor, Konstantin lifted his head. “There’s no one here.”
“Are you deaf?” Thorsten said, amicably.
She held her breath, since it must have betrayed her presence, and clenched Wendel’s hand. The instant she let go, she would lose her cover. She tugged him
along the wall, closer to Thorsten, waiting until the last second.
Konstantin wormed along the floor, trying to get away, and Thorsten rewarded him for his efforts by kicking him in the face.
Curling, Konstantin spat blood on the carpet. “I can tell you more about temporal magic.”
“You’re the most useless archmage I’ve ever met,” Thorsten said.
“Joke’s on you. I quit.”
Thorsten flipped the dagger and tilted his head, enough for her to see the look in his eyes–that of a surgeon considering his first cut.
They needed to disable or distract him, then get the hell out of here.
Wendel’s breath warmed her ear. “Go.” He dropped her hand.
She drew her sword. Shadows rippled from her skin, a receding tide of darkness, while flames ignited along her blade. Chun Yi’s enchantment reawakened, the sword’s thirst for blood pulsing against her palm like a heartbeat.
Konstantin twisted to look at her, his face swelling with bruises. “Ardis.”
But she ignored him. She had to.
Thorsten’s eyes glinted in the firelight. “I had planned for you to die another way.”
“How?” she said.
He blinked, like he hadn’t expected the question. “Guess.”
Sword held low, she circled him, trying to flank him. He tracked her with his gaze, his stance relaxed, almost lazy.
“I haven’t been impressed by your imagination,” she said.
Thorsten raised his eyebrows. “I haven’t been anything but disappointed by you.”
“Please.” She bared her teeth. “Have you been comparing me with other daughters? How many do you have?”
“Who can tell with whores?”
“You must have spent an awful lot on women.”
She heard the rasp of a blade sawing through rope–Wendel, freeing Konstantin–but she didn’t risk a glance back.
“Your mother begged for it,” Thorsten said.
Ardis snorted. “How do you think a courtesan makes her money?”
“How much has Wendel been paying you?”
“A fortune.” She took another step. “I have my eye on the rest of his inheritance.”
Her heartbeat hammered in her throat. She didn’t want to get too close to him; a dagger could stab where a sword was too long.
“Does he ask you to play dead?” Thorsten said.
“Do you like imagining that?”