by Joey W. Hill
Medusa was unsure, so she turned toward John and opened her eyes. He was still wearing the contacts, after all, so if Yvette was wrong, he should still be protected. And she wanted to see his face before any other.
They’d gone from battle to two portal jumps, all three uncertain situations, and he still had that warrior’s alertness in his steely gaze, the set of his jaw. That, as well as his stiff movements and the blood on him, reminded her. “He is hurt. He needs attention. An arrow went through his shoulder. And my snakes…”
She knew neither Earthson nor Treebark had used venom, but the bites still needed care. There were so many things to deal with at the moment, and maybe that was part of why she wanted to focus on only one thing, the thing that felt the most important to her. Caring for him.
“I’m all right, snake-girl,” he said quietly. “Let’s finish introducing you to Lady Yvette.”
His tone held an undercurrent of warning she reluctantly heeded. When she hesitated to look away from him, he touched her face. “Trust Lady Yvette. She’s very powerful. If she says your eyes are safe, they are.”
Medusa could feel the solid barrier of energy Yvette had placed around her, a faint hum along her nerves. Placing faith in John’s opinion, she turned to meet the gaze of their hostess and see the others in the room.
Lady Yvette Reese was as intimidating as everyone had implied. She also wasn’t human. Medusa knew it as soon as she met her eyes, a swirling gold and gray, like the sun behind wisps of storm clouds. She was a black woman whose skin had the color and luster of bronze. Her nails, painted deep gold, were curved sharp points, reminding Medusa of her own claws—the ones she no longer had—only these were merely the woman’s nails, grown out and filed that way. Her hair was plaited into numerous slim golden braids, piled in waves around her face in a manner that made the resemblance to a lion’s mane striking.
Yvette’s gaze slid from Medusa to John. When her gaze fell upon the blood on his clothes, she touched a delicate tongue to her full lips, exposing fangs. As well as an expression of undeniable hunger.
Lamia, daughter of Hecate and demonic blood drinker, had feet as bronze as Lady Yvette’s skin, and was a seducer of men. The older priestesses had told the wide-eyed acolytes stories of Lamia’s children. As Medusa had grown up, she’d realized they were just stories—until she’d become one of those nightmares herself and realized many unsettling things in the world were real, not merely figments of human fears. And Yvette was obviously not human.
She shifted in front of John in an instant. He gripped her arm as if to ease her back, but she set her feet and met the woman’s gaze in challenge. They wouldn’t stay here if John was in danger. Klotho had dramatically described men being drained in their beds, leaving only piles of bone with skin stretched over them. John wasn’t going to become like that.
Yvette smiled, a glittering full baring of her sharp teeth. “She knows I am a vampire, John. She’s worried I won’t be able to resist my dietary impulses.”
She cocked her head, the fall of locks below the pinned curves brushing her shoulder like silken ropes. “John’s blood would be sweet, young one, but here at the Circus, we do not take what is not freely given. Though from what is freely given, I might demand much.”
Humor sparkled through her gold eyes. “Introduce yourself to me.”
“I am Medusa,” Medusa responded.
“The Gorgon. The terror of Greece. I expect you’ve heard similar stories of vampires. They are often true. Looking at you, I’m not so sure your stories are. You are brave, you have killed, but you are no predator. Though you do fight the darkness, don’t you? The one that steals into the soul when too many lives are taken. He has that as well, your John. It makes him a good fit for you, and for our merry band of misfits.”
“Lady Yvette,” John murmured. “Don’t.”
Medusa wondered if he was asking for mercy from her observations about him, or about Medusa. She couldn’t seem to look away from Yvette’s gaze. It felt like a cold shaft of steel was probing her heart. Yvette’s gaze shifted back to John, easing the feeling.
“Do not attempt to command me, John Pierce Zeus. Your need to protect her makes you mindlessly foolish.”
“It is a request, my lady. A heartfelt one. She’s been through a lot today.”
“Hmm.” Yvette’s still gaze returned to Medusa. “As I said, the blood I want is not his. I’ve already had his, a sample sent to me by Maddock in case JP ever had to enter our world outside the boundaries of the ‘real world.’ The price of entry into the Circus is that I take a taste of your blood to understand who you are, and to determine if it is appropriate for you to be here. If I should allow you to stay, send you back the way you came, or kill you so you can’t be a menace to anyone else.”
John’s tension made a lot more sense now, but it had been his idea to come here, so Medusa couldn’t believe they would come to true harm at Yvette’s hands. Though as Yvette had pointed out, they hadn’t had much choice, had they? She recoiled at the idea of letting a blood drinker feed from her, but Yvette had said a taste. She knew nothing of the species but what stories had been told, and she knew how inaccurate those stories could be. She needed to form her own impressions.
They appeared to be inside a large canvas tent. Chairs were piled up in one corner. Against them leaned a broad-shouldered man with dark hair shorn to the scalp, emphasizing a sharp widow’s peak. His face was strong and sculpted, dark eyes like a piece of night. Another vampire, she suspected. At his side was a wolf larger than any she’d ever seen. His head was the size of a bear’s. Even in a seated position, the wolf was level with the tall man’s elbow, the pricked ears up to his shoulder.
Wolves had been a special terror to sheep herders when she was growing up, so seeing the creature gave her a start. However, he was sitting quietly, albeit with an alarmingly fixed predatory gaze.
On the other side of the tent, she saw a winged creature, but not like herself. This male had a mane of hair that reminded her of the glossy dark brown stones under the waterfall on her island. It fell to his shoulders and framed penetrating eyes that…had no whites. They were entirely dark from corner to corner. That should have disturbed her, but when she met his gaze, she felt emotions like the ones John inspired in her. Not those related to desire and need, but shelter, warmth. Everything about this male said one would be safe with him. His wings were feathered with glossy dark green plumage. While she had wings herself, she wanted to go bury her face in those abundant feathers, hold on as the wings closed over her and kept the harsher things of the world forever at bay.
Now she found the source of the young woman’s voice. She stood at the winged man’s side. She wore many rings and slim metal bracelets that jangled as she shifted. Intricate brown dye tattoos embellished her arms. Her dress was a gypsy style skirt and flowing sleeveless top. Straight red hair fell down her back. Medusa noted the young woman was with the winged male, for she stood in front of him and was braced intimately against his crooked knee, watching the proceedings with bright, inquisitive eyes. She winked at Medusa and dimpled, as if to say, “They have to act scary, but it’s all okay.”
To the right of Yvette was a dwarf, with a disarmingly sexy smile on his strong face and in his glittering coal-colored eyes. He had thick, sandy hair and wore nothing but a pair of black pants in a shiny material that clung to his impressive leg muscles and…
She pulled her gaze away before getting caught ogling the impressive bulge at his groin area. Dwarves had come into town during the festival events, yet they’d been dressed and presented as comical figures, like strange children that entertained and fascinated the populace. Gundar—for she’d realized from his placement near Yvette he must be the one with the gravelly voice—emanated as much masculinity as the much taller John, and not just from the evidence of his virility. When her gaze slid past his, there was a self-confident authority there that gave her the same messages that John’s gaze did.
But th
e one behind Gundar unsettled her. Another winged male. His feathers were black and silver, the silver forming a jagged lightning shaped pattern amid the darker plumage. His hair was even darker, but of a similar length. While his eyes appeared to be gray, like John Pierce’s, she didn’t linger on them.
She sensed this male had a similar power to the one with the dark green wings, but the blatant sexuality pulsing off of him, and the nature of that energy, didn’t suggest safety or comfort. It made her step back so she was pressed against John’s front. She needed sudden, tactile reassurance that he was there. His arm coiled around her. Glancing up, she saw he had his eyes fastened on the male, and the expression on John’s face wasn’t friendly.
All of Medusa’s impressions had occurred in a blink, and now Yvette extended a hand. “Young one? I am waiting. As soon as we get this out of the way, we can show you to your quarters and tend to JP.”
Medusa looked up at John. “She tastes all who stay here,” he confirmed. “It’s her way of protecting her people. The Circus belongs to her, and all its performers are under her protection. Which they need.”
“Where are we?” she asked, because that was another thing she couldn’t determine. She didn’t understand what Yvette had said about being outside the boundaries of the “real world,” but there was an odd feel to this place, like it wasn’t entirely grounded in reality, hers or John’s. He confirmed it.
“The Circus exists in the fringe area between worlds. They use the portal network, specifically those entries and exits that run along magical fault lines, to travel from place to place. It’s an actual circus, so they emerge to do shows in select venues and then disappear again. Staying in the in-between places when they’re not doing shows protects them. And us, because it will make you impossible to track. It’s best not to make her wait. I can explain more later.”
Clasping her wrist in his hand and keeping his eyes on hers to make sure she was okay with that, John Pierce extended her arm, offering it to Yvette. “Probably best to go with the arm, my lady,” he said courteously to the vampire. “As sweet as her throat is, the snakes aren’t used to you yet. They’re more likely to keep their distance if you use the wrist.”
“And you don’t particularly care to see anyone tasting her throat except yourself.” Yvette’s amusement without rancor eased some of Medusa’s concerns, but she still wasn’t sure how she felt about letting anyone drink her blood. But John had expressed it was necessary to find refuge here. She would trust him once again. Up until now, she’d never trusted anyone with such monumental decisions about her life. Except for that fateful night with her fellow priestesses.
When she looked into Yvette’s penetrating gaze, shadows moved within Medusa, trying to reveal nightmares she didn’t want to think about. So much blood that night, and fear…
“Easy, young one.” Yvette took her wrist with an unexpectedly delicate touch, sending shivers up Medusa’s arm as she stroked her flesh with knowledgeable fingers. When she drew closer, Medusa realized she wasn’t as physically imposing as she seemed. She was perhaps an inch taller than Medusa. “She’s only been recently introduced to pleasure,” the vampire mused. “At your hands, JP. You have done well at awakening her body and her intoxicating submission. Continue to attend to it and you will bring the rose to full bloom.”
“Yes, my lady.” But glancing back at him, Medusa saw John’s jaw flex as if he’d like to tell the vampire to mind her own business and get on with it. Medusa suspected Yvette saw it, because there was a hint of laughter behind her forbidding expression as she dipped her head and bit.
She’d struck as quickly as one of the snakes. Medusa caught a cry in her throat, steadied by John’s hands on her shoulders. The initial pain faded, however. As Yvette sipped at her blood, her golden eyes rose and locked with Medusa’s.
Something rippled through Medusa’s blood. Desire, hot and rich. She bit back a gasp as Yvette pulled on the wound, a sucking that thrummed through her arm, made her breasts tingle and her loins tighten.
She was suddenly, acutely aware of just how virile an assembly of males was around her. There wasn’t one in the room that wouldn’t attract a woman’s eyes or desires. She found her gaze lingering on the impressive curve of biceps the man with dark green wings possessed, the silken mat of hair on the dwarf’s broad chest. The slightly cruel, sensual curve of the other vampire’s mouth as he stood next to his wolf. Even the wolf’s gaze, sharpening on her, seemed to contain an unsettling sexual awareness. She didn’t look toward the other winged man, because she could feel his disturbing presence like a blast of heat pressing against her.
The snakes started doing that languorous winding they did when she became aroused, the precursor to a torpor that would have them going limp on her shoulders the closer she came to climax.
She was in a tent, in front of strangers. Yet she was pressing her backside against John’s groin, dropping her head on his shoulder and reaching back to grip his hip, a better anchor to rub against him. He didn’t seem surprised or try to quell her reaction. Instead, he slid a tight arm around her waist and put his mouth to her throat, suddenly suckling on it in a hard, demanding way that had her gasping, arching up against him and against the hold Lady Yvette had on her wrist. When he bit her, a shudder went through her body, so close to a climax she had to quell a moan.
“Very nice.” Yvette’s touch whispered away from her and Medusa was held in John’s arms alone. “A rose half opened is at its most beautiful potential. JP, if you aren’t too possessive, you might allow Charlie to give her a massage. Our head costume designer and coordinator,” she added for Medusa’s benefit. “Though she prefers to be called a dressmaker. She has magical hands, and an insatiable desire to pleasure female flesh.”
The Circus owner continued as if arousing someone with a mere bite was as ordinary as Klotho discussing the day’s schedule at the temple. “You have passed the second test. Your blood is…intriguing, but I am satisfied you are no more dangerous than anyone else here. There were tales you know, about your blood being poison. And that a few drops on the ground brought a Pegasus to life. There are so many things people imagine, yet the truth is often far more fascinating.”
Yvette pursed her glossy burgundy lips. “You are welcome, the both of you, though while you stay with us I will expect you to offer to help where help is needed. There is always work to be done, and we have a performance this week. You are also welcome to join the Promenade, our aftershow spectacle, if you care to interact with the children.”
“Children?” Medusa blinked, surprised because of the very adult nature of this gathering, and the predatory species that surrounded her. “You don’t…harm them?”
Yvette looked so offended, she was immediately reassured and shamed. “My apologies, my lady,” she said hastily, before John had to do it. “I am not familiar with you as yet. And this has been very unsettling.”
Yvette’s expression eased. “While I might take offense at your assumption we would do harm to human young, I do not take offense at your protective instincts. Gundar, if you’ll make introductions and get them to their quarters, come join me afterward.”
“Sure thing, Mistress.” Gundar nodded respectfully. Yvette disappeared, literally, leaving behind a stray breeze ruffling Medusa’s hair. Medusa drew in a breath.
“She didn’t poof into thin air,” the dwarf said. “She just moves that fast. You should consider the Promenade,” he added, drawing closer and studying Medusa’s snakes with lively fascination. “The kids would love you, and they’re the best part of every gig. I’m Gundar, which you’ve probably already figured out. That’s Cai over there with Rand.”
He gestured to the one she thought was a vampire, standing with the wolf, then pointed to the young woman and male with dark green wings. “Marcellus and Clara. And the miscreant leaning against the chairs who was unwisely trying to get something started with JP is Merc.”
Medusa tensed a little each time one met her gaze, then re
laxing when all she received were cautious looks of welcome. Or, in the case of Clara, a warm smile. The girl moved to stand next to Gundar and took her hand so easily Medusa didn’t find the familiarity strange. Clara reminded her so much of Callidora. Those shadows stirred again. Medusa remembered Callidora laughing during prayer time, Klotho giving them a quelling look, but the priestess’s face betraying her affection under the sternness.
Stop thinking about them. Why am I thinking about them? Because she was around more than one person, something that hadn’t happened since the temple, not without her needing to kill. As John had reminded her.
To kill, to turn to stone…
She forcibly ripped herself out of her head, causing her hand to convulse under Clara’s grip. The girl looked surprised, but merely released her as if she thought she was making Medusa uncomfortable with the prolonged contact. But it didn’t dim her kind enthusiasm.
“I have wanted to meet you forever,” Clara said. “I saw you were coming, but that was weeks ago. I couldn’t tell exactly when it would happen, and the suspense was killing me. Gundar, I’ll show them to their quarters if you want, so you can get to Yvette all the sooner. She needs your skills.”
“Um, is it all right if I ask, what you each are?” She hoped the question didn’t sound rude. Fortunately, Clara’s beaming response suggested it wasn’t.
“Well, I know you already figured out Lady Yvette is a vampire. So is Cai, and Rand is his wolf-shifter servant. Merc is…” She sighed and looked toward the winged man, who was giving her nothing but an indolent look. “Mostly, he’s a pain in everyone’s ass, but I don’t think that’s a species classification. He’s part angel, part human, and part incubus.” She glanced over her other shoulder at the male with dark green wings, and her voice softened.
“That’s Marcellus. He’s my guardian angel.”