The Awakening (Immortals)

by Joy Nash

  He gave her a slight, mocking bow. “I just did.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  There was hardly need to worry. Nothing would go wrong during his dinner with Christine. She had a giving soul, and she couldn’t control her response to him. Now that Kalen had found her, it was imperative he keep her happy in bed. Which shouldn’t pose a problem. In three thousand years, he’d acquired quite a sensual repertoire. He knew he had pleased Christine last night.

  And yet, he found he wasn’t completely sure of her.

  He chose conservative evening dress, hoping it would put Christine at ease. A late-eighteenth-century costume of waistcoat and cravat, breeches, and boots. He tied his cravat with a critical eye and cinched his hair at the nape. Satisfied, though none too comfortable—he much preferred a kilt—he considered collecting Christine from her room next door and escorting her to dinner. He decided against it. He found himself gripped with a desire to watch her come to him.

  He didn’t bother with the stairs. Here in the castle, there was no need to be wary of dropping his defenses in order to gather his magic and open a portal. He willed himself directly into the dining room and settled into his seat at the head of the table.

  The brownies, guided by Pearl’s capable instruction, had done an excellent job arranging the table. A spotless white linen cloth, Meissen porcelain, Victorian silver. His gaze lingered on the Etruscan vase filled with wildflowers. A branch of candles laid sparkles on the Waterford stemware. He nodded with satisfaction. Pearl might not approve of Christine, but she was too loyal to disobey his orders.

  He picked up a spoon. Put it down again. Longed for a glass of wine, but he wouldn’t open the bottle before Christine arrived. He pulled it from the ice bucket. Chateau Valandraud Saint-Emilion. His best.

  He examined a fork. The silver shone. Pearl must have the brownies firmly in hand today. He pressed a finger to the tip of one prong,contemplating its blunt point. Guided by his skill and magic,the utensil would be a deadly missile. Not as useful as Uni’s crystal spear perhaps,but lethal just the same. But it had been more than seven hundred years since he’d wielded his spear,or indeed,any weapon. And now Christine had appeared,begging him to kill again. Did she consider him weak for refusing her plea? If she ever discovered why he couldn’t fight for humanity,she’d despise him.

  He frowned. Christine’s tale of Tain and Kehksut was highly disturbing. It would certainly explain the steep rise in death magic the past year had seen. Would death truly defeat life? If that happened, Kalen would be forced to abandon the last remnants of his people and leave the human world.

  The door opened, a blessed distraction from his dark thoughts. Pearl’s squat form appeared in the archway. She’d changed from her usual gray homespun into polished black satin. He bit back a smile. His housekeeper was following his orders to the letter, the scowl on her gnomish face notwithstanding.

  “Miss Christine Lachlan,” she intoned, and Kalen stood.

  Pearl moved to one side as Christine entered the room. Kalen forgot to breathe. Christine was…perfection. Pearl sent him a baleful look as she backed out of the room, but he barely noticed. His attention was fixed on his muse, clothed in raw indigo silk. He couldn’t even remember the woman for whom he’d ordered the dress some two hundred years earlier. The seamstress must have been prescient, because the gown had clearly been meant for Christine.

  Christine studied the flower arrangement. Kalen’s eyes drank their fill. Her hair was gathered atop her head and twisted into a soft, sensual style—he’d told Pearl no braids or any other adornment that would take too long to undo. The blue streak at her temple was the exact color of her gown. He found the effect enchanting. A smile sprang to his lips as his gaze traveled downward.

  Her bodice was low and the thrust of the corset beneath it lifted her breasts delightfully. Their soft elegance quivered behind the narrow swath of silk in between. Kalen was sure the slightest tug would reveal her dusky rose nipples. His gaze skimmed Christine’s flat stomach and lingered on the gentle flare of her hips. His head felt curiously light, his phallus most unsurprisingly heavy.

  “Christine. Look at me.”

  She raised her chin with a tenuous smile. She didn’t seem to know what to do with her hands. They kept moving, first twisting together in front of her, then hanging at her sides, her fingers flexing helplessly. Unwilling to have the length of the table between them, Kalen went to her. Catching her wandering hand, he raised it to his lips and brushed a kiss across her knuckles.

  He guided her to the chair directly to the right of his. He caught a whiff of her scent as she sat—sea mist and roses, spiced with her sensual awareness of his presence. Fighting a sudden, exquisitely uncomfortable arousal, he took his seat, uncorked and poured the wine.

  She glanced down the table. “This is lovely.”

  “Thank you.”

  She contemplated the candelabra. “You really don’t have electricity? Or even a heating system other than the fireplaces?”

  “I prefer it that way.”

  “But…what about your collections? The damp will damage the paintings.”

  “There’s no danger,” Kalen assured her. “Each piece is protected with an individual spell to control temperature, humidity, and light.”

  “Oh. That’s good.”

  “I protect what is mine.” He sent her a meaningful look. “And you are mine now. You need never fear anything, ever again.”

  “Kalen…”

  He lifted his wineglass. “Gun cuireadh do chupa thairis…”

  “…le slainte agus sonas,” Christine replied. May your cup overflow with health and happiness.

  He raised his brows. “You have some Gaelic?”

  She shook her head. “Not really. Just a few phrases my grandmother taught me. She raised me after my parents died.” She lowered her lashes. “She’s gone now.”

  “She was a witch as well.” It wasn’t a question.

  She looked at him in surprise. “How did you know?”

  “Your power. It’s very ancient. You’d have to be a hereditary witch to be as strong as you are.”

  Christine opened her mouth, but her reply was lost when a darting movement at her elbow made her jump. A brownie, delivering the first course. The childlike creature was gone an instant later, disappearing through a crack in the woodwork. Christine stared at the crevice, which was barely a finger’s width wide. Her gaze reverted to the table, where a large silver soup tureen had appeared. Kalen watched her struggle to make sense of it, then give up with a wry shrug.

  “Your home takes some getting used to,” she said.

  “Magic. It shouldn’t surprise you.”

  “I suppose not.” She frowned as he lifted the tureen’s cover. “I hope they didn’t go to too much trouble. I didn’t think to tell you or Pearl earlier, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to eat much of this dinner. I’m a vegetarian.”

  He dipped the ladle into the tureen. “Then you’re in luck, my love. So am I.”

  Her mouth fell open. “No way.”

  “Yes.” He regarded her warily. He was well aware that some humans considered vegetarianism less than manly. His diet was only one of the many inconveniences and limitations he’d been forced to deal with over the last seven hundred years. “Does it surprise you?”

  “Frankly? Yes. You’re a warrior.”

  “And all warriors exist on raw, bloody meat,” he observed with some sarcasm.

  She blushed. “I didn’t mean that.”

  “Strictly speaking, Immortals don’t need to eat much at all. When we do, it’s mostly for pleasure.” He nodded to the tureen. “Lentil soup. Do you like it?”

  Her smile made him suddenly glad there was no meat on the table. “It’s one of my favorites.”

  “Good,” he murmured as he served her. “I hope the rest of the meal appeals as well. I don’t know what it is—I gave Pearl free rein.”

  “In that case, my share is probably laced with arsenic.”
/>
  Kalen chuckled.

  “Your housekeeper doesn’t like me.”

  “She’s half gnome. The race is supremely unpleasant. She doesn’t like anyone.”

  “She adores you.”

  He shifted in his seat. “She’s worked for me a long time.”

  “Yes,” Christine said softly. “She told me how you rescued her.”

  “She did?” He was aware of his face heating. Suddenly his cravat seemed too tight. He didn’t want Christine to cast him in the role of hero. He’d ceased to deserve that title a long time ago. “I needed a housekeeper. That’s all.”

  She shot him a knowing glance before dipping her spoon in her bowl and tasting her soup. She swallowed, then paused, her gaze passing over the table.

  “Do you need something?” he asked.

  “Oh no,” she said with an air of embarrassment. “I just thought there might be a saltshaker somewhere.”

  “I can ring for some.” He chuckled. “Though I’m sure Pearl will have a few choice words about it. She’s inordinately proud of her cooking.”

  Christine grimaced and returned to her soup. “Forget I mentioned it. The soup is delicious.”

  He ate some of his own soup, but eventually gave up in favor of watching Christine. Her movements were graceful. He especially liked watching the way her throat flexed as she swallowed. His gaze dipped lower, caressing the upper swell of her breasts, sweetly curved above her low neckline.

  “Pearl did a fine job helping you find a gown,” he commented.

  Christine sent a self-conscious glance at her bust, then tried to tug the upper edge of the bodice higher. The fabric was too snug; it didn’t give an inch. She abandoned the attempt.

  “This getup is something from my worst nightmare. How did women ever stand wearing corsets every day? I can hardly breathe.”

  “You look lovely.”

  “I’ll be lucky if I don’t faint. I wouldn’t have worn it at all, but not one of those dresses fit without it. I can hardly wait to take it off.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said smoothly. “I intend to do that for you very soon.”

  Christine averted her gaze and gulped some wine, her color rising. Kalen smiled. He enjoyed making her blush. He hadn’t felt this lighthearted in centuries.

  “I have to talk to you about that,” Christine said as she set down her glass.

  “About what?”

  “You know very well about what. About this…thing between us. I told you before, it’s not why I came here. I shouldn’t have slept with you.”

  “You don’t mean that.” He reached across the table and took her hand. Instantly, her magic skittered over his skin. She really had trouble holding anything back. She was too young, too innocent, and her magic was too entwined with her sensuality. She simply didn’t know another way. After a decade with Leanna, he found it very refreshing.

  A sudden unwelcome thought occurred to him. “Do you belong to another man? A husband?”

  She raised horrified eyes to his. “No! Goddess. Do you think that I’d have…with you…if I—” She swallowed. “Believe me, I’d never have slept with you if I was with someone. I’m not into casual sex.” She twisted her napkin in her lap. “Not like you are with Leanna.”

  Hades. He wished Christine had never seen him with the Sidhe. “Leanna means nothing to me.”

  Her lips twisted. “But you went to see her today, didn’t you?”

  “Did Pearl tell you that?” He would strangle his housekeeper.

  “Yes. Did you have sex with her?” Christine closed her eyes briefly. “No, look, forget I said that. I really don’t want to know.”

  She was jealous, he realized. His heart expanded. He caught her hand across the table and felt a fierce rush of satisfaction when he felt her magic respond to his touch. “I told her you were under my protection.”

  “Oh.”

  He squeezed her hand. “There’s no need for you to worry. I told you I’d keep you safe, and I will. You have nothing to fear from Leanna.” He turned over her hand and traced a circle on her palm, smiling when he heard her breath catch. “Would you like to know what else I told Leanna?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  “I ended our…relationship. Such as it was.”

  Her eyes widened. “But—a day ago you were planning to have a child with her.”

  “She wanted a baby, yes. I’ve decided I do not. At least,” he added, “not hers.”

  The brownies arrived then,whisking away the soup dishes and delivering a fragrant saffron risotto. Kalen noted with pleasure that Christine seemed to enjoy the dish. A salad, then a selection of fruits and cheeses followed.

  “Pearl told me the brownies fled pollution in Glasgow,” Christine said between bites of pear. “I’m beginning to think you enjoy collecting outcasts.”

  Kalen didn’t want to discuss the brownies. “Not particularly. I needed workers and they were available.” He trailed a light finger up her bare arm, then let his hand drift to her breast.

  “Stop,” she whispered, her eyes fluttering closed.

  “Why? You enjoy my touch.”

  “That’s exactly why.” Her color was high and her magic warmed his fingers, but her eyes were troubled. Thinking of Tain and Kehksut, no doubt. A feeling of utter helplessness stole over him, accompanied by a deep sense of shame. She wanted him to be her champion. How he wished he was free to fill that role.

  He drew back, severing their connection. “I hope the food was to your liking.”

  “It was wonderful. I can’t remember when I’ve had such a delicious meal.”

  “You don’t eat well, do you?”

  She shook her head. “Not like this. I can’t afford it.”

  “You said you paint. Do you earn your living as an artist?”

  “Barely. I’m an artist of the starving variety. I’m one of those awful sidewalk hawkers.”

  “You’ve been living in Rome.”

  “Yes. For almost a year.”

  “And before that?”

  “Oh, lots of places. I’ve been a vagabond ever since—” She cut off abruptly and picked up her wineglass. “Well, for about two years now.”

  “What happened two years ago?” Something bad, he was certain.

  She drained the wineglass and set it back on the table, her hand unsteady. “I…had a run-in with a demon. It nearly cost me my life.”

  “What happened to you?”

  For a moment he thought she would refuse to confide in him. “Please,” he said. She sent him a startled glance as if she hadn’t thought the word was part of his vocabulary. “I want to know everything about you.”

  She sighed. “I was living with a man. Shaun. In south Boston. I’d met him while I was in art school. He was a powerful witch and a wonderful musician. Right after we got together, his music career took off. He attracted a huge local following.” A bitter smile touched her lips. “He used to say his success was because of me. That I was his good luck charm.”

  Kalen’s brows raised. That assessment was likely true,but she didn’t seem to realize it. Christine didn’t know she was a muse.

  “Anyway, Shaun’s music was hot, but he wasn’t making much money playing the local pub scene. He wanted to break out, record a CD with a big international label. I believed it would happen eventually, but Shaun was impatient. He didn’t want to wait years to become famous. So he started experimenting with death magic. He didn’t tell me, of course. He knew I would’ve been horrified.” She gripped the stem of her wineglass so tightly Kalen was afraid it would snap. “But I should have guessed what he was up to. The signs were all there. On a fluke, he landed a huge contract. One of his songs shot to number two on the charts. Money started pouring in. If I hadn’t been so blind and stupid, I would have realized what it meant.”

  He extracted the wineglass from her rigid fingers. “You loved him. You believed in him.”

  “Yes, and what good did that do me? Life seemed so wonderful—Shaun start
ed talking about having a baby. I’d set up a circle to do a fertility spell when it happened. He added a death rune to the spell and summoned a demon. The entity had been waiting—Shaun was already his whore. He’d been trading his body for success in his career for over a year, and the demon was growing restless. He told Shaun he’d continue to help him only if Shaun threw me into the bargain.” A tear trickled from her eye. “I can only sense magic by touch. I didn’t realize until I kissed Shaun that it was really the demon in disguise. I fought like a madwoman to get away. The only reason I wasn’t taken was that I’d set the circle on the beach. Once I ran into the ocean, I was able to raise a strong magical shield. Eventually, the demon stopped battering it. In a fit of rage, the demon killed Shaun.”

  It was a good thing Christine’s ex-lover was dead. If he hadn’t been,Kalen would have been very tempted to hunt him down and kill him,and damn the consequences. “Your magic is strong. I’m not surprised the demon wanted it.”

  “I saw Leanna performing the same spell during the tour…I saw her add the same shadow runes at the end. And she had a vial of blood. She was summoning a demon.”

  Could Christine be right? He didn’t like to think so. “That’s…unlikely. Leanna can be cruel, but she’s Sidhe. She wouldn’t deal with demons.” Privately, however, he wasn’t so sure. He’d look into it later. “What did you do after your boyfriend died?” he asked.

  “It took me a while to…adjust. First I gave away all his money—I couldn’t stand the thought of benefiting from death magic. Then I left Boston. I’d graduated with an art degree and I’d always wanted to travel in Europe. I thought I could really concentrate on my art and offer some of my work for sale in galleries. So I sold everything I owned and took off. I went to London, Paris, Prague, Madrid, Milan, Florence—everywhere. Ten months ago, I arrived in Rome and decided to stay. I rented a tiny apartment near Santa Maria in Trastevere. A week later, a bomb went off in the Sistine Chapel and all hell broke loose. Death creatures everywhere. Murders and rapes daily. People in a panic. Museums all over Europe started reporting thefts, vandalism. Their most precious masterpieces were being destroyed.” She sent him a pointed look. “I never guessed someone like you was behind that. All those paintings and sculptures were being saved, not lost.”