by SL Figuhr
“You bitch! You heartless, soulless, cruel bitch!” His hands curled into fists as he struggled to contain his rage, breath coming in ragged gulps. “How long have you remembered that we knew each other then? Did it give you pleasure? Satisfaction to play your games with us unawares? Did you enjoy ordering me about like one of your slaves? Did you have fun planning Mica’s kidnapping with his enemy? Heartless bitch! Answer me!”
He didn’t realize he had gotten to his knees and then his feet and loomed over her, reaching down, hauling her up by her arms. He shook her.
“Answer me, you bitch!”
“I was as ignorant as you. I woke to the truth; woke to it with the words of the Fae ringing in my ears amid the dead and dying.”
“You suckered us into your games back then, your schemes, same as now. You got the boy killed, blown to bits, and the rest of us cursed for eternity!” The veins stood out on his face and neck as he accused her. “If it hadn’t been for that damn...whatever it was, we’d still be cursed, stupid to the truth, blind to your treachery and perfidy. And now, it’s Mica who will pay the price!”
The door was starting to splinter and crack under the repeated poundings, and running feet could be heard along with shouting, as palace guards poured down the hall with Saizar behind.
“They’re here!”
“Stay where you are! Don’t move!”
“Hands, let me see your hands!”
It took a few moments for the men to understand we had been caught in the attack. The garden door burst open and more guards poured in. As soon as it was understood the perpetrators had fled, the king entered. He stopped short at sight of the blackened hall and gaped, swinging toward the man and woman.
“Duchess! What is the meaning of this?”
“My servant and I were attacked by robed and hooded men, one of whom Lord Nicky seemed to recognize. I am not sure what they used,” she gestured to the smoke-streaked hall, “but it blinded us and knocked us out. When I came to, Lord Nicky was gone with those men.”
“They have dared to kidnap my advisor? They were not assassins?” Maceanas demanded.
Only Eron heard her muttered, “As if we could be so lucky,” She said louder, “I do not know what or who they were, or what their plans were.”
“How dare you tell such lies about my advisor, Madame!? I weary of your attempts to make him the villain just because you two don’t see eye-to-eye!” the king thundered as behind him, the townspeople whispered about events to each other.
“If I may, Sire,” Saizar stepped forward and bowed, “We should mount a search for the attackers. They can’t have got far. It wasn’t too long ago the blast rang out.”
“Yes, guards! Fan out and search every inch of this place! No one leaves until you are done!” The men hurried to obey; all but a select few remained behind to see no harm came to the king. “How dare you spread lies about my friend!? The truth, or I’ll toss you in the dungeon!”
“I speak truth, Sire,” she said. “Lord Nicky and I were conversing when two robed men attacked. Your advisor called one of them by name before they detonated their strange weapon.”
“That does not mean he was a part of the attack!” Maceanas angrily replied.
“What would you name it if he called out DiJinn? Is that not his slave’s name?” she demanded.
The hall fell silent, even those whispering outside. The King’s face turned purple before he exploded, “WHAT? WHAT! Where is my advisor? Have his rooms searched at once!”
Saizar knew rumors would be running rampant, and fear as well. It behooved him to get to the bottom of the matter before His Majesty became further unhinged with thoughts of plots and assassins.
“If I may, Majesty, let me question them now on all the events which took place after they left me to see Lord Jenabram home,” Saizar offered.
The sheriff took them through the evening, information which the duchess and the earl could corroborate. The fact of her servant walking in at the start of the attack attested to her lack of involvement. The guards came back, to report they could find no evidence of which way the interlopers had gone, though they did find the bodies of three men. This news did not sit well with the king, nor did the news Lord Nicky was not in his rooms and that all but one of his slaves were mute and that one able to speak being blind.
“We must recall the army, Sire,” Saizar said as respectfully as he could manage.
“No, this is inconceivable! Why would Lord Nicky be a part of this plot? You must have mistaken what you heard; he would not dare protect traitors! The ball is over. Get people out.”
The palace guard scrambled to see their monarch’s orders were swiftly followed. “As for you, duchess, you will be confined in your home. No one may leave or enter until I send for you tomorrow. You will spend the time contemplating what name it was you did hear. Sheriff, escort her home and stand guard with your men.”
Her curtsey gave no indication of her ire at her house arrest; only Eron knew how furious she really was. He wondered what new game she was playing, and he meant to learn.
Chapter Three
Just a few lamps were lit. Moonlight streamed in the many-paned industrial windows in his warehouse-turned-loft. He thought he heard a noise as he stepped from the shower, towel wrapped about his waist. At first glance the place appeared empty; then he saw her, half-in–half-out the window.
He hissed in annoyance. “Must you do that?”
“Darling,” she drawled in her smoky voice, “however am I to convince you otherwise?”
“Not by cat-burgling my pad. Is nothing sacred to you? Do I need to bell you just so I can shower in peace? Have you not heard of things called phones?”
He watched as she slithered the rest of the way into his loft and came across the floor to him, the moonlight making her seem to glow. He breathed in sharply, glad she couldn’t read his mind. She was a delicious temptress. Her yellowish-green, brown eyes, seemed greener; dark brown hair flowed down her back and shoulders in a tumble of waves and curls. Her lips were so wetly carmine. She had a crimson, draped top and tight white pants with high, strappy scarlet heels; but still she was silent as smoke. She came right up, never breaking eye contact.
“Let me show you.” He felt the coolness of her hand on the heat of his wet skin at the base of his throat. If he leaned just a hair forward, they would touch, but he forced himself to keep still. She drew her hand down the center of his chest, always careful to keep a slight distance between them as she prowled to his right. He sucked in a long, slow deep breath and tilted his head down to track her hand. Her hand reached the top of the towel, and she stopped behind him. She leaned close, still keeping the bare minimum of space between them. He felt her breath tickle his ear.
“Just a little bite, a mere taste. A whisper on the lips. Hmmmm?” she purred.
Goosebumps spangled in constellations as his libido jerked to life. He turned his head just enough to see her and forced a thread of steel into his voice “Keep your fangs to yourself.”
She threw her head back and laughed delightedly, clapped her hands. “One day, mon ami, one day. I shall see myself out, non?” She smiled at him affectionately, her pert nose crinkling, swayed to the door, undid all the locks by hand. She paused to look back at him over her shoulder and whispered, “Bonne nuit, mon immortel.” With a last mischievous smile she closed the door behind her.
* * *
Eron waited until he saw Illyria’s slaves leave the room before he slipped inside, letting the door shut with a soft thump and turning the bolt. She had started to cry out in irritation as she splashed in the tub, stopping at the sight of him.
“What the hell...”
“I could say the same, Duchess” he snarled, cutting her off as he swiftly crossed the room. “Or are you forgetting we still have a conversation to finish?”
“It’s waited how many centuries?”
“If I let you put this on hold, you’ll wipe my mind and reprogram it to think we alre
ady had it.”
“If you think I’m going to have you in here while I bathe, so my slaves can spread that gossip over the kingdom...”
He smirked as he raked his eyes up and down her body, “Not so nice when it’s someone else doing it to you?” he inquired pleasantly and perched on the side of the tub, down by her toes. “I remember how much you loved to pop in after I had stepped from the shower.”
“I don’t recall you minded much.” Her smile showed teeth and fangs, and she chuckled throatily as his libido made itself known.
“Fuck you.”
“Ah, darling, I do believe we’ve already had the pleasure. Not in a bath, however.” Her eyes turned honey fire in unholy glee as she rested her arms on the tub edges. “Are you sure you won’t join me? You are sooooo dirty. Unless you mind slaves’ chatter.”
“Stop with your bullshit, your slaves say nothing without your knowledge and permission,” he replied flatly and tried to ignore the water beading on her breasts. Ambushing her had been a mistake—he recalled a shower they had once shared after a battle. “Besides, this is the only way I can be assured you’ll stay put long enough to finish a conversation.”
Their eyes clashed. She inclined her head acknowledging that for now he had the upper hand. She picked up a bar of soap, a small cloth, and continued her bath.
“Excoriate me for the past.” Her tone bitter as she washed, not attempting to seduce him with the motions.
“Donny, you bitch. Do you care what you ordered done to him? Do you even remember?”
“I was cursed!” she shouted back at him, “How was I supposed to remember events forced from my consciousness!”
“We’re not amnesiac now! So don’t use that excuse! Would you even have gone to the blast site?”
“Why should I? The boy didn’t survive,” she answered. “He was an immortal, but the amount of damage? Bits of him were vaporized! You saw what was left reduced to almost nothing! You think he could have reassembled, returned from that?”
Eron flung his arms wide, steamrolled on. “You think he’s happily dead? Hell. That’s what he’s in, that’s where you put him. Do you even understand to what kind of life you’ve condemned him? Missing bits, living on the fringe of society, trying to survive with what reknit!”
He leaned closer, continued, “We were cursed!” His voice lowered, became quieter, all the more menacing. “Mica should have retrieved the boy’s soul gem and brought it to the blast site. Placed it amid the splattered remains of his protégé and released his soul. He couldn't do it because of you. Imagine someone cutting you to pieces, blowing you to bits, and yet refusing you the one thing which would grant peace. Imagine surviving for centuries, missing bits of yourself, being unable to die!”
He stopped, saw the horror in her eyes, and it was she who lowered her head in shame.
“It never occurred to me one of you could survive. I never knew how your kind could be killed. I thought that the damage alone would be sufficient to ensure the final death. So much damage,” her voice a thin whisper, “to exist in such a state all this time.”
He could see blood tears shimmer in her eyes, wend down her face and drip in the water, staining it a pale pink.
“How dare you cry now for him!? He would never have been there if you hadn’t played your games, seduced him into believing he could have your undying, eternal love.” He was standing beside the tub now, looking down at her in disdain.
Her head jerked up, the cloth floating free in the water, tears drying as a cold rage fast replaced sorrow. “I played no games in which he was not willing to participate. I had no need to seduce him. He knew I did not love him romantically, that we would not be together for all eternity.”
Her eyes had gone back to being honey fire, “He was a street kid. I helped him make his fantasies come true, if only for a little bit.”
Eron cut her excuses off with a disdainful, cruel laugh. “Do you even listen to the crap you spout? So now you pitied him. The poor kid. Let the rich, bored, gorgeous woman take care of you like some pet until she tires of you and moves on to the next one.”
“No!” She was upset enough to shout, emotion replacing the smooth mask of her normal countenance. “He was not my pet! They never are!”
“What would you call him? Huh? Your blood stud? Your happy meal? You dropped a job he dreamed of having into his lap. You showered him with gifts and money when you took him out. When you remembered he existed at all.”
She was shaking her head as he continued relentlessly, “If that isn’t a pet, then I don’t know what is. Toxic.”
“What do you want from me? What do you want me to say? I never thought of him as a pet, Eron! And that job? I gave him a chance at it, just like all the other people who applied. He got it on his own merit. As for those times we went out clubbing? Of course, I paid for it, I knew what kind of money he made. It wasn’t all expensive places, lavish food and drink, Eron. Most times we did things he was interested in.”
Her voice dropped, still with its note of sorrow and pain. “I want to leave those I call friends and lovers a little better for having known me. For letting me remember what it’s like to be mortal, and alive, if only for a little while.” Her head bowed, and she waved for him to go away.
Eron wouldn’t let her brush him off. Her motives might have been as unselfish as the undead were ever capable of being. But the boy still existed, in a horrid, twisted, pain-filled state; Eron had no idea how much might have reformed and how much still lived, buried under debris, scattered God knows where. The boy lived as a monstrosity. It mocked too closely what might happen to Mica if they didn’t find out where he was hidden, if Nicky had been involved.
“No more, I will not play your games anymore.” His tone meant to wound her, and he yanked her chin up, forced her to look at him, “You’re not a coward, so don’t act it now. When this is over, you will go with me and help end Donny’s torment.”
Her eyes flew to his, honey fire bright, a sign she was perilously close to vamping out. “If you didn’t remember before now that Mica and I knew you, you shouldn’t have realized what we are. When did you learn? And if you lie to me, I’ll show you the true meaning of fear. You may not know how to kill us, but in all those legends lurks the truth of how to kill your kind.”
For a moment, he thought she wasn’t going to answer him, but use her great strength and speed to break free and try drowning him; he tightened his grip on her chin and braced himself on the tub lip with his free hand.
“I smelled your scent, the immortal scent, in the Bloody Knuckles one night. I didn’t know what it was, or to whom it belonged. I smelled it when I was in the palace, and I knew something was not right. The person to whom it belonged was different from the surrounding mortals, only I didn’t know how. I snuck into this person’s bedchamber and drank while he slept. The images I got from his mind confused me. I didn’t realize he was an immortal. I didn’t know what your kind were, or how to find out.”
He was struggling to contain his rage, breath coming in ragged gulps as he listened to her tale. He couldn’t help the mocking laugh. “So you met me, and what? Thought I was some exotic you could add to your menagerie? And what about Mica and Colin?”
“No. I would have freed you...” She flinched at his laugh. “I kept you in the hopes I could learn what you were, and whether you were friend or foe. Then Mica and his brother told me their tale about the little boy named Nicky, and I thought you were wizards who had extended your lifespans. I agreed to help them because I could see what an evil shit Nicky is and I want him gone. I figured he would never know I was behind his downfall if he were too concerned with...”
He interrupted her, “Damn you! When did you meet Nicky? Where the hell is he? Do you even know how badly you’ve fucked us all over with your bullshit?”
She stared at him. He felt the invisible pulsing of her immense power for one shimmering heart-stopping moment. He felt he would be consumed in the blaze of it but sud
denly it was gone, pulled back inside of her.
“You owe us. You owe Mica and Colin,” he said quietly. “When have you met Nicky?”
Still she remained silent, staring at him with those predator’s eyes. “You meet him also, many times, at the inn, here at my mansion, in the hallway tonight at the palace.”
“Damn you!” He breathed again, reminding himself anger was useless if he wanted to get straight answers. “I never met any child. Nicky is between eleven and twelve.”
“That can’t be. He’s nineteen or twenty.”
Eron shook his head as they stared at each other and she said, “He has the boy’s memories. I’ve seen Mica and Colin in his nightmares, from the past, when they first met.”
The immortal fisted his hands through his hair. “No, I only met a young man pretending to be an older version of Nicky.”
She was sitting in the cooling water of the tub, a frown on her face as she made a gesture of denial. “No, no. That can’t be right,” The water sheeted from her as she stepped from the tub, reaching for a linen sheet and wrapping herself in it. “I’m telling you...”
“Damn it, Illyria! You know Mica and I are Immortal! How many years did you know us before we were cursed? Think!” He grabbed her by her shoulders and shook her lightly.
He saw her blink, the only outward sign he had surprised her. Eron continued to gaze at her as she furrowed her brow in thought. “I... It wasn’t enough years for me to think you should have aged the way normal humans do. I suppose I thought you did age, only at a very slow pace.”
“No. We don’t. Like you, when we are made immortal, we remain the age we were at that point, that height and that weight.”
They searched each other’s eyes a long moment, “I’m telling you. Eron, the advisor, the one you met in the hall and all those other times bears the scent of the immortals. It’s in his blood as it’s in yours. I... I don’t understand how he can be the age he is now if you swear you don’t age once turned. Perhaps, perhaps he wasn’t an immortal when you first met?”