Ingrid woke up the next morning to find that Gene had gone. It was nine and Mack was sitting in the chair next to her bed, a sour expression on his face. She couldn't really blame him.
She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. "Do you prefer using the cat-o-nine-tails or the flogger?"
He twisted his mouth, leaning back in the chair, arms crossed. "A few whacks on the butt are not out of the question. One day, I might surprise you." The vision of those hands on her ass caused muscles down low to clench in anticipation.
The attraction between them was growing stronger. The fact that she was in bed, dressed in sleep shorts and a thin camisole only made her more aware of how exposed her body was, how easy it would be to… Before she lost all control and pounced on the guy, she swallowed down her inflamed libido. "My ass might protest but I can't deny I’d deserve it. I might even enjoy it, which would defeat the purpose. Just a heads up.”
She smiled and his eyes widened, his gaze automatically stroking over her body. It was sweet and sad at the same time, because unless he got with the program, the chances of them being together were slim. He shifted in his chair and spoke quietly, the vibration of his voice igniting every one of her erogenous zones. “I'm putting you on probation. Your behavior—your disregard for my authority within the troupe—puts everyone at risk.”
And that cooled her down fast. “What exactly does probation entail?”
“You’re confined to the troupe house and grounds, unless you have my permission, and only my permission, to leave them. You will keep your conversations with the rest of the troupe to a minimum, and stick only to generic topics, such as food or the weather. Gene and I are the exceptions, of course.”
"I see." Her last production manager would have beaten her brutally and then raped her while she cried. But Mack Hudson, this male, whose presence made her tremble with a vulnerability she'd always denied herself, would never choose to hurt her. She wiped away a tear with the back of her hand.
He sighed and leaned closer. “What happened, or almost happened between us was amazing, for me at least, but it's better for everyone that I got that call when I did. When we're together, I forget who I am. If our troupe is going to survive what The Director has lined up for us, I can’t be with you again.”
“You aren't only a production manager, you know. You have the right to a life separate from your job."
"Maybe that's true for other workers, but I can't be selfish if it means everyone else will suffer."
"You still want me?"
"More than I can express in words, but it doesn’t matter what I want or what you want. You’re part of this family now, and I expect you to do your part.”
"Did you report what I said about The Director?”
“If I had, you’d have already been picked up by his soldiers. If you mention anything about The Director to the others again, I’ll be forced to send you packing.” She tried not to look hurt as he raked his hands through his hair in frustration. “I’m responsible for six other people, besides you. How could I live with myself if I crawled into your bed, and the troupe was retired because I’d disobeyed The Director?”
Ingrid sighed and lay back on the bed, placing her arm across her forehead. “Wouldn't it be easier for you if I was replaced?” She stared at the ceiling, afraid to meet his gaze.
“Not for me. The day they took you away would be the worst day of my life.” Her eyes grew large as she turned, the marked sadness in his gaze cutting through to her core. "You must know how I feel,” he whispered, lowering his body beside hers on the bed.
With that, Ingrid sat up and took his hand, her shields blocking the connection between them. She wanted so much to see him smile again, desperate to make things right between them. "I'm sorry for what happened yesterday. I was a bitch. I'll do whatever you tell me to do."
"I wish things were different, but what can I do against an archdemon? I’m not one of those fantasies you create for your audiences.” He clenched the hand he’d rested on his knee into a tight fist, his knuckles turning white.
Ingrid reached for him, cradling his balled-up hand in both of hers, opening it to kiss his palm and raising her eyes to meet his gaze. “You’re an evolved theta like Gene, Staci, Sam and me. You can get into anyone's head—probably even The Director's. I think we can make these master vamps and alpha wolves believe down to their bones that we have the power to take them out.”
He twined his fingers around hers. “I admire your confidence, but…”
“Why do they keep us chained up with all these stupid rules, if they don't think we're dangerous? What if we can have a chance to live a free life?”
Mack sighed heavily. "Ingrid..."
“What we truly believe becomes our reality. Thetas know that better than anyone else. We have the power to control someone psychically. To kill them, to make them kill themselves, to make them forget we exist."
"That's impossible."
"Diane believed she was a vampire."
"Her mind isn't as strong as an alpha wolf’s or a master vampire’s. Certainly not as strong as The Director’s."
"We've been in each species' minds so often, we know their rhythms, their psychic patterns. We can bypass their shields. Even Dave and Diane."
"You're talking about mind rape."
"I'm talking about the end our species' illegal slavery."
"Ingrid..."
“What’s your name?” she snapped.
“What?”
“You don’t know, do you? You don’t know what your mom and dad named you. You don’t know what town you were born in or what kind of work your parents did. How is any part of that okay?”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
"Listen to me. What if we can have a chance at a real life, a free life?”
“You’re a little bit crazy.” Mack was smiling, but behind the smile was concern.
“Crazy for you.” She stroked his chest from shoulder to abs, disappointed when he caught hold of her hand, releasing it and stepping away.
“I can’t. I want you, but I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if any of them got hurt because of my weakness.”
“So I’m a weakness?”
“You know I didn’t mean it that way.”
“People have sacrificed themselves for freedom for thousands of years. If we have the ability to help thetas and humans, we have a responsibility to try.”
“I know you’re right, but they’re my only family.”
“We can protect them too, you and me. All we need is your axis power to fuel us and a lot of practice.” He was silent, his mind probably seesawing as hers often did. I can’t—I can. I shouldn’t—I must. “Can you at least promise you’ll give it some serious thought?”
“Yes. I can promise you that at least.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“I’m sorry, Ingrid.” The calm detachment she loathed with every pulse of blood through her veins settled in his previously glittering eyes. "I have to ask, will you agree to the new schedule, as well as attending the two events? If you don’t, I’ll have to cancel the performances. The Director was adamant about your attending these particular parties.” Mack’s tone made it clear he was determined to keep their relationship strictly professional from now on.
Well, good luck with that, Ingrid smiled wryly to herself. The connection between them, something Mack was doing his best to shield himself from, had bloomed into a cozy warmth within her axis, changing to something wild and responsive when they opened their minds and touched skin-to-skin. She had no plans to leave this unique gift unexplored. There was a reason it existed, something unique to thetas, but she wouldn't bully him into lowering his shields and opening his mind, not when he was acting all stick-up-his-butt. No, she had to approach Mack Hudson with care, because whatever effort she put into winning his trust would reap the kind of benefits she’d only dreamed about.
Mack was hers. He just didn’t know it yet.
<
br /> He was a male she could respect, a guy who protected his troupe with every ounce of his spirit, a production manager who treated her with fairness and not violence, no matter how badly she behaved. Putting aside the hurt brought on by Mack's mental and physical withdrawal, she forced herself to try to see things from his perspective. This wasn't her forte. Since her first rape, she'd looked after herself, never fully trusting her secrets to anyone. It was a lonely way to live, but it had kept her as safe as any troupe ingénue. Even Gene Stone, her partner who'd died on that Atlanta stage, had never known of her passion for freedom.
The now stony-faced Mack who stood beside her bed waiting for her answer, was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Her heart warmed with compassion,
“I’ll cooperate.” The arched eyebrow spoke of his skepticism. “I promise."
"Thank you, Ingrid." He moved away, but she scooted to the edge of the bed, wanting to lessen the distance between them. "I’ll see you at the rehearsal this afternoon." He reached for the doorknob then twisted back in her direction. "Yes. The show is tomorrow night, so you’ll be with Gene tonight.”
Rebooting psycore was the night-before-a-show-ritual that kept the acting partners in top form for the next performance. The problem was, there was only one male Ingrid wanted in her bed, and he thought she was a little bit crazy which was a kind way of saying totally fucked up.
She ran her gaze from his sneaker-clad feet, past his narrow hips, over his abs and chest, finally stopping at that handsome square-jawed masculine face she wanted to kiss again. "Mack." He waited. “The last thing I want is to make your job harder or put the troupe at risk. I’ll cooperate. But please, please think about working with me."
"I'll take the time to think it through. But don't get your hopes up that anything’s going to change." He left the room, looking a little defeated.
Ingrid wrapped her arms around her bent knees and rested her chin on top, whispering to the closed door, "None of us are safe, Mack, not as long as we're owned by The Director.” Gene would hop on board soon, but she needed both her boys to back her up if they were going to have any chance at all.
Her two guys. Now there was another Titanic about to sink. And what about tonight? How would Gene take her revelation concerning rebooting? No way to know for sure, until they talked it out.
She inhaled and exhaled a calming breath, popping open her H-tab to do a little research.
“Sass. Look up Elias. Master vamp, New York City.”
“Of course, Ingrid. Everyone knows Elias.”
The web carried very few pictures of vampires, a race that loved to be mysterious. Most of them were vulnerable to attack during the day, so they generally kept their private lives locked up tight for security reasons. Elias, the local master, was an exception, often interviewed on the viewer by female announcers who seemed eager to jump his bones—or his fangs. Originally a citizen of Greece during the time of Alexander the Great, he was ancient enough to walk in daylight. She perused a few articles written about the visiting Italians, but there were no pictures. According to the news articles, they seemed to be fairly typical European masters, traditional in their tastes, which usually meant they’d want blood and sex.
The wolf packs they’d be performing for on Friday night led a much more public life. They were wealthy, with a lot of political influence in the New York area. Ingrid found a picture of the Alpha, Joseph Herron, a handsome man with russet hair, blue-gray eyes and a superior air.
She could probably turn that snobby wolf into a sniveling puppy in about ten seconds.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Mack stuck to the normal protocol for the rehearsal, with Alan taking care of the scripts, the warnings, and booting up his own sound equipment. Mack was worried at first, but Ingrid didn’t try to pull in extra power—other than what was normal for her—and the troupe had a good run-through.
Mack was happy to see that his actors were in top form, all of them able to adjust smoothly to their new Ingrid’s stronger power grid. He crossed his fingers, hoping that today’s conversation had made a dent in Ingrid’s attitude and that everything would work out the way it was supposed to.
Yeah, right.
While he’d pulled up the energy needed to power the performance and create the ambiance of each scene, he’d watched every moment of her dance. Her movement in its basic form was a conduit for the magic a theta used to project their character. He’d seen several Ingrids dance over the years. This Ingrid was exceptional in every detail.
Her body moved in incredibly supple ways, a nymph born of more ancient Magicks, calling upon her elemental energy to create her enchantment. She transported Mack back in time to spectacular visions of early goddesses, females who could simply glance at a man and he would adore her for all eternity.
Was she really a succubus who stole a man’s soul as he worshiped her body, calling out her name as she drained him of life at the height of his pleasure? Or was she simply what she’d said, a theta evolved into a creature much more powerful than most of her peers—perhaps a new breed of supernatural altogether?
Mack's body burned for her, rock hard and craving the touch of her hands and mouth. But he'd never again allow his loneliness and need to affect his judgment. He’d lock those feelings away and leave them behind. His responsibility to the members of the troupe came before any individual desires. This was the life he’d agreed to when he'd signed the contract six years ago. This was the life he knew.
Ingrid drew more power from Mack as she spun in Sam’s arms, sending out another wave of energy to her lifelike young witch. Sam’s sorcerer reacted, clutching the witch’s neck and tearing off her flimsy dress. Ingrid’s projection screamed, and Mack’s heart beat in double time.
Gods, she truly is a witch. And she wasn’t even using extra power.
When Gene’s knight rescued her and the two creations rested in the forest, Mack found he could breathe again. During these moments, when the dance became slow and graceful, magic pulsed through his body with warmth and peace rather than passion. He’d yearned for those comforting feelings his entire life, leaving him vulnerable to her exquisite assault. She’d managed to brush aside the thin barriers he’d erected and filled the ice-lined pits of his life with her magic.
Every short moment he'd spent with her was suddenly clear in his mind, unique and precious. Her laughter still rang in his ears, warming his heart, and the sensation of trailing his hands and mouth over her velvet skin would torture him each night when he crawled alone into his bed. Getting through the last few minutes of the rehearsal took Mack more effort than usual.
After it ended, he gave Ingrid and Gene strict instructions to stay on Staten Island and to morph into an average-looking couple so as not to draw attention. Celebrity model types might be followed, even in this relatively safe residential neighborhood.
“What if we can have a chance to live a free life?” Her words still sang in heart, adding hope where there had been only resignation.
To try to keep his mind off Gene and Ingrid's reboot later tonight, Mack took a long run, looping through Clove Lakes Park for a few circuits, taking the back streets past the zoo and down to the shoreline. The rest of the troupe was going to be barbequing tonight, a group activity that he always encouraged, but he wasn’t really in the mood to socialize. He had research to do and a book to read. And if he was being honest, he didn't want to be at the house when Gene and Ingrid got back from dinner.
How was he going to live in a troupe with this woman and not kiss her, touch her, fall in love with her? He was probably in love with her already. Stupid, stupid, stupid. He shook his head, going over their earlier conversation, hoping that thinking about her words instead of her body would shrink his practically permanent hard-on.
What good would it do to make the people who controlled their lives think thetas were capable of fighting back, perhaps even capable of killing them? Did Ingrid imagine their enemies would back off and let them walk out the door? T
hat the demon soldiers wouldn’t hunt the troupe down wherever they ended up?
And if the troupe did escape, then what? Freedom without a chance at survival would be pointless. They'd need access to their money, a safe place to stay, transportation, food and so much more. Theta troupe members were sheltered from the outside world. What did they know about survival? What did Mack know?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
While Gene got them coffee from one of the vendors inside the ferry building, Ingrid made herself comfortable on a bench along the promenade. From here, she had a spectacular view of the Manhattan skyline and the Statue of Liberty, the former green lady's torch still rising to greet the poor and downtrodden. A sad joke. The Director had almost pulled her down, but in the end, decided it was a harmless symbol of past times and not worth the energy to destroy. He’d had her painted red, a color he favored, to remind everyone who ran this town.
It was still light outside, the pinks and oranges of the coming sunset beginning to paint the sky over New Jersey to the west. The colors were reflected off the glass of some of the high-rise office buildings at Manhattan’s tip, making them look unreal, like set pieces in a show.
Sometimes she felt like she was the only sane creature on the planet. That fucking archdemon owns your city, yet all of you walk around in a dream, as if you’re still free. Wise up, people. Start fighting back.
Mack had given Gene and Ingrid permission to go wherever they wanted on Staten Island, as long as Ingrid was with Gene the entire time. No wandering off on her own. Gene had suggested they sit and talk for a while before dinner, and since this spot was within walking distance from the troupe house, it seemed as good a place as any.
A minute later, she heard Gene's laugh, the handsome features he'd chosen blending well with his now much-darker skin. "I almost sat down next to that other girl." He pointed two benches down the row. "I forgot what you looked like in your après morphing body." He handed her the warm vanilla latte. It smelled like heaven. "That's the problem with morphing. Have a brain fart and you're lost."
Playing with Passion Theta Series Book 1 Page 11