by Tessa Blake
“I’ve seen you do ritual magic without speaking,” Gabriel said.
“That’s different,” Vivienne said. “There are specifics here. Acceptance, fidelity, the desire for full union. You don’t just get accidentally bound because you want to push one another’s sex buttons.”
“How is it different?” he demanded. “If Lily came to me, accepted me as I am, which she did—”
“I didn’t maybe say the fidelity part out loud,” Lily said, “but I don’t sleep around. I would have been thinking it.”
“If she felt those things, isn’t that the same?”
“I’ve seduced many a human, and not once has this happened,” Vivienne snapped.
“I know,” Gabriel said, and he sounded unbearably sad. “But I bet none of them were like Lily.” And he stroked a hand down her arm, set her nerves to shivering and her skin to gooseflesh, and twined their fingers together.
Vivienne said nothing for a moment, then strode over to them. Gabriel shifted slightly, protectively, in front of Lily, but Vivienne dismissed it scornfully. “I’m not interested in her,” she said. “Turn around. Lift your shirt.”
29
Everyone was stone silent as the implication set in, then Gabriel shook his head. “It’s for her first,” he said, and reached behind him, tugged his shirt up so the whole broad expanse of his back was revealed to Lily—and to Miri, who still stood behind her.
Lily would have laughed at Miri’s soft hum of approval, if she hadn’t already been too busy disbelieving her own eyes.
There, right between his shoulder blades, was a mark identical to the one Lily knew sat in the same spot on her back, that complicated twist-knot of a mark which looked like a tattoo but wasn’t.
Vivienne made a sound, an odd combination of growl and sigh. “I don’t even have to look,” she said. “It’s written all over your face. He’s got one, too?”
Gabriel half-turned, looked at Lily, who could only nod at him. Then he turned so his mother could see his back.
“Well,” she said. “That changes everything.”
Lily shook her head, as Gabriel pulled his shirt back down and took her hand again. “That’s not possible,” she said. “I’ve seen your back, as recently as this afternoon.” She flushed a little, remembering some of the things they’d done together in the little bed nook at the back of the jet.
“Traditionally,” Vivienne said, “in this kind of relationship between nonhuman and human—I mean, in a binding like this—the nonhuman takes a dominant role. Your role, Gabriel, would be one of leader, of protector.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that my best guess would be you pledged yourself by the act of protecting her”—Vivienne frowned again—“from me. Choosing a human over your own kind, Gabriel?”
“A human who accepts me for what I am?” he said. “Absolutely.”
“Even though the chances are about one hundred percent that she’s blinded by the dollar signs in her eyes?”
Lily opened her mouth to argue—because, damn it, she didn’t care about Gabriel’s money, and she never had—but Miri tapped her on the shoulder. Lily turned, and Miri’s face was bone-white, set in a sort of tightly-controlled smile.
It was an expression Lily knew all too well. Miri was about to puke.
“Um,” she said. “So, I believe you now. And I’d like to go home.”
Lily pulled her hand from Gabriel’s and wrapped her arms around Miri. “Oh, God, Miri, I’m so sorry. This is craziness. I wouldn’t have brought you if I’d known it would get like this.”
Miri nodded. “Yeah, I wouldn’t have let you, if I’d known. Seriously, I just want to go home and … process.”
“I need to discuss some things with my mother anyway,” Gabriel said.
“I don’t care to discuss anything with you right now,” Vivienne said.
Gabriel pointed at the chair in front of his desk. “Sit down. Shut up. Find a civil tone and hang on to it, because I’ve about run out of patience with you.” Turning back to Lily, he asked, “Perhaps you could run Miri home and then come back? I’ll call the car for you.”
“I need a little time myself,” Lily said. “This is all really overwhelming. I think— I think I want to get some sleep, think about this in the morning. If that even makes sense, when I’m talking about something that ought to keep me up all night, thinking about how impossible it is.”
Crossing to the door, she opened it, gestured that Miri should precede her through it.
“See you around, Vivienne,” she said—she couldn’t resist—and went out into the hallway, letting the door shut softly behind her.
Miri wrapped her arms around herself, as though giving herself a much-needed hug.
“I’m so sorry,” Lily said. “Let’s get you home.”
“Look,” Miri said, “I just want you to know … I know I said I needed time to process, but the truth? I’m just plain scared. I wanted out of that room. That whole scene was straight out of something on the CW. This isn’t my life.”
“I understand,” Lily said.”
“How are you so … blasé about it?”
“I’m not,” Lily said. “I just bluff really well. Half the time I’m in shock. In a way, I have been for days now.”
Behind her, the office door opened and Gabriel stepped out.
“Plus,” Lily said, indicating Gabriel with a raised eyebrow, “he’s kind of distracting.”
“Don’t I know it,” Miri said. “I’m standing there, scared out of my gourd, thinking I might barf right there, demons with glowing eyes fighting about my best friend and threatening to break each other’s bones and shit—and then your man pulls up his shirt and I’m like, Oooooh…pretty.”
Lily did laugh, this time, remembering that moment. “Not your fault,” she said. “It’s a … thing he has. Part of what he is.”
“Lily,” Gabriel said, before she could explain any further. “If I might have a moment.”
“I’m not letting Miri out of my sight—”
“That’s okay,” Miri said. “I’ll just …” and she made a vague gesture that apparently meant walk way down the hall and stand around, because that’s what she did.
Lily wondered, fleetingly, what she’d ever done to deserve such a good friend, because honestly what Miri had put up with—accepted—that night was more than anyone had a right to ask.
“Miri is in no danger,” he said. “She’s not the one Vivienne has a problem with.”
Lily set both fists on her hips, glared up at him. “She looked like she was shifting her problem from me to you, there, buddy. And why should she have a problem with me? What have I ever done to her?”
He ran a hand down her arm, quickly, and she ignored the little tingle that followed the path of his touch. “I’ll handle Vivienne,” he said. “You don’t need to worry about her; this I can promise you.”
“She already took one swipe at me,” she said, but her anger faded just a little when he touched a gentle fingertip to the place where her lip was split, then pulled away. He looked like it hurt him just to look at her, and the fact was it honestly hadn’t hurt all that much. She’d been more surprised than anything.
“She will never put her hands on you again,” Gabriel said, and he had that look again, the one that meant he was probably about to go all glowy and terrifying.
“How can you be sure?” she asked. Whatever he was, his mother was doubly so, right? Full-demon as opposed to half, whatever.
“She didn’t know what we were to each other when she hit you,” he said. “It’s the only reason she lives. There are … rules, for lack of a better word. About family, about blood-ties.”
“She’s got no blood-tie to me,” Lily protested. The very thought was abhorrent.
“No, but she does to me.” He looked grim. “Trust me, she is every bit as tied to you as I am. But so many of the rules are based on intent—and she had no intent to harm family, not knowing what you were to me.�
��
“And what’s that?” she asked.
“Mine.” He seemed to think the single word sufficed. Perhaps it did. “You’re mine now. She won’t dare to touch you again, particularly not when I’m done with her tonight.”
His tone sent a chill down her spine; she was glad he wasn’t talking about her in that cold, threatening tone. “What are you going to do?” she asked, not one hundred percent sure she wanted the answer.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” he said. “I’m not going to put a hand on her. But I’ll make it clear to her you’re under my protection.”
She kind of liked the sound of that, Neanderthal though it might be. “Okay,” she said. “I trust you to take care of it.”
He reached out to touch her again, a gentle brush of his hand down her arm, then caught her fingers in his, pulled her to him. “It would be less difficult for me, if you would be … less difficult.”
“What does that mean?” she demanded.
“I mean it would be easier to keep an eye on you if you would agree to come home with me.”
She sort of wanted to, but not in the way that meant he was pushing. Not tamed—that much was now abundantly clear—but still keeping his word.
Knowing he was on edge, but still keeping that part of him on a leash, she felt her heart soften a little.
“Saying no to you is one of the hardest things in the world,” she said. “Even when you’re not trying to make it hard.”
He cupped her face in his hands, looked into her eyes for a long moment. His face was so close to hers she could feel his breath on her lips. “Are you going to make a habit of saying no just to prove you can? That could get tiresome.”
She’d have been offended, if not for the way he smiled when he said it, sly and sexy. Instead, she just shook her head.
His lips whispered across hers, so softly, heedful of the swelling of her bottom lip. “Is that hurting you?” he asked when his mouth was against the tender part.
“Only a little,” she said, and to prove it she went in for a deeper kiss, one that shook her right to the soles of her feet. She lost herself for a little while, and only came back when Miri cleared her throat theatrically.
“That, I suspect, will never get tiresome,” he said, and set her back from him just slightly. She could still feel the heat of him, the gravity of his body trying to pull her in. She thought about pointing out he was wanting again, and then remembered what he’d said in the limo, saw for the first time the absolute truth of what he’d said.
To ask him not to compel her, and then do things designed to make him break that promise inadvertently, was the absolute height of hypocrisy. And there was a new piece to consider: he was bound to her, apparently, as much as she was bound to him. She’d been fighting—internally and with him—to assert her independence, to prove, to herself as well as to him, that she was still strong and capable. But they were a unit, however unwittingly, and she was, in a very real way, his, through this bond they shared. As he was hers. This … thing worked both ways. So she took a couple of deep breaths, pushed the wanting away from her a little, and didn’t mention it.
“I suspect you’re right,” she said. “And I suspect you’re right that things might be easier in some ways if I went home with you … but I’m going to see Miri gets home safe and then I’m going back to my place. I need a little processing time, and my own bed, I think.”
“Call me and tell me you’ve gotten home safely.” When she opened her mouth to object, he cut her off. “Not negotiable. You may sleep wherever you choose, but you’ll let me know you’ve gotten there in one piece.”
She could live with that.
30
The door slammed behind him, near-deafening in the silence of the office. His mother looked up from where she sat in the chair on the visitor side of the desk. He thought, somewhat distractedly, that he must have seriously frightened her, because she’d actually left his chair for him for a change.
She raised her chin, tried for haughty. “Your little girlfriend is gone?” she asked.
Gabriel took his seat and glowered at her across the desk. “She’s gone home to her apartment, for now,” he said. “I don’t intend for her to continue to do so for long, but that’s up to her.”
“Up to her?” Vivienne leaned forward, set the palms of her hands against the desk as though she might boost herself over it and go for his throat. “Since when do you let people make decisions that contravene your own desires?” she spat. “Has she domesticated you then, so very quickly?”
Gabriel leaned forward as well, and rested his elbows on the desk, brought his face to within a few inches of hers. “I assure you, I am far from domesticated. Would you like me to show you how much I dislike being … contravened?”
She raised her chin, cut her gaze away from his as though there were something tremendously interesting somewhere vaguely to the left of him. “That won’t be necessary.”
He reached across the desk, nudged her face back in his direction with a none-too-gentle pat on the cheek. “Look at me when I’m explaining how furious I am,” he said. “I want to be very sure you’re listening.”
“Gabriel, I—”
“Not interested,” he said. “I want your word you won’t do her harm again.”
She spluttered a little. “I’ll give you no such thing,” she managed, finally. “I don’t give my word lightly, and I don’t know what the future holds. Would you have me an oathbreaker over some as-yet-unimaginable future event? Forsworn to the deepest pits?”
She ought to have been forsworn to the deepest pits long since, in his opinion, but damn it, Lily was right: she was his mother. “No,” he said. “I wouldn’t set you up like that.”
She smiled, but not for long.
“Which is why,” he continued, “you’re going to craft your own oath, and swear to it.”
“I am most certainly not,” she said.
“Oh, but you are,” he said. “And I’ll tell you why. You came back for me, Vivienne. I don’t know why, and I don’t really care, so I’ve never asked. But you came back. Either you want something from me, or you need something from me. Whichever it is, I’m willing to bet it’s important. So”—he picked up her purse from the desk, passed it to her—“get out whatever little tools you need, and get ready to make some promises.”
She said nothing, just stared at him as he tossed a pen and a pad of paper on the desk in front of her.
“Start making notes,” he said. “Oh, and while you’re at it, summon Pusboil.”
“Why?” she said.
“We’re renegotiating its contract again.”
She did as she was told, using her compact for the simple blood ritual. This one used only her blood, which was good; he knew she had other spells and rituals that required the blood of others.
He thought of the handkerchief he carried in his pocket, and began to formulate a plan.
Within moments, the room was filled with the acrid, sulfurous smell of an imp summoning. A heartbeat later, Pusboil appeared on the desk in front of Vivienne, accompanied by a profound but swift change in air pressure that made Gabriel’s eardrums tighten uncomfortably.
“It’s your lucky day, Pusboil,” he said. “Remember you wanted out of your contract?”
The imp nodded. “Yeah, I remember a bunch of excuses why you wouldn’t let me out, too.”
“Well, today’s your lucky day.” Gabriel said.
“My son has decided to take his expertise at forging binding oaths, and put it to good use constraining the both of us,” Vivienne said acidly. “Expertise he developed while he was accidentally binding himself to some useless human.”
“Vivienne,” Gabriel said. Only the one word, by way of warning.
“What?” she snapped. “I can’t help it that you’ve hooked yourself up with this … this nothing. I’m sure she’s … enjoyable, as far as that goes, but Gabriel, seriously, she’s like a vacuum. You could have attached yoursel
f to anyone you chose; there was no reason to keep this one around.”
“Maybe for you,” he said. “I’ve several reasons I want her around.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’ll get no results out of her that way, either,” she said. “Even the highest sex magicks aren’t going to raise much power when you’re starting from nothing.”
“Call her nothing again,” Gabriel said. “Go ahead. Let’s see what I do.”
Vivienne glared at him, but piped down and picked up the pen he’d given her, jotting down a few words at a time, then staring off into space for a few minutes. After a few rounds of this, she had a fair number of scratchings in front of her and looked up at him. “I think I have it.”
“Get it done, then,” he said.
So he witnessed her own oath—a long but fairly straightforward one—that she would neither harm Lily nor cause harm to come to her, nor contract with any other being or entity for purposes of same, nor withhold information that she knew would lead to harm, and so on until Gabriel was quite sure he’d covered every possibility of his mother being a danger to his lover.
Gabriel turned his attentions to Pusboil, who’d been watching the whole procedure in uncharacteristic silence. “No sarcastic remarks?” he asked.
It shook its head. “I like her,” it said.
“I’m sorry?”
“You heard me,” it said. “I like her. She feels nice to me, inside my head—not all sharp and jagged, like you two. Calm. And nice.”
Surprised, Gabriel leaned back in his chair a little. “Are you saying my mother’s right—that she’s somehow null, psychically speaking?”
The imp shrugged. “What do I know about it? I’m just telling you, being around you two is like listening to rocks crash against each other all the time, and the girl, she makes a noise in my head like the ocean. Roaring, far away, and quiet.”
Gabriel exchanged a look with his mother, who shrugged.
“Well, it’s good you like her,” he said, turning back to Pusboil, “because she’s your new job.”