Books by Maggie Shayne (106 page)

He smiled, his gaze unwavering.
 
"There is a letter in the hands of my lawyer, in which the boy's location is revealed.
 
The letter is addressed to Curtis Rogers, of DPI.
 
My lawyer has instructions to send a facsimile to Rogers tomorrow night at midnight."

Rhiannon blinked, and Lucien's smile widened.

"On the other hand, fair Rhiannon, if you transform me without mishap, I will reveal the boy's locale to you, giving you ample time to reach him first."

For the first time, Roland saw uncertainty in Rhiannon's eyes.
 
She broke eye contact with Lucien, and sought Roland's gaze, instead.

"Do not trust him, Rhiannon.
 
There would be nothing to stop him draining you dry, either.
 
You'd be weakened by the act.
 
You know that."

"A risk you'll have to take, my dear, if you want the boy safe.
 
On the other hand, you can refuse and see him become a subject for live study by some of the world's most unscrupulous scientists."
 
He leaned toward her still farther.
 
She didn't back away.
 
"I understand you have firsthand knowledge of just how much...
discomfort
they can impose on a living being."

Tamara caught her breath.
 
Roland closed his eyes, knowing her memories of that horrific lab must be the stuff of Rhiannon's deepest nightmares.

"Here is how generous I can be," Lucien went on.
 
I'll give you time to think it over.
 
Come back at sundown tomorrow.
 
If you agree, we'll make the switch, and you'll have the boy back before the fax goes out.
 
Or, you can kill me, try to find him on your own, fail and regret it for the rest of eternity.
 
The choice is yours."

Rhiannon blinked slowly.
 
"It seems we
have
little choice."

"One thing, Rhiannon.
 
You come to me alone, tomorrow evening.
 
I don't trust them for a minute.
 
You come alone, or the deal is off."

Roland felt a blade twist in his chest.
 
"Absolutely not," he said in a low voice.
 
"I won't allow it."

Rhiannon acted as if he hadn't spoken.
 
"I hope there will be time, Lucien.
 
The gift of endless night isn't given as simply as you seem to think.
 
There is a ritual involved."

Roland frowned, wondering what on earth she was up to.

"I care nothing for your rituals.
 
I only want the blood."
 
She shrugged.

"Well, if you don't want the full extent of the strength, then we can dispense with the meditation.
 
I supposed..."

Lucien frowned, licking his lips.
 
"How long does this... ritual take?"

"Several hours."

He tilted his head.

"You won't need more than thirty minutes to get to the boy before Rogers does."

Rhiannon's brows arched.
 
Roland thought he might be the only one who saw the triumph in her eyes.
 
"Then there is sufficient time."

"Rhiannon, you can't do this," Tamara cried.

"I must, fledgling," Rhiannon said softly.
 
"Think of Jamey."
 
She turned, and fixed Tamara with an intense stare.
 
"
Think of Jamey
."

Tamara blinked, and averted her eyes.
 
"I--I will."

Rhiannon tossed her hair over her shoulder as she got to her feet with fluid grace.
 
"Until tomorrow evening, then.
 
Of course, you know you must fast from now until then.
 
No food, no drink.
 
Otherwise, you won't cross the threshold.
 
You will die upon it."

Roland frowned again.
 
It was absolute nonsense.
 
Not that he intended to allow her to go through with it.

"And you mustn't sleep tonight, or tomorrow, either," she went on, crossing to the door.
 
"If the conditions are not just right, you will die.
 
Do you understand?"

Why was she spouting such drivel?

"You seem to take great care with the life of a man you despise, Rhiannon."
 
Lucien's voice was laced with the shadows of suspicion.

"I would kill you as soon as speak to you, Lucien.
 
It is the boy's life I'm taking care with.
 
If you die before you tell me his whereabouts, he'll fall into the hands of devils.
 
That, I cannot allow."

Well before dawn, they'd taken refuge in a dilapidated house several miles outside the village.
 
Rhiannon boldly built a fire in the ancient-looking pot-bellied stove, using bits of the rotted shutters for fuel.

"You take many chances, for a being so sensitive to flame, Rhiannon.
 
The chimney is likely in as sad condition as the house."

Roland again, admonishing her as always.
 
"Stop worrying.
 
There will be no direct contact between my flesh and the flames.
 
And I'll see it's well doused before we rest."

Eric and Tamara had gone down into the basement to seek a resting place, and, she suspected, to spend some time alone.
 
She suppressed her jealousy of them and tried to focus on more practical matters.
 
Frankly, she wished she'd brought a huge, fluffy comforter along to wrap herself in.
 
Sleeping in a mound of mildewed hay had been bad enough; this pile of refuse would be worse yet.

"Rhiannon, it's time."

She fed another bit of wood to the burgeoning fire, careful to keep her hand from the flames, closed the iron door and brushed the black soot from her fingers.
 
"Time?"

"To tell me what you have planned for Lucien."

"So you can tell me how foolish and risky it is?"
 
She shook her head quickly, and crossed the room to gingerly examine an ancient-looking sofa.
 
"Thank you, no.
 
You, Eric and Tamara can spend your time looking for Jamey.
 
I'll keep Lucien busy... alive, but busy, until you find the boy."

"Thus the talk of a lengthy ritual?"

She nodded.
 
"He wants power.
 
He craves it the way a drunkard craves liquor.
 
It's a weakness to want something that badly.
 
I'll use that weakness against him.
 
If he believes my ritual will give him more strength, he'll take part in it."

She thumped the ratty cushions repeatedly, watching for some creature to skitter forth.
 
When none did, she turned and sat down.

Roland came and sat beside her.
 
"And what of your admonition that he neither eat nor rest?"

His shoulder touched hers, he sat so close.
 
His thigh pressed to hers, but he didn't even try to rectify matters.
 
She wasn't sure whether she should do it herself.
 
She knew she didn't want to.

"Deprivation of food and sleep weakens the mind.
 
It's used by all the most successful cult leaders, you know.
 
I only wish I could make him fast longer before I face him."

She didn't move away.
 
If Roland didn't mind the closeness, why should she deny herself the supreme pleasure of it?

"Face him in what way, Rhiannon?
 
You make it sound like a battle."

Sighing, she leaned back against the gray-colored stuffing that poked out from the ragged upholstery, her arms crossing over her chest.
 
"It will be a battle, of sorts.
 
A battle of minds."
 
She closed her eyes and tried to see her hastily concocted plan clearly.
 
She wanted it to seem like a sound course of action when she explained it to Roland, not like the ravings of a careless, reckless child.

"While Lucien
meditates
, Roland, I will be working on his mind.
 
I will entrance him, as I've done to countless humans when the need has arisen.
 
I will bring him completely under my control."

Roland half turned, so he faced her.
 
She avoided his eyes, but he would have none of it.
 
He caught her chin in two fingers and turned her face to his.
 
"You are well aware this man is no ordinary human.
 
His psychic abilities are strong.
 
He is able to conceal his mind from yours."
 
His eyes sparked with emotion, but she didn't think it was anger.
 
His jawline tightened.
 
His full lips thinned.

"He will be weakened and tired.
 
I will be strong and ready for the fight.
 
The incense and candles that distract him will help me to focus."

His hand dropped from her chin, to settle on her shoulder.
 
"If this works, and you are able to get him under your power, what then?"

She resisted the impulse to tilt her head sideways, and brush her cheek over his hand on her shoulder.
 
Barely resisted it.
 
"I'll scan his mind and learn where the boy is.
 
I'll relay the information to you and the others, and you will rescue him."

"You make it sound so simple."

"Because it is."

"And if you fail?
 
If his mind is too strong?"

"That will not happen."

"It could, Rhiannon."

"It won't."
 
She reached up with one hand to cup his face.
 
"Just this once, Roland, try to believe in me.
 
Look beyond all my faults and see the strength that is mine.
 
I can do this."

His frown came suddenly, and left just as fast.
 
"I've never doubted your strength.
 
I do believe in you, Rhiannon.
 
That's never been a question.
 
But I fear--"

"That I will bungle it and cost Jamison his life."
 
She lowered her hand and shrugged his from her shoulder.

"No, little bird.
 
That you will save Jamison and risk your own existence in the process."
 
Roland stood abruptly, reached down and gripped both her hands to pull her to her feet.
 
"Lucien nearly killed you once, Rhiannon.
 
I have an uncanny feeling that is his intent, even now."

"The risk is not important.
 
Getting Jamey back is."

"I'll go with you," Roland said hoarsely.
 
I'll stand watch over this entire exchange, and if he lifts a hand against you, I will kill him before he draws another breath."

She shook her head.
 
"You can't.
 
He wants me alone--"

"I'll go along, or you will stay away.
 
Your choice, Rhiannon."
 
Like chips of glassy coal, his eyes glittered.

She sighed and turned away.
 
"Why must you be so difficult?"

A hand of steel closed on her shoulder, turning her so she collided with his chest.
 
At the instant of impact, another arm snapped around her waist, as firmly as a padlock's hasp.
 
His breath bathed her face as she turned it up, and then his lips caught hers in a merciless hold.
 
His tongue fought its way through the barricades of her lips and plundered every part of her interior within reach.

In seconds, she went from shocked victim, to willing partner.
 
Her mouth opened wide and the sensual dance began.
 
They took turns lapping each other's mouths, suckling each other's tongues, nipping each other's lips.
 
Rhiannon's arms twisted around his neck.
 
Roland gripped her buttocks in his eager hands, and pressed her hips to his, moving them back and forth tomb her against his bulging arousal.

When his mouth left hers at last, she felt the shudder that rocked through him.
 
He lowered his face to her hair, and his lips moved against it.
 
"That's why I am so difficult, reckless one.
 
Because this planet, without you among its inhabitants, would be as grim a place as... as this house.
 
And as empty."

Rhiannon closed her eyes at the sweet agony those words inflicted on her soul.
 
She could feel the thunder of his heartbeat against her chest, his breath in her hair.
 
"But you want that emptiness.
 
You want my disturbing presence removed from your life."

His hold on her tightened.
 
His words came on a voice gone gravelly with feeling.
 
"No, Rhiannon.
 
It's not what I want, but what is necessary.
 
It's not you I want out of my life, but the monster that lives within me.
 
How can I make you understand?"

The breath she drew was halting and shallow.
 
"I don't!
 
I want to understand.
 
I only want you."
 
She lifted her head from his shoulder and looked up into his eyes.
 
"I swore I wouldn't give you the chance to reject me again, Roland, yet here I am offering myself up for your scathing words.
 
When Jamey is safe, and I am far away, I'll have nothing but sweet memories of your touch, your kisses.
 
The ghost of that single time will never be enough to sustain me, I fear."

His dark eyes fell closed, and she saw his lips tremble.

"Give me one more memory to cling to, Roland.
 
I'll ask no more of you, I promise.
 
Make love to me now."

He opened his eyes again, and the fire in his gaze burned into her heart.
 
She lowered her forehead to his chest, unable to face him as he pushed her away from him, yet again.

"Go on," she whispered.
 
"Tell me to leave you alone.
 
Remind me that no lady would say the things I've said.
 
Let me feel your disapproval one more time.
 
Perhaps then I will finally get it fixed in my mind that I'm not worthy of your..."
 
She stopped herself as her throat closed off.
 
Love.
 
She'd been about to say love.
 
God, what was happening to her senses?

"I'm sorry, Rhiannon."

She bit her lip, bracing herself for his rejection.
 
He brought his hands slowly upward, his palms skimming her spine, his fingers brushing over her nape.
 
He cupped her head, and tipped it up, staring down into her eyes.

"It is not you who are unworthy, it is I.
 
I ought not allow myself even this embrace, after my loss of control the last time..."
 
He lowered his face to hers, until his lips barely brushed over hers as he spoke.
 
"But I cannot turn you away.
 
My desire for you burns away my will."

His mouth covered hers, his palms still pressed to the sides of her head.
 
He kissed her as he never had before.
 
Gently, slowly.
 
Every sweep of his tongue was a tender exploration, every shifting of his lips, a caress.
 
His fingers dived into her hair, raking through it again and again.
 
And then he drew himself away, as she rose from the sofa, shivering with passion.

"Undress for me, Rhiannon.
 
Let me see you clothed in nothing but your stunning beauty."

She nodded, and lifted unsteady hands to the silk blouse she wore.
 
His gaze held hers captive as she slowly freed the buttons.
 
But when the blouse fell away, and her breasts stood unclothed before him, he broke contact with her eyes to stare fixedly at her chest.
 
She didn't flinch from the intensity of that stare.
 
She felt her nipples harden in response to it, as if reaching out to him.
 

He drew a sudden breath, and moved his gaze lower as she released the fastening of the denims, and drew down the zipper.
 
Without shame or hesitation, she pushed the jeans down, and the panties with them.
 
She stepped out of the garments and kicked them aside.

Roland came toward her, one arm reaching out.
 
She stepped away just as quickly, and when he sent her a quizzical glance, she smiled.
 
"Now you."

Her smile was answered with one of his, and he quickly removed his shirt, dropping it to the dusty floor.

She let her gaze roam freely over the expanse of skin revealed to her, the dark swirling mat of hair that invited the exploration of her fingers, her lips.
 
"I've always adored your chest, you know.
 
So broad, so..."
 
Unable to resist, she moved nearer him, and ran her hands over the crisp hairs and firm muscled wall.
 
She lowered her face to its center, and inhaled his scent.

When she lifted her face away, she ran her hands up ward.
 
"And your shoulders," she whispered, surprised at the hoarse quality of the words.
 
"And your arms.
 
One would think you a body builder by the shape of you."

"The only weight I've hefted was that of a broadsword, as well you know."

She pressed her lips to his shoulder.
 
"Then I'm glad you hefted it."
 
She kissed a trail toward his neck and up it, savoring the taste of his skin.
 
Her hands slipped down ward, fumbling to open his trousers, then eagerly, shoving them downward.
 
"Hurry, Roland."

He chuckled low, and helped her divest him of his remaining clothes.
 
Then they stood, bodies pressed together, flesh against flesh.
 
The hairs of his chest rubbed over her breasts.
 
The hard length of his arousal stood rigid against her abdomen.
 
She ran her hands over the curve of his back, down to his buttocks, which flexed in response to her touch.