Mortal Temptations (13 page)

“No, we’re
supposed
to go together.” Patricia laughed at her. “So we can talk about them.”

“We are?” Rebecca still looked confused but allowed Patricia to tow her across the floor to the crowded doorway of the women’s powder room.

Nico and Andreas ordered drinks for themselves and the ladies and slid onto chairs while they waited. It was too loud to talk, but Nico had nothing much to say.

He noted the interested glances other women threw at him and Andreas, but he didn’t regret not being able to return them. His bond to Patricia was strong and strengthening every day. Andreas, he could tell, was feeling pulled by Rebecca’s interest, despite his three-way play with Nico and Patricia.

He and Andreas never knew what bizarre twists the curse would take, their bed activities dictated by the whims of the women they were locked to. It was tedious—usually. This time Nico was loving it too much.

“They’ve been in there a long time,” Andreas said into Nico’s ear. They’d finished their beers, and the ice was melting in the women’s drinks.

Nico knew women could linger in restrooms, primping or, as Patricia said, discussing their men, but a feeling of unease went through him.

“Let’s find them.”

Andreas nodded once. They strode through the crowd, dancers melting out of their path. The crowd around the women’s bathroom had gone, leaving the door closed and ominous.

Nico strode in without compunction. The room was empty, silent except for the trickling of water flowing unheeded into one sink.

Nico snapped off the tap, while Andreas checked the stalls, every one of them empty. He sniffed the air, his nose more sensitive to scent than Nico’s. But Nico knew even before Andreas said it, and his blood burned.

“Dyons.”

A square window at the back of the room was wide-open. It led to an alley, with a small drop to the pavement, but there was little doubt the Dyons had taken them out that way.

“They’re still alive,” Nico said. His bond to Patricia had definitely not broken.

“I know,” Andreas said grimly.

Nico pushed past him and climbed through the window, and Andreas followed.

THE tape around Patricia’s wrists was painfully tight, as was the duct tape across her eyes and mouth. She felt Rebecca’s warmth near her, heard the young woman’s quick breathing.

Her psychic senses told her the Dyons stood around them. Two of them had burst into the bathroom where she and Rebecca had been laughing and renewing their lipstick like the teenage girls they’d both somehow missed being.

Neither had been the one Mrs. Penworth had shot or the one from the B and B in Ithaca, but they had the same white hair, strange snakelike eyes, hissing voices, and hideous strength. They’d overwhelmed the two women and dragged them through the window, through an alley, and into a car, where a third Dyon waited.

Patricia had no idea where they were, thanks to the makeshift blindfolds. Patricia knew London fairly well, having had to locate obscure dealers and galleries in her capacity as an antiques buyer, but lying blindfolded in the back of a car didn’t help her get her bearings.

Fortunately, a blindfold meant nothing to her psychic senses. The vibrations from the place they were in were thick, layers upon layers of them. That meant the building was old, which meant the inner city, not a new suburban development. It didn’t help much, because they couldn’t be too far from the club in High Holborn, and this part of London was hundreds of years old.

Patricia could tell even without her psychic ability that the room was not very big, and it was underground, like a cellar. The air was dank, the walls not sealed against the weather, and the floor was cold, hard stone.

Next to her Rebecca jerked and gave a little cry, and a moment later, the tape was ripped from Patricia’s eyes and mouth, taking skin with it. One of the Dyons, shorter than the other two, held up a sheaf of papers. “Where are the rest?”

Rebecca half sat up. “Hey, where did you get that? I left everything in my briefcase, you thieving shit.”

“Obviously they went through our rooms,” Patricia said, her mouth dry from the tape. “While we were out enjoying ourselves.”

“This is not all of it,” the Dyon said in his hissing voice. “Where is the rest?”

Rebecca scowled. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Patricia leaned to her. “Maybe we should pretend to help.”

“Oh, please. I’ve faced archaeology profs and customs officials tougher than him. Remind me to tell you about the dragon lady from hell who was my dissertation advisor.”

“Archaeology profs aren’t supernatural minions of a vengeful goddess,” Patricia pointed out.

“Want to bet?”

“You’re giving yourself away, you know,” Patricia said to the Dyon. “If we weren’t close to an answer, you wouldn’t bother with us.”

The Dyon’s slitted eyes blinked once, but no emotion emanated from him. “Where is the rest?” he repeated.

“How do you know that isn’t everything?” Rebecca asked, sounding innocent.

The Dyon slammed the papers to the floor. One of the others brought out a matchbook from the club Nico and Andreas had taken them to. Silently, the Dyon lit a match, caught the entire matchbook alight, and dropped it onto the papers.

Rebecca wailed, and Patricia’s heart sank. “You bastard,” Rebecca yelled. “Do you know how many hours I worked on that? How much sleep I lost for it?”

Patricia watched as the photographs of the ostracon burned to blackened curls. The original was back in New York, far from here. She wondered if the Dyons had gone back to Mrs. Penworth’s apartment and destroyed it, and if Mrs. Penworth was all right.

The lead Dyon kicked aside the ashes and lifted Rebecca by the shirt. She kicked at him, but the Dyon flung her to the floor again and ripped her top open. He thrust his hand inside, not to grope her, Patricia saw, but to check if she’d hidden any papers there.

Rebecca screamed and bit him. Patricia tried to roll to her to help fight him off, but a second Dyon hauled Patricia to her feet and held her back. She saw then a table laden with various implements for slicing, and realized what the Dyons had in mind. Convenient that London was situated on a large river.

Patricia redoubled her efforts, having no desire to become fish food. The Dyons didn’t seem to mind that the two of them screamed their heads off, so this area must be relatively deserted. Not helpful.

Patricia was not a telepath; she couldn’t read minds or project her thoughts into other minds, and so she couldn’t broadcast a distress signal or anything. All she could do was fight the Dyon who held her and watch as Rebecca was dragged by the other two toward the table, her clothes in shreds.

“How about if we take you to the rest of her translation,” Patricia panted.

The lead Dyon turned to her, his snakelike eyes flaring. “Tell me where it is, and we will spare your lives.”

“Sure, I believe you. We’ll tell you when we get there.”

Rebecca glared, but Patricia couldn’t convey her plan. Not that she had a plan. But if the Dyons took them out to the street, they might have more of a chance to get away or to attract enough attention to bring help.

The lead Dyon came to Patricia. He grabbed her hair and yanked her head back, bathing her with his foul breath. “Tell me, and I will spare the other one. Don’t tell me, and she dies.”

Patricia swallowed as the third Dyon held a thick-bladed knife at Rebecca’s throat. Her breasts hung exposed, but she glared in fury, more enraged than afraid.

Patricia had no idea where Rebecca had put the rest of her notes, so she’d have to improvise. She wet her lips, but before she could speak, the incredible aura of a demigod brushed her stretched psychic senses.

“Nico!” she screamed.

Half the wall splintered inward as a wooden door flew off its hinges. Nico sailed in on a spread of black wings, his body surrounded by blinding light.

Two Dyons went down with Nico on top of them, the third bowled over by the leopard that came charging in. Patricia sprang out of the way and shielded Rebecca the best she could with her wrists still taped. Rebecca was shaking, tears of anger and fear rolling down her face.

After a brief but nasty fight, the Dyons dissipated into smoke, then the feathered whirlwind that was Nico stopped in front of Patricia. She cringed from the incredible power surrounding him, unable to look directly at the light. She’d snapped her psychic shields into place the instant he and Andreas had burst in, but the light still blinded her.

She watched him deliberately suppress his divinity. Nico’s form solidified into the tall and strong man with black, feathery wings that Patricia loved. His face lost its terrible power, returning to the sinful handsomeness of Nico, but his dark eyes retained something grim and hard.

“Nico?” Patricia felt tears start in her own eyes, then Nico’s warm wings were surrounding her and Rebecca, protecting and comforting. Patricia rested against the warm strength of Nico’s body, feeling safe.

Andreas the leopard stretched, shook himself, and became Andreas the man, stark naked and unashamed. He surveyed the room and Patricia and Rebecca clinging to Nico.

“Don’t I get a hug?” he asked.

“No.” Rebecca scrubbed tears from her face. “You took too long getting here. They burned my notes!”

“But I saved your life,” Andreas argued.

Rebecca was far gone in relief and hysteria. “Never mind my life; these were my
notes
. The only record I had of your damn inscription. I spent so many hours—”

“But you have more,” Patricia said from Nico’s embrace. “You have what the Dyons were looking for.”

“There isn’t any more. I wasn’t finished writing it all down; the only translation I have is in here.” Rebecca jabbed the side of her head.

“Oh.” Patricia shivered. “I’m glad I didn’t know that.”

Andreas reached for Rebecca, but she spun away from him. “Don’t touch me,” she shrieked. “And for God’s sake, find some
clothes
.”

PATRICIA lay with Nico in their bed in the hotel suite, warm from a bath and relaxed with brandy, but she still couldn’t bring herself to sleep. She wasn’t sure what had frightened her more: the Dyons ready to snuff out her and Rebecca with as much indifference as they would a bug, or seeing the divine being that was Nico.

She could pretend all she wanted that he was a sexy human male, even one with wings who delighted in giving her pleasure, but she knew she’d never seen the real Nico. Nikolaus, son of Dionysus, Andreas had said. Half god, the other half not even human.

He was a being she couldn’t comprehend, bound into his humanlike form and enslaved to Patricia. She couldn’t pretend around it anymore. It was all too bizarre.

She’d tucked Rebecca into bed after making her take a sleeping pill fetched from a nearby chemist’s shop. Rebecca had been shaking and curled in on herself during their drive to the hotel, the trauma of their ordeal finally taking hold. Andreas had wrapped Rebecca in a blanket, his movements almost tender.

Upon their return, they found that their rooms had been searched, their belongings dumped in a pile in the sitting room, and Rebecca’s laptop smashed to pieces. Patricia had gotten Rebecca to bed and helped Nico clean up, Andreas waltzing out with no word of where he was going, probably off to look for more Dyons.

Nico had carried Patricia half asleep into the bathroom and deposited her under a hot shower, then fed her brandy and curled up next to her in bed. He hadn’t tried anything sexual, as though knowing that what she needed now was just to be held.

As the window went gray with dawn, Patricia finally spoke. “How did you find us?”

Nico lay with his head on his bent arm, his strong hand on Patricia’s abdomen. “Through the scent,” he said. “Dyons smell.”

“They drove us through a lot of streets. How did you track us?”

Nico’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “They really stink.”

“I didn’t notice any particular stench.”

“You wouldn’t. They’re foul beings, made from the clay of Hades; the smell of death clings to them. It’s how Andreas and I knew the Dyon had come to your store in Manhattan.”

“Where do they go when they evaporate? Or dissipate, or whatever it is they do.”

Nico shrugged. “To tell you the truth, I don’t really know. Back to Hera, back to the underworld, I don’t know. I don’t much care. They die or are at least reduced to the mud from whence they came.”

Patricia shivered. “Why couldn’t you smell them tonight, at the club?”

He was silent a long time, and when Patricia looked up at him, his eyes held shame and anger. “We weren’t paying enough attention. I was distracted by the crowd and smoke and smells of humanity—and your scent.”

“Are you saying I stink, too?”

He smiled again, but again without warmth. “Your pheromones were strong, and I couldn’t think of anything but you.” He stroked her hair. “It wasn’t only the Dyons I could track; it was you. I can feel you; I’m bound to you. I’m for your pleasure but also your protection. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Part of the curse?”

“A good part,” he whispered against the softness of her hair. “A very good part. I know you’re still scared. Let me soothe that from you.”

The points of his wing tattoo moved in the shadows of his shoulders, and she traced where the bottom of the tattoo brushed his backside.

“Can we make love?” Patricia whispered against his mouth. She shied away from the word
fuck
, wanting something that sounded intimate and not just a physical act. “Why haven’t you done that yet? I crave you.”

“To make it all the sweeter,” he whispered in his flirtatious voice.

Something flickered in his eyes, but he looked away before she could read it. She took his face between her hands.

“Bull. You told me it hurt you to not take me when I wanted it. You’ve been holding in the pain, haven’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“Why would you do that?”

Nico kept stroking her hair, his fingers soothing. “I don’t want it to end too soon. I want this part to go on longer, you wanting me, you not having enough of me. I’m dreading the boredom in your eyes.”

“I could never be bored with you.”

His gaze was neutral. “You won’t be able to help it. All I can do is savor you while I have the chance.”

“Andreas doesn’t seem to worry about it much.”

“Andreas isn’t pulled to you as I am; he hasn’t bonded to you, because you didn’t want him as much as you wanted me. I’m flattered.”

“Of course I wanted you. How could I help it?”

He shrugged. “You happened to see me first.”

“I met Andreas not long after that. I remember you protected me from him. I liked that.”

“I consider you mine. I’m tied to you, but I get very protective, very possessive. I can’t help it.”

Patricia kissed him, loving how warm his lips were. “I don’t mind.”

“You might mind later.”

She framed his face in her hands again. “Nico. This is now, not later. I want to make love to you. I’ve been dying to have you inside me. Please.”