My Immortal Assassin (24 page)
She brought up one knee and crossed her arms behind her head. She knew his secrets. He had nothing left to hide from her. He was a killer, and she knew that. He had been mageheld, nearly killed in a ritual murder and she knew that too, and did not blame him as he had blamed himself for so long.
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” she said.
He studied her without bothering to look at her face. Her knee shifted just enough and he set his fingers on her mons. He could lose his mind with her and it wouldn’t matter. “Very.”
The skin down his spine rippled and incipient pain quivered along his shoulder blades. She knew what that meant. Her tension flowed into him. He pushed back while he was kneeling between her legs. They were so closely linked right now that he was getting images from her. Of her and Tigran. Of him the day Nikodemus had bound her over. From the acuity of his vision, he knew he was closer to changing than was safe for her. Or him.
“Gray.” He realized then that she wasn’t afraid or panicked or repulsed. And that there was nothing she needed to be protected from. She knew the risks. Better than any human woman, she knew the risks.
She held his gaze, then slowly lowered her eyes to his torso, his belly. His penis. She didn’t just let him know what she was thinking. She actively imagined what she wanted him to do to her, and how the hell was he supposed to suppress his reaction to those pictures of her accepting him into her body? She slid a bare foot along the outside of his thigh and smiled a lazy, lush smile while she thought about what she wanted to do to him. He looked at her, so beautifully naked, all the muscles of her body and the passion and desire coming back to him along their link.
“I can change back just before,” he said.
“You could.” Gray held his gaze. “Or we could take our chances.”
He wanted to.
“After everything Tigran did to me, what if I can’t even have a baby?” She put an arm around him and brought him close. “Don’t go acting like this was never a possibility. It was from the start, and you know it. From the minute I sat on that couch and said I’d swear fealty to you, this was a possibility between us.”
“There’s a difference—”
She pushed him back to stare into his face. “I’ll tell you the difference. The difference is this time I get a choice. And I choose you. I choose us. If you don’t want this, then okay. But if you do, I’ve already made my choice.”
He threw back his head until he was looking at the canopy, allowing his feelings to flow through him to her and back, and while he was doing that, she sat up and her hands skated over him. Touching him with the silk of human skin. He stretched his hands upward as he straightened and flickered into her head. He stayed in his body, though he saw with her eyes. One of her hands slid down his belly to his cock.
When her hand gripped him with exactly the right pressure, he let out a sound that was part growl, part groan.
The connection between them went hot with desire.
The traceries along her arm and temple glowed an unearthly green. “Do you want children some day?”
“I’ve never thought of it. Not in years.”
“It’s all right if you don’t.”
He touched her cheek and she turned her head and nipped his finger. “I don’t want to hurt you. Or remind you of Tigran. Or bring back memories that are unpleasant for you.”
“Do you ever learn? If you do any of that, I’ll tell you.”
He leaned in and bit her, and, yes, his teeth were sharper now, but he was in control of himself, and he kept tasting her while with his other hand he reached down and pushed her back until her body, pale against the dark coverings, lay beside him.
“Jesus, Durian.”
He laughed to himself. To his long-dead god.
“Your choice now,” she whispered. “Just make love to me.”
He moved over her, his hips adjusting, her legs opening for him. Without preamble, he pushed inside her slick, hot body. He was still human. Barely. The pressure of her around him took his thoughts away from much besides this.
Better than before, and all the before with her had been very good. He got a hold of one of her hips and with his other hand gripped her head, and he was inside her body with her back pressed into the mattress, her arms holding him, and him so close. So close.
G
ray drew a breath as the weight of him on her increased, the texture of his skin changed. The heat of him sizzled where their bodies touched. Their psychic link went white hot and for a moment her vision cut out. She blinked and her sight was back because she was using Durian to see.
Colors were more saturated than she was used to. Gold underlay his copper-red eyes and bled into the whites of his eyes; she’d seen his eyes do that before, but never at such close range. Never while he was holding her. His breath came harsher now, and for a moment, she couldn’t think. Maybe she didn’t want to think.
His body was dark, dark, copper and, as with his eyes, flashes of gold gleamed as if there were shifting pools beneath the upper layers of his hide. He was just as beautiful as she remembered.
She bit her lower lip, but she didn’t hold back her reaction, and that brought a growl rolling up from his chest. The scar down his chest remained and she trailed a finger along the twisting line. “I’m screwed up. I guess you know that.”
“You are exactly as I prefer.” Durian pressed his palm to her cheek.
She turned her head and kissed his wrist.
He circled her right wrist with a hand and she saw a flash of black teeth and tongue when he brought her arm to his mouth and traced one of the twisting whorls on the inside of her forearm. The effect was electric. He seemed to have known it would be, too. She couldn’t suppress a gasp. He turned his head until he caught her eye. “Do you like that?”
She nodded.
“Mm.” He went back to using his tongue to trace the whorls. Her own markings were moving now, the way the gold did underneath his skin, which was a fascinating similarity. He nicked her arm near the crook of her elbow. The touch of his tongue on her skin, the psychic echo as he tasted her blood, sent a shiver through her. He made a low sound in the back of his throat, and pressed her onto the bed, though he kept his mouth on her arm. He bit her again. The sharp pain didn’t hurt the way it seemed it should, and then he braceleted both her wrists and pulled himself over her. Heat from his skin soaked into her palm, into her pelvis where his lower body pressed against hers.
His face and body were unhuman in a way that took her breath. You might turn the pages of some medieval manuscript and find creatures that looked like him; fanciful images—so humans supposed these days—drawn by some human scribe who had rendered his vision in disturbing and sensuous detail.
She was even more aroused than when he’d been human, but then she’d known that would happen. Not repulsed. Not horrified. Nor afraid. Aroused. She wanted him this way. She wanted the danger and the beauty and lethal power of him. Her choice.
Durian lowered his head to her, nuzzling her belly and then sliding his mouth—such an unexpected sensation—up to her breast. She bowed off the bed at the pleasure of his mouth there, tonguing her nipple.
Gray pushed at his chest, and he let her push him away. She sat up, and he did the same, sitting on his haunches while she touched him. His skin was thicker, a smooth copper hide that was soft beneath her fingers. Muscle and sinew stood out in corded relief. There was no mistaking his strength. He had no hair anywhere, the tips of his ears lay flat to his head and when he opened his mouth his jet black teeth were sharp. His tongue flicked out to touch the side of his mouth.
He was different. His body was bigger, rougher, not quite as gentle, and she loved that about him. She spread her palm flat to his torso, just below the end point of his scar, then slid her fingers up until she touched his nipple. His eyes flashed bright copper and when she leaned in and licked him there, his hand came up to close over the back of her head. Talons pressed into her scalp. His other hand cupped her bottom.
He wasn’t Tigran. He wasn’t forcing anything. There was no compulsion but what came from her own desire.
His talons skipped along the side of her spine while she moved to his other nipple, licking, tasting and breathing in the heat of him. She slipped a hand between them and when her fingers circled his balls he spread his thighs enough to give her better access. She worked to keep her magic at a minimum because she knew what he wanted right now, when he was in this form, was the human part of her.
“Have I ever told you,” she said, rearing back just enough, “how much I love the male anatomy?”
“No.” His voice was deeper, rougher, and when he spoke she saw the sharp tips of his canines and incisors.
“Maybe I should show you.” She curled her fingers around his cock.
“At your peril,” he said. He reached out and hooked a tip of a talon through the ring that connected her skull pendant to the steel bar just above her navel.
The tug on her belly sent a zing of arousal to all the right places. She stretched her hands over her head and watched Durian’s eyes fix on her breasts. “I’ve been told I give good head.”
He cocked his head to one side and spread his hands wide. Gold shifted underneath his hide and wherever it did, the color highlighted the scaled markings on him.
His cock was different in texture and she savored the heat and salt, the flex of him in her mouth, the way his body stiffened, how his hands pressed the sides of her head and let her know when he wanted more force from her, more tongue. She reached with one hand and used her thumb to press against his anus. Her heart thudded in her chest when he let out a low, feral growl. His hips pumped forward and she took him deeper into her mouth.
She licked her way up his belly and chest, back to his nipples, his throat. He stretched his arms over his head and grabbed the top of the bedstead. The muscles of his upper body contracted with the tension of his grip. She straddled him and he bowed toward her when she lifted herself and brought his cock into her. She knew he wanted something else. Something more between them. His nature needed an edge between them but he was holding back.
This was nothing like what had happened to her with Tigran. There wasn’t anything in her head that whispered softly of the horror of her life. Nothing in her fought the arousal she felt. No guilt. No hatred. She did not hate herself for this. He sat up, keeping a hand against her spine and himself inside her and kissed away her tears, a soft touch of his tongue to her skin.
Their eyes locked when he leaned back.
She could choose this. She did choose.
She put her hands behind her head and arched her torso toward him. After a slight pause, he did what she wanted, which was to kiss her breast, bringing her peaked nipple into the heat of his mouth with a pressure that set her on the edge. The pressure of his mouth increased; he held her tighter, pushed harder into her body, and she went right along.
“More,” she said. “Durian. More.”
He turned her over. The ferocity of his desire was in her, too, along with the knowledge that he was aroused by the gleam of her pale human skin. She saw what he did. Felt it. When he entered her from behind, he growled, a long low sound that sent a quiver of arousal up her spine. One hand spread over her back while the other held her hip, keeping her steady as he thrust into her. She pushed back to meet him. Harder and faster and she felt his body change again.
The weight of him was different. Denser. She started to come, so close. She was seconds from orgasm when he withdrew.
Then she was flat on her back and he pushed inside her, his big body straining to get deep inside, and she did come, in one long rolling wave of pleasure that he rode with her, drawing out the peak until she thought she’d never survive. When she could breathe again, she met his gaze. His eyes burned like fire and she grabbed his head and bit the side of his neck where he’d opened up a cut earlier. His blood tasted richer to her. She lifted her hips to his and let go. This time it was real. She wanted Durian. He wanted her. Her. Her. Her.
When he came, she held him close and refused to think about anything but right now and what she had chosen to do.
St. Francis Wood, San Francisco
L
ess than an hour after Maddy called with the boy’s location, Durian and Gray were on their way to an address on Clement Street, a commercial building with apartments upstairs. Though early enough to be dark, it wasn’t early enough that there weren’t worrisome numbers of humans on the streets. The joggers were first, along with those heading home after a night on the swing shift. And, for many of the humans who were out of their beds, their morning commutes were just getting started.
He let Gray deal with the locks on the barred door that led to the upstairs apartments. As expected, she opened them with no difficulty and left no sign of the building’s security having been breached. Inside, they both stopped as the wrongness hit them. The air here was thick with magic that made their skin crawl. The hair across the back of his neck prickled. Beside him, Gray sucked in a breath. It wasn’t just the presence of the mage that brought them up short, but the magic that wafted down the stairwell. There were magekind here. More than one.
Gray glanced at him. “How many mages do you figure are here? Ten? More?”
He gave a tight shake of his head. “None of any strength. It isn’t unusual for a human to register as a mage or witch yet have little, if any, usable magic. Nor to find that they end up living near each other, without any of them being aware of their latent talents.”
From where they stood downstairs, locating the trail they’d followed here wasn’t hard. There was an elevator, but getting on anything that might be interfered with mechanically wasn’t the wisest course. Whatever mage was here, Durian didn’t intend to telegraph their presence. He and Gray dampened their magic, and it was far easier than he expected. They hardly had to think about it.
They took the stairs. The higher they got, the stronger the stench of perverted magic. He and Gray shared senses and observations with almost no difficulty. They’d adapted to the duality to the point where he didn’t need to flick into her head. He knew. He felt the way her other magic reacted to the presence of magekind.
Their destination was a sixth floor apartment. The scent of blood came raw and overpowering before they reached the final stairs. The apartment door was ajar. He examined the space around them for any traps and found none from either kin or magekind. Gray gave the door a gentle push.
The doorway opened onto a cluttered main room that at first glance appeared empty. They both knew that couldn’t be. The air seethed with magic that set his skin to crawling.
Inside, someone softly sobbed, a heartrending sound.
“Christophe is here,” Gray said.
“Yes.”
Gray’s other magic rippled through him, a foreign sensation but he recognized it for what it was. There were magehelds in here. They entered, with her beside him. To their right was an open kitchen; to the upper left a wall with two doors, one shut tight, the other ajar. He pulled as much magic as he could, to the point where his body felt light, and still there was more he could have called on. They could not yet see the crying woman, but she was here, off to the left, though not behind one of the two doors they could see.
Magehelds, when they attacked—and Durian did not doubt they would attack—would almost certainly come from behind one of those two doors. He wasn’t sure how far their ability to sense magehelds extended, though he was confident he had a fix on the ones inside. They were a presence in his head. He could have pointed to them even if he were blind.
They moved farther in. The wrongness he and Gray had sensed downstairs intensified. Once they were past the front door, the rest of the apartment came into view. They were close enough now to identify the woman as a witch. One of the magehelds, a man with a newly and unevenly shaven head crouched next to the woman. A glow of magic surrounded them. The sobs weren’t from her. They were coming from him.
Gray moved past Durian toward what was obviously a newly taken mageheld and the victim of his first command from the mage who now controlled him. He did not doubt that once the mageheld was done destroying the witch’s mind, he’d kill her. Gray’s expression was severe, a match for her psychic state. She was, rightly, appalled by what had been done here. The mageheld, it was heartbreakingly clear to Durian, was the witch’s former lover and the father of the boy Christophe was after.
Durian stayed where he was. Gray had more than enough magic to do what was needed and she was fast enough to get her touch before the mageheld could hope to guess someone was close. They were going to have to drop the dampening of their magic in order to deal with the mageheld, but that had been an inevitability anyway. Once that was done, the mage would know they were here.
They didn’t undampen until she got within range to touch the mageheld. She wasn’t sanctioned for a kill, so all she could do was incapacitate him. Which she did. She caught the now lax body and lowered it silently to the floor.
She’d just turned to the witch when the open interior door swung wide and Christophe dit Menart emerged from the other room. His clothes were more soccer hooligan than elegant. Straight-legged jeans, pointy-tipped shoes, an AJ Auxerre jersey. Three of his mageheld bodyguards followed. Christophe held a dark-haired child in the crook of one arm, but he was also wiping his damp hands on a white towel. A slash of crimson stained the bottom of the towel. One of the magehelds carried a bright blue bag with a smiling train on the side.
The mage’s grin faded when he saw the mageheld on the floor. “Ici!”
His remaining four bodyguards appeared from the other room, moving with alert eyes to spread out around dit Menart. He lifted the hand holding the towel. His magehelds stood still.
Durian crossed the room to Gray. He wasn’t good at guessing the ages of human children, but he knew this one was quite young. Barely past the age when the magekind tested their offspring for ability. The boy’s unnatural quiet was surely due to something Christophe had done to ensure he kept quiet. His gaze swept over Durian to settle on Gray.
“Nikodemus will not be pleased to learn you’ve taken a mageheld, Christophe,” Durian said.
“In defense of my life, fiend. He attacked me.” He waved his free hand. “I was well within my rights to act as I did.”
“Put the boy down, Christophe,” Gray said.
Christophe stroked the toddler’s head. “Anna. How unexpected to meet you again.” His smile broadened. “As to the boy, this is none of your affair. He is talented. Magekind. I’ve just confirmed that.”
She lunged.
Durian tightened his grip on her wrist and yanked her back with enough force that he was afraid he’d hurt her. He pulled her close and spoke in a voice pitched to her ear. “Use your head. He hopes to provoke you.” He squeezed her wrist. “We do not have his sanction.”
“Not yet.”
“You, Anna,” the mage said. “You are… not quite what you were the last time we saw each other.”
“Give him to me, Christophe.”
“Give him to you.” His smile got even bigger as he darted a glance at Durian. “Give him to you or what?” The mage laughed and ran his fingers through the boy’s black hair. “He’ll fit right in with my growing family. My wife is looking forward to taking in this poor orphaned boy.”
Durian felt Gray go cold inside.
“I propose a trade,” Christophe said. “I’ll leave the boy here in return for her.”
“No.” Durian took a step forward. He and Gray needed to sell this moment. If Christophe didn’t buy their reluctance to accept any deal, their chances of saving the boy and getting to Emily were going to be astronomically faint.
“Pity.” Christophe resettled the boy in his arms. “I could be persuaded to accept you in lieu of her. In service to me as my mageheld, naturally.”
“I serve Nikodemus, mage.”
Light refracted off the faceted rubies that lined Christophe’s ear. He waved a hand. The words tattooed on his hands flashed in and out of focus. “That would be immaterial if you were my mageheld.” He waited. “A simple trade. The boy for one of you.”
“Nikodemus won’t like that much,” Gray said. “No one’s threatening your life right now.”
“My dear Anna, my agreement with the warlord is that I won’t
take
a mageheld while I am in his territory. Not without provocation.” He made another dismissive gesture. “If one of you offers to submit to me and I accept, that’s hardly what Nikodemus intended. And in any case not what I agreed to.” The mage looked at him. “Well, fiend?”
“Very well. Give her the boy, and I agree you can try to take me.”
“Durian,” Gray said in a sharp voice. She was a far better actor than he was. He believed she didn’t want this to happen when, in fact, this was precisely what they’d hoped would happen.
“If you fail,” Durian went on, “you leave him with us.”
“Ridiculous.” Christophe’s magehelds took offensive positions near him. Durian held his ground. If the magehelds attacked, he was justified in defending himself and Gray. He would do so with lethal force if necessary. “I can hardly leave a young boy in the company of monsters.” The mage narrowed his eyes. “You agree to become my mageheld?”
“I agree I won’t resist you when you try.” He would have killed Christophe where he stood if Durian didn’t know that when his bond to Nikodemus broke as a result, Gray would suffer, too.
Christophe smiled.
He and Gray had planned for this. She withdrew from their connection so that anything Christophe did wouldn’t blowback through her. He felt Christophe’s touch, lightly at first, then like the slice of a knife. He centered himself against the instinct to fight. His chest burned along his scar, pulsing fire with each beat of his heart. His breath caught, but the nightmare that had once been his life failed to take hold. Dit Menart tried again and then once more. Each time the taking failed.
“Can this be?” Christophe flushed and made a sharp gesture that cut the air with the side of his hand. “You are not a free fiend?” His focus lasered in on Gray. “Surely, she’s not the one who took you? She isn’t capable. She doesn’t have enough power for that.”
Gray held out her arms and even though Durian knew what she was going to say before the words came, still, his heart nearly stopped. This was a dangerous game they played.
“Leave the boy here, and I’ll go with you.”
Durian was afraid to look at Gray for fear he’d give something away. The mage had to believe. Had to. If this didn’t work, if Gray were harmed in any way, Christophe would die. He would personally see to it. Xia could sever the blood bond and free him to kill the mage regardless of the consequences to him.
The muscles around Christophe’s mouth and eyes tightened and an eager light came into his eyes. “A noble sacrifice, Anna.”
Already her fealty to him was attenuating. “Don’t do this.”
She stared at the mage. “Put down the boy, and I won’t fight you.”
The air around them pulsed as the mage pulled again. He handed the boy off to one of his bodyguards. “When she’s mine,” he told the mageheld, “release the boy.” He spread his hands wide. “There. Is that sufficient?”
Christophe signaled to one of his magehelds. The one with the boy took a step back.
“Gray.” Durian met her gaze straight on this time because his feelings right now were exactly what Christophe would expect. Had events fallen out differently, he would have left her oath in place, but that option was now far too dangerous. As they had agreed, Gray was going to allow Christophe to take her mageheld. He pulled his magic, and it roared through him. “I release you from your oath of fealty.”
They both felt her fealty to him vanish. The blood bond, however, remained. He knew what would happen next. Dreaded it even knowing that this was the most likely outcome. Iskander had protected himself from a magheld blood twin. Durian intended to do the same. His world depended on it.
Another of the magehelds twisted her arms behind her and shoved her forward until she stood arm’s length from Christophe. She glared at the mage with all the ferocity he’d come to love in her. Both he and Gray had accepted the risks of what they were doing, but he vowed to himself that if anything happened to her while Christophe had her, he would visit a thousand times worse on the mage. And then Durian would kill him.
Another of the magehelds got behind Durian and kicked the back of his knee so that he dropped to the ground. Dit Menart put a finger to his chin. “Her I can take.” He tipped his head. “But you. You are somehow proof against me. This,” he said, “I do not understand.” He smiled. “Nor can it be allowed to exist. A fiend who cannot be controlled must be killed.” He gestured behind him, and four of his magehelds stepped forward.
Gray looked at Durian, worried yet resolute, and he returned her gaze. He mouthed the words
I love you.
The side of Christophe’s mouth twitched—almost but not quite a smile. He was pleased with himself. Dit Menart’s magic flared up and somewhere in the heat that blinded Durian in its intensity, Gray screamed. Her very soul convulsed with a pain Durian recognized all too well.
He felt the moment she was bound to the mage. The loss nearly crushed him. When he looked up he had to shove his emotions away. Gray’s breath came in shallow pants. Her eyes were wide and staring. The traceries at her temple slowed and then stopped. Even as he reeled from change in the equilibrium of their twinned state, his relief that this had worked as they hoped swept through him. He continued to feel her magic through their blood bond, both the now stunted and deformed magic of his own kind and the foreign magic that had come from Christophe.
Christophe pointed to the mageheld who held the boy, then to two others. “You two with me. You—” He meant the other four. “—kill this one when we are gone.”
“Leave the boy, Christophe.” Gray faced the mage. “You promised.”
Christophe backhanded her. “You will not defy me. Ever again.”
Durian watch her leave the apartment with Christophe dit Menart. All he had to do now was survive whatever Christophe’s magehelds had planned for him and then he was going after Gray.