Symphony of Light and Winter (8 page)

“Linden. I’d like for you to call me Linden, but if you just can’t help being a pompous ass, then Miss Hill will be fine.” I stood my ground and pretended my legs weren’t weak at watching him touch himself.

“Well, Linden, now we’ve settled that, why don’t you come here and tell me what I need to know.” He moved closer to the glass.

I’m not quite sure where my confidence came from, but my determination met him measure for measure. I closed the distance. “Now where would the fun be in that? You’d stop harassing me and I might actually like you again. We certainly can’t have that after all the effort you’ve put into being a prick.” I placed my hands on the glass.

He growled a barely audible noise. His body touched the glass, or at least one part of him was touching it. The water slid over his skin and he appeared more flushed than before.

“You are going to tell me how you got my blood and reveal who cast the binding spell for you?” He looked down at me, his hair plastered against his head, his breathing labored. With my hands against the glass I looked up. Every time I did, his demeanor softened. My words seemed to infuriate, but my eyes grounded him.

“Cyril, I don’t know what spell you’re talking about. You are the only person I have ever seen use magic.” I tried to convey sincerity with my expression.

“And?”

“The blood was your fault.” It took a moment to realize I said too much.

“How is that possible? I would never share my blood.” His features turned hard.

I gave him one tidbit, but nothing more. Looking down, the steam from the shower caused my gown to cling to me, giving it a transparent effect that accented my hips and my extremely hard nipples. I stepped forward, raised my eyes, and pressed my body against the glass. He knew I wanted him, and I knew he wanted me—the evidence apparent on the other side of the thin pane. His nostrils flared and his breathing grew heavy. So
beautiful.

“I was a teenager when we last knew each other. You were very different. I actually liked you. The night we said good-bye you asked to kiss me. You had been injured and your lips were bloody.” The next line I delivered with a provocative smile. “I didn’t realize what happened until I tasted you on my tongue.” I paused for effect and bit my lip. Our gazes locked. He groaned and pressed against the glass, leaving an imprint in the condensation.

“Since I didn’t know you were some kind of supernatural bastard with magical blood, I didn’t know to be cautious. Instead I focused on more important things.” My rage sparked instantaneously. “Like trying to save your immortal ass.” I slammed my hands against the glass in frustration. “That’s all you get. No more information. It’s my only weapon against you.”

His chest rumbled. He gripped his cock, so hard his knuckles turned white. “Come here!”

“No.” I backed away.

“You want me. I can smell you all the way in here.”

He knew when I was aroused.
Lovely. “Cyril…please don’t do this.”

As I passed the open shower door in retreat, he grabbed me and dragged me into the shower with lightning speed. My body screamed
fuck it! Give him what he wants!
My mind screamed
don’t. You might kill him.

From behind me he enclosed me in his arms, clasping them below my breasts. My nightgown became drenched as he held me against him. I wanted to give in, but I couldn’t bear to watch him die like Michael.

“Cyril, please. If we do this, you might die.”

He stilled for a moment then whispered in my ear. “You’re concerned about me?” His surprise sounded genuine.

I tried to make him understand. “I’m poison. Anyone I get close to dies.”

That got his attention. He loosened his grip.

I had to make one last plea before I lost myself. “You are right. I do want you, but not at that price. Please, let me go, even if it’s only for your own sake.”

He freed me enough so I was able to turn and look up at him through the falling water. “Why did you tell the man in the garden I’m yours?”

His hands never left my body, his erection pressed large and hard against my belly. “To protect you. Tell me. Tell me how I kissed you?”

I barely heard him over the running water. “What?” I wasn’t sure what he meant.

“You said I kissed you and gave you my blood? How did I do it? Soft and slow? Hard and passionate? How? Show me. Show me how I kissed you.”

I stood on a cliff’s edge trying to see how close I could get without going over. In the next moment, I jumped. I reached up and pulled his head down to meet mine. The water flowed over us. Parting my lips, I pressed mine softly to his. Our mouths danced as his hands glided over my water-slicked body. His tongue teased my lip. We kissed with slow and gentle caresses of lips and tongues. His tenderness confirmed, under all the brawn, he was the same man. As though his kiss bypassed the surface armor he wore and accessed his deepest recesses, he grew more passionate than in our first encounter. His hands were needy as they gripped the hem of my gown.

I breathed against his lips. “Cyril, please. Please, I don’t want to hurt you.” I stared up into his eyes.

He let me go. “Would you like to wash up?”

I gave him a bright smile. “No, thank you, someone already took care of it while I was unconscious.”

Instead of smiling back, he closed his eyes and leaned down to kiss the top of my head.

His arms tightened around me again, and then loosened. “Go. I’ll see you in a few minutes.” He let go again and patted my hip.

I paused and looked at him.

He growled. “Go! Before I change my mind.”

I grabbed a towel from the rack and discarded my clothes in the hamper by the door, careful not to expose myself further. In the bedroom, I pulled on a pair of fresh new panties and a nightgown from the cart, the only thing provided for me to wear. I’d have to find some new clothes tomorrow.

About ten minutes later Cyril emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Cyril? I want to go home.”

He looked in my direction and raised an eyebrow. “No, Miss Hill.”

Progress! The small success gave me hope, but I had to try something else. Getting under someone’s skin was something I was good at. I used the technique many times at the symphony when trying to crack someone difficult who needed to open up to new ideas regarding where they should spend their money.

“I shared with you. What about your secrets?” I said casually, like asking about the weather or what he might want for dinner.

“Miss Hill, surely a general wouldn’t tour the opposition’s army through his arsenal?” His usual condescension returned.

Just when I thought we were turning a corner…
I could play his game
.
“He might if he’s trying a hand at diplomacy? A good-faith effort to show that both armies can work together.”

He laughed, stepped up on the platform, and then moved to stand in front of me. Still draped in his towel, his pants in hand, he stepped into my personal space as I sat on the bed. “Diplomacy in war is for fools. Besides, it’s completely pointless. Any army you could command would be no match for mine.” He then dropped the towel.

He dropped the fucking towel! I was pretty certain my entire autonomic nervous system shut down for a minute.

“Do you have no sense of modesty?” I choked, while being extra careful not to make contact with the “the general.”

I looked up to see his satisfied smirk.

“Linden, if I can disarm you with something as innocuous as nudity, what chance do you stand against me?”

I looked away from him as he bent to pull his black silk sleep pants on. “That’s exactly it, Cyril, I don’t stand a chance against you. There is no contest; no war. I’m not your enemy.”

He adjusted himself, for my benefit, I was sure. “Fair enough.” He looked into my eyes. “You can ask three questions and I’ll answer two of my choosing, then I must be off to finish up in my study.” He smiled as he sat down on the bed beside me and waited.

Not fair. I needed weeks to select the right questions to trap him. So many damned questions.

“Question number one, a few clarifying points.” He groaned in annoyance and fell back on the bed to lie beside me. “I know you are a man or at least, male.”

He sat forward slightly and grinned at me with a self-satisfied smile.

“You are obviously not human. I’d like to know what you are.” I looked back at him, not missing the erection tenting his silk pants. Gosh, was he always hard? Pushing away the images conjuring in my head, I looked to him for his response. I turned my gaze from his cock to his chest, and then finally to his face.

“I believe the rules were two of three, my choice. Continue.”

I paused. “How did you know the man in the garden?”

He glared at me. I guessed it must be a touchy subject. The trouble was, every question triggered a hundred more.

“Are you really going to kill me?”

He sat up. “No. That’s one.”

“Huh?”

He stared at me like I was daft. He said it again, slow and drawn out, “No, Linden, I’m not going to kill you. That is the answer to your last question. Now, of the other two. Let me see.” He stroked his chin with his thumb and forefinger.

“You are right, I’m not human, but what I am is hard to explain. Some call me the Maker, you can call me Morgan Peters.” He smiled and winked.

I raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, all right, you can call me Cyril. I am truly one of a kind and I don’t say that out of arrogance. I have a few talents you might find unusual, but all you need to know is that I’m here and will protect you.” He leaned forward and placed a light kiss on the top of my wet hair.

“But—”

He raised a finger to my lips. “I upheld my end of the bargain, so no matter what you ask I will not answer it. Save it for another time.”

Disappointed he wasn’t going to give in, I acquiesced with a nod.

He refocused with a menacing stare. “I do have one rule you must follow. Do not leave this room or let anyone other than Mary or Overton in, under any circumstance. Do you understand? No one!”

“Yes, but can’t I just go home?”

“No. That’s not possible now.”

“When?”

“When I deem it time.” He stood to leave. “Remember what I said. Do not leave this room and do not let anyone else in. It is for your own good.”

“OK. I got it. Where are you going to sleep if I’m in your bed?”

“I don’t sleep.”

“What do you mean you don’t sleep?”

True to his word, he didn’t answer, but I saw the corner of his mouth twitch as though he caught himself before speaking.

I pressed my luck. “What about my job?”

“It’s been taken care of.”

“Taken care of how?” If I get fired because of this asshole…

Making his way to the door, he did not look back, but simply said, “Good night, Miss Hill.”

Chapter Five

Maker

The housekeeper proved useless since she couldn’t communicate. There was no TV or any other source of entertainment to help pass the time I spent locked in the room.

For the greater part of the day, I watched boats and barges navigate the rivers below, and took in sights of the city from the opposite shore. Where in the hell was Cyril? I needed to get in touch with Clarence and get an update on Olivia. Even though the drama of the past few days overshadowed most things, my concern for Olivia continued to grow. I paced the room, formulating a plan.

I examined every drawer and space in the room, looking for a way out. In one of the bathroom drawers I found a squishy rubber thing that was once part of the vanity’s packing materials. I had an idea.

I decided to wait for Mary to return. She was punctual, so I was ready when the knob turned. She backed into the room with the cart, and since she was always in a hurry, she’d throw the door open. Just as she was about to enter, I stood behind the door and allowed it to hit me in the face. Not hard, but hard enough to make the show believable.

“Damn it!” I yelled and grabbed my nose.

Mary turned to look at me. I bent forward and pranced around, playing it up. Mary made no sound, contrasting with her horrified expression.

Leaving one hand over my nose, I pointed toward the bathroom, and she didn’t hesitate at my garbled instructions. As soon as she was out of sight, I wedged the squishy, makeshift plug into the divot where the lock needed to seat in order to properly latch. I crossed my fingers. I did the same thing with chewing gum as a child. I turned as Mary arrived with a warm washcloth. Grabbing it from her hand, I thanked her. She nodded.

Mary removed the lids from the trays sitting on the cart and the smell of lemon chicken filled the room. The food Cyril provided was as good as any five-star restaurant. I wondered if she prepared the food, but knew it was futile to ask. Mary fussed with the cart and turned to leave. As she pulled the door shut I held my breath. No click. I was hopeful I’d be able to make a break later.

While I delighted in the perfectly prepared chicken, wild rice, and almond-accented green beans, I planned my escape.

Taking one last sip of wine, I waited for Mary to retrieve the dishes. At seven o’clock she opened the door. My stopper stayed in place. She didn’t seem to notice. Relieved, I let out a sigh. I took the extra toiletries and she wheeled the cart out the door. She gave a slight nod and pulled the door closed.

I sat on the bed and waited while a pulse of anxiety grew within me. Last night around eight o’clock I heard doors closing in another part of the house, so I waited one more hour. Then, in my white nightgown and bare feet, I carefully opened the door.

Taking stock of the hallway, I expected the same modern decor as in the bedroom to be throughout the house, but I was surprised. Dark, red-brown mahogany woodwork was everywhere. Inset panels and decorative molding gave the space character. The walls, floors, and ceiling, covered with wood, accented tasteful paintings of various parts of a woman; at least I assumed they were of the same woman. The color palette of each portrait was muted with a bluish hue.

One painting depicted her flowing hair, another her strong back that narrowed then flared with feminine hips, and still another of her shoulders covered in branching patterns like the ones on Cyril’s wrists and back. Who was this woman? Was she simply art? A model he studied? As I ran my hand through my hair with long, anxious strokes, a thought hit me. What if she was his wife or lover?
A strong sensation pulled at my gut, unfamiliar but unmistakable. I was jealous of a nameless woman, and had no right. They were only paintings. Dozens of paintings, but… Bah! What was wrong with me?