Lucinda, Darkly Page 9

  He spluttered and berated me. Even when I growled at him in warning, he would not cease.

  “He is not worth it.” Nico glowered, his easy good humor having fled entirely, leaving a cantankerous bear in its place. “He is not worth this risk to your life.” At the droll lift of my brow, he amended, “To your continued existence then.”

  “Oh, but he is.”

  No more words after that. He subsided into a brooding silence, watching me as I paced in burning impatience, in bristling energy, until a small private jet finally arrived and took us away.

  On the plane, Talon was silent and withdrawn, a miserable shivering shadow sitting two rows behind us, as if he wanted to be a little distant from us, but not too far away.

  Nico sat across from me, the foolish, fearless rogue, as I burned and bristled and thrummed, over-revved. Shrugging off his moodiness, and totally ignoring mine, he began pelting me with questions. Did I have a house in Arizona?

  Yes.

  How many bedrooms?

  Four.

  Would we live there?

  Yes, if he survived this trip. Which he had a hell of a lot better chance of doing if he shut up and left me alone.

  Springing up from the seat, unable to sit still a moment longer, I began to pace up and down the narrow aisle. My skin crawled with tension eager to be released. With a desire to run, to hunt, to spring in the air and bring down prey. My fingernails burned and tingled, as if they wanted to slide out and thicken into talons. Itched with the need to scrape across skin, to feel the pull and give of ripping flesh. My fangs emerged beyond my control, and saliva ran in a steady trickle down my throat. My beast wanted to come out, but I would not let it. I did not want Stefan to see me that way . . . if he waited for me, still.

  My brisk steps became an almost swift run. Four bouncing paces, a powerful spinning turn. Four steps back. Spin and turn. Again and again, endlessly.

  Energy . . . so much energy filled me up, wanting to be expunged in the most aggressive way. The air fairly crackled with the contained violence within me just waiting to be unleashed. Talon shrank himself against the wall, away from me. Thinned himself against it, trembling with fear. Which only made the tension in me worse.

  The beast in me snapped and snarled and demanded to be loosened, to tear into the prey so quiveringly near. I subdued the impulse with an effort that made me tremble.

  The beast in me howled. And burned to do something violent, something harsh. Something viciously, deliciously bloody.

  “Talk to me, Nico,” I said in a voice already gone deep. I heard the low, echoing timbre of my demon beast voice and knew I was in trouble.

  “You told me before to shut up,” he said mildly.

  “Talk!”

  “You’d rather fight, I think,” Nico observed. “I’d be happy to oblige you, but your control is so thin, I’m not sure if I’d survive it.”

  “Then you are not as stupid as you look!” I snarled. Closing my eyes for a moment, I pulled myself back under control. “Sorry. That was not called for. You are far from stupid.”

  “A compliment. Be still my heart.”

  “You are foolishly brave, foolishly fearless. But not stupid.”

  “Ouch.” The levity left Nico’s eyes, and they turned frighteningly somber. “We are almost there. Fifteen more minutes.” He’d gone to check with the pilot. “Can you hold on?”

  I laughed, a brittle sound, far from pleasant. “Time is a funny thing. The closer you get to something, the longer and farther away it seems. And the harder it is to hold on.” My control seemed to be slipping away from me, unraveling before my eyes.

  “Would it help to take my blood?”

  “Oh, Nico.” My voice trembled. “It is blood I want, but not to drink it. Hush,” I said, and did not know if I spoke to myself or to him.

  I stopped suddenly. Held myself still . . . still. As if I could quiet the monster within me by not moving. A moment of stillness, of peace, then a great shudder rippled over me, shook me, as if to say: Enough. Move!

  But I was afraid to . . . So afraid of what I would do if I moved.

  A hand touched me, cool, gliding across my warm skin. I felt the light press of a body behind me.

  “Can you unleash your energy another way?” Nico asked. His voice was a sensual purr in my ear, his hand asking tacit permission as it skimmed down my arm in a light caress. Me granting it when I did not stop him.

  “Sex.” I shuddered against him, the animal part of me eager to spring upon that option . . . at anything. Anything at all. “You don’t know what you are asking. In this state, it will be as dangerous as violence. I don’t know if I will be able to separate the two.”

  “Do I have a better chance of surviving it?” Nico asked.

  I made myself think, concentrate. Gave a jerky nod.

  “All right. Then let’s do it.” He turned me around so that I faced him. He was not tall, only around five eight. But that was still six inches taller than me. I had to tilt my head back to look at him.

  “Blood and pain is okay. Speaking of which, I’d better get rid of these.” With a quick smile, he shed himself of his borrowed attire. Standing before me unclad, he said, “Okay, love. Let it rip.”

  I trembled. “Don’t say that.”

  “I mean it.” Intelligence and compassion flashed in those beautiful heather gray eyes. “Channel the aggression this way. Pain’s okay.” He smiled. “Especially if you throw in a little pleasure with it.”

  He brought my hands up to his chest. Leaned into it so that my sharp fingernails pierced his skin . . . and gasped. With the scent of blood, the sound that he made, my power roared out of me and slammed into him.

  So much power. I barely had control of it. Was scarcely able to shape it so that it stroked him with a hard biting pleasure instead of a tearing one. It caressed Nico within and without, plucking the chords of sensation with more force than finesse.

  He made a choking sound of pain, of pleasure, as ropes of power bound him and hung him suspended. Lifted him aloft into the air so that my nails raked down his chest, his belly—ah, the sweet release of tearing flesh—leaving behind ribbons of red blood and raw meat.

  I fought desperately to control the force flowing from me. It was like a living thing. A thing that wanted to bite and claw and tear into him with mental as well as physical force, devouring his mind as well as his body. Eat! it demanded. And it did not care if it was pain or pleasure that it devoured.

  I gave into some of its need. I lapped up the blood. Ran my nails in a cutting furrow down his hips, plunged the tips deep into his meaty bottom.

  He cried out, arched into me in involuntary reflex, then held himself still.

  “No. Struggle,” I grated. “Fight me.”

  He gazed at me for a moment, breathing hard, then did as I asked. He twisted, he kicked. He bucked against the invisible bonds as I spilled more energy out, twining it about him, locking him still. Holding him secure until he called more of his power and broke loose for an instant, rolling in the air. I slapped more invisible ropes around him, and he called up yet more power, concentrating it all on just one spot—a clever trick. Focusing, focusing until that tiny focal point broke, unraveling my restraints so that he could twist and jerk and thrash once more. I threw energy around him, wrapping him again and again as he struggled and broke free, struggled and broke free through that one small point of weakness. He fought me as I had asked him to until his lungs heaved, and his skin grew damp and slick with perspiration.

  The urgency in me eased, and the beast in me rumbled with the pleasure of that small battle. Was happy with the helplessness of my victim, in subduing it. But it wanted more. More pain, more blood.

  Give him pain, my beast whispered slyly. Pain, so that he will not crave our touch, become addicted to it. And for once, my other self was in agreement. Yes, pain. Pain was good. The lesser of evils.

  I compromised and did as Nico asked—I mixed pleasure in with the pain. I lower
ed him down until his feet touched the ground, then licked up his body, lapping up his blood that was coppery sweet, with the taste of his sweat a salty tang beneath it. My tongue slid roughly over cut flesh, then into it, probing deep. And the little cries he made were like his taste, salty sweet with hurt and erotic pleasure. I licked up his chest, swirled my tongue around his nipple, bit down on it with pressure light, then not so light. He shuddered against me, his body tense. Groaning, crying, cursing, trying to move. But I held him still with a flex of will. Leaned back and tugged on that small captive bud. Released it when tension finally snapped it free from my grip. Laved that pert nipple, scraped raw and bleeding, unbearably sensitive now.

  He cried out, “Lucinda!” as I took it back into my mouth. Worried the little soldier with teeth that had gone slightly sharp.

  He began to glow with light.

  “Let me touch you,” he pleaded, struggling to lift arms I had banded to his sides.

  I denied him.

  He tried to slip from my bonds, throwing all his power into one spot, his right wrist. It broke free and I grabbed his hand, physically clamped it down. Lowered his body until my face was poised above his.

  “No,” I whispered, gazing into eyes gone a dark smoky gray, “I like you helpless,” and covered his mouth, kissing him hard. His tender lip broke beneath the grinding force of my teeth. Blood spilled into my mouth like red wine, a teasing taste. But it wasn’t blood so much as pain that I wanted to drink from him now. With a thought, I twined an invisible hand around the piece of flesh that rose up long and hard between his legs, circled the base of it. Stroked up that lovely shaft with phantom touches. At the same time, I probed the cut I’d made on his upper lip with the tip of my tongue, that tender flesh I had opened, and swallowed down his groans, his sweet moans of blissful torment.

  Another invisible caress up and down. Then back up that thick full shaft. A secret phantom lick over the plumlike head as my nails dug deep into the back of his thighs, puncturing flesh. My sharpened teeth sank into his bottom lip, piercing flesh above. And below, at the head of his shaft, I speared him with an invisible thrust. Entered him through that single weeping eye that cried out with tears of suffering delight.

  Agonizing pleasure rippled through him, was released from him, as if all that digging and probing had unearthed a hidden well, and it spurted now in abundance with his cries. With his blood, semen, and tears.

  ELEVEN

  THEY ARRIVED IN Berkshire County Airport smelling of blood and sex. At least, Nico did. She was still untouched, unmoved.

  His hands itched to touch her, truly touch her. Not just her cloth-covered shoulders and arms, but her bare skin. All that warm satin gold.

  The only part of her that had touched Nico had been her sharp digging nails, and her soft luscious mouth so hard against his lips, punishingly hard. But for one sweet moment, they had softened against his . . . before she had bit down hard on his lower lip. Bit through it.

  His punctured tissue throbbed; the bite on his neck where she had fed from him before ached. His buttocks and his thighs where she had punctured him deep with her nails just plain hurt. And his chest, belly, entire body was trailed with cuts and scrapes, adorned with ribbons of blood.

  Rough sex, some might call it. They would have been wrong. It had not been rough at all, really. Nothing to what she could have done to him had she lost control.

  She looked better now. Calm enough to return to her seat, sit in it, and watch Nico with hooded eyes as he carefully dressed. Power vibrated from her still like a thrumming blanket. But it no longer rode her with edgy spurs. She had poured out enough of it onto him so that she no longer seemed a ticking bomb about to blow.

  He had been the one to explode.

  The remembered ecstasy was enough to make Nico close his eyes and pull in a deep breath. Sweet Goddess. The pleasure and the pain, twining as one.

  She stirred, spoke. “You are free to go, if you wish. To leave me and go your own way. Perhaps it would be better if you did.”

  Ah. Guilt was prodding her. Nico was coming to know her better. She may look beautiful, cruel, and lush. Oh, so lush. Spilling with curves he wished to run his hands, his mouth, over. But her actions . . . they didn’t match the outside packaging. Yes, she was lush. Yes, she was beautiful. She was even cruel and dangerous. But inside, at the core of her, she had a streak of goodness, this demon. Better than any of the queens he had served his long life. A guardian in truth.

  “Better for whom?” Nico asked as he finished pulling on his boots. “Not for me, to forgo the protection and safe haven that you offer me. The opportunity to serve. Certainly not for you, before you know if you shall need me or not. Ah . . . I know what it is.” He wagged his brows clownishly. “You are worried about your rogue lover seeing the passion marks you scored upon my body.”

  Unbelievably, she blushed. Then tried to cover it up. “Let’s go,” she snarled and brushed past him, out the door. Bemused by the unintentional accuracy of his jest, Nico trailed her down the steps onto the tarmac with Talon a silent shadow behind him. The small facility was quiet, the building almost deserted at this time of night. A taxi, called in by the pilot, sat waiting out in front. They slid in and Lucinda gave the driver, an older black man with a lilting Jamaican accent, the address.

  “How long is the drive?” Nico asked.

  “Not long. Ten minutes,” Lucinda said as they pulled away from the curb. She seemed nervous. The energy had revved up a notch in her. She ran a hand through her hair, smoothing it, and fussed with her robe.

  Nico grinned at her. She scowled back, stilling her actions. Noticing then the stares the driver kept shooting at them through the rearview mirror. She frowned and remained quiet until they pulled up before a tall apartment building.

  The driver turned to face them, and Lucinda caught his eyes and bespelled him, held him to her will. “Why were you looking at us?”

  “Because you be all cut up and battered, yet still beautiful. So different,” he answered, eyes glazed. “Your skin warm like honey against the man’s whiteness. And the young man . . . so black and odd-looking. He not like me. Not from Africa or India or any country I know.”

  They turned and looked at Talon, studied him. Tried to see him through a human’s eyes. The inky skin, a true black darker than the driver’s skin. The dark hair long and straight, not curly. Those large ebony eyes. The delicate elfin features on a head too big for a body so small and slender.

  Nico said, “The driver is right. Talon looks nothing like him. In fact, doesn’t look like any other human I’ve ever seen. He will draw unwanted curiosity and attention beyond what we already draw in our battered condition.”

  Talon’s small hands reached out and grabbed Nico, revealing what the creature had taken great pains to conceal up until now—sharp, pointy nails like Lucinda’s. Only black instead of ivory, and much smaller, like kitten’s claws. A mockery of his name: Talon.

  “Don’t leave me,” Talon begged, panic flaring in his eyes.

  “We won’t leave you, Talon,” Nico said. “We just have to disguise you a little. A hat or something.”

  Lucinda went with the or something.

  “Hold still,” she said and smoothed a hand over Talon’s face. Not touching it but skimming just above the surface, leaving behind a faint shimmer of power in its wake. Where her hand passed, the skin lightened to a dark mocha instead of its former blackness, matching the taxi driver’s skin color. Lucinda swept her hand down over Talon’s neck and hands, and they lightened in color, also.

  “What did you do to me?” Talon asked, frightened now in a different way as he felt the tingling energy left behind on his flesh.

  “Lightened your skin until it matches the driver’s. A thin coat of illusion. It will only last a few hours.”

  Finished with Talon, Lucinda passed her hand across Nico’s face, disappearing the slash marks. She coated the burns on her wrists with illusion as well, and then slid out of the taxi,
waiting until Nico and Talon had disembarked before turning back to the driver.

  “You will wait here for us, and you will not remember anything unusual about us.” With that command, she released him from her hold.

  “We’ll return in a few minutes,” Lucinda informed the driver, who blinked up at her. “Keep the meter running.”

  The cabbie nodded. “No problem. I wait.”

  Lucinda turned and gazed up at the building.

  “He’s not here,” Nico said, his voice flat and leaden like the sudden weight in his stomach.

  “He is,” Lucinda replied, walking into the building.

  “I do not sense him,” Nico said, frowning, following her.

  “Because I am shielding us. He cannot sense us, we cannot sense him. But the slow heartbeat. You can hear it when I thin the shield. Listen.”

  Nico stretched his senses, searched for the sound and found it, faint but distinct among the many other beating hearts. Relief weakened his knees and lightened his head for a moment. Thank the Goddess. She still needed him.

  The two of them took the stairs to the third floor, and waited impatiently for Talon, who huffed up the three flights almost human slow. One step at a time instead of the four or five steps they encompassed with each leap.

  Lucinda stopped before the last door at the end of the hallway, and thinned the cone of silence shielding them once more.

  “Stefan,” she said softly, “I’ve returned.”

  TWELVE

  STEFAN’S HEART LEAPED and he wondered for a terrible instant if he had truly heard the words spoken, or if he were simply dreaming them in his heart-sore yearning. He moved swiftly to the door, sensed nothing beyond it, but that did not mean anything. He opened it, praying: Goddess, please. And found his prayer answered.

  Lucinda stood there, tawny, golden, petite. Joy rose up within Stefan, then stilled as he became aware of the others behind her. A boy, slender and dark. And a man. A man with her bite mark upon his neck. A human, Stefan thought at first. Then whatever force had been surrounding them came down, and Stefan felt them. Not a human but a Monère warrior. And beneath the warrior’s easy affable smile, beneath the cover of his clothes, he smelled of blood and passion . . . and of Lucinda. An emotion foreign and unpleasant welled up within him. It took Stefan a moment to realize what it was. Jealousy.