The Halfblood's Hoard (Halfblood Legacy Book 1)

by Devin Hanson

  Even with my scooter, I couldn’t make much headway. If I had been riding a normal motorcycle, I might have been able to split lanes, but the scooter’s width was too wide to make it past the parade of SUVs heading down to Beverly Hills. Whenever I found an opening and slipped by a car or two, someone saw me coming and swerved over, blocking the narrow gap out of spite.

  After a while, I gave up trying to bypass the traffic and just waited with everyone else. Ilyena leaned against my back, both arms wrapped around my waist. It was hot without the wind to cool me down, so I unzipped my jacket.

  Ilyena took this as an invitation and slid her hands inside. Any shyness she had felt earlier seemed to have gone. We hadn’t been stuck for more than ten minutes before I felt her hand drift up my stomach to my breasts.

  At first it was just annoying. I was pissed off at the drivers around me. I was hot and sweaty, and didn’t feel the slightest bit sexy. When Ilyena first slipped her hand inside my shirt, the only thing preventing me from pulling her hand out was embarrassment about making a scene. There was a guy sitting in his car two feet to my left, and so far he hadn’t done more than check out Ilyena’s ass once or twice. If I started wrestling with Ilyena, he’d be staring at us the whole time.

  She didn’t go straight for the grope. Of all my lovers, Ilyena was by far the most patient and subtle. A light touch on my stomach turned into a caress on my thigh, then a brush across the bottom of my breast. By the time she had grown bold enough to have her entire arm up inside my shirt and start playing with my nipples, my irritation had faded and the mood from the bedroom before my mother’s intervention had come back in full force.

  “Ilyena, I’m trying to drive,” I called back, making one last bid for decency.

  “No, you’re not,” she retorted.

  It was true. We hadn’t moved more than three feet in the last minute. Then her hand slipped down between my legs and I gasped. The scooter’s seat kept my legs open but I twisted my hips, trying to escape the rush of sensation she was giving me.

  “Hold still,” she growled. “You’re attracting attention.”

  “Shit.” The guy next to us was staring. There was no hiding what was happening, not from that distance. I caught Ilyena’s wrist and brought it firmly back to my waist. There wasn’t any way to move forward. The SUV in front of me filled the entire lane and the middle divider kept me from making a run up the double yellow. “Are you trying to get us arrested? Isn’t public indecency a crime where you come from?”

  “He doesn’t think it’s indecent,” Ilyena said slyly. This time, she brought both her hands up to cup my breasts.

  The guy’s eyes bugged.

  “Ilyena,” I groaned. “Please.”

  “Please, what?”

  I really should try to put some effort into stopping her. Only, as much as I was protesting it, Ilyena’s hands felt amazing. And she was right; the guy was clearly enjoying the show. It was probably more excitement than he’d had since college.

  “Please, what?” Ilyena repeated. Her fingers found my nipples and pinched them.

  I moaned and leaned back against her. I brought my hands up and covered hers. “Please… fuck!”

  She had dropped a hand and pushed it down the front of my jeans and beneath my underwear. She now knew just how wet her playing had made me. “I’m working on that,” she said with a breathless laugh. “Shift your hips forward.”

  A horn honked behind us and I snapped my eyes open and started paying attention to the traffic for the first time in minutes. A space a few car-lengths long had opened in front of us and the guy next to us. We hadn’t moved, and the way the guy’s eyes were locked on Ilyena’s hands, it would take a bulldozer to get him to move from beside us.

  I goosed the scooter forward and our voyeur followed with us. There was still another five feet he could have moved, but he stopped when his window came up next to us. Ilyena hadn’t taken a break. If anything, my shift in concentration had allowed her to worm her hand even further into my pants, and now she slipped two fingers inside me.

  I gasped and tilted my hips back, giving her easier access. Still, my jeans were pretty tight and the amount of movement Ilyena was able to manage was minimal. The tiny flexes of her wrist and fingers seemed to magnify beyond what could have been possible. She didn’t have more than a knuckle inside me, but I felt it as surely as I had when David had me up against the shower wall.

  A glance to the side showed me our audience was rapt, his gaze fixated on us. The pleasure Ilyena was building in me was growing, and with it came a slowly rising tide of energy. This time I understood what was happening. I was a succubus of lust, like it or not, and inspiring lust in others fed strength and life to me. I felt like I had just downed a triple-shot espresso then chased it with an energy drink.

  Ilyena’s hand between my legs was bringing me rapidly toward orgasm. The way her palm pressed against my clit magnified every motion of her hand. Traffic shifted forward again; I was so far gone I had forgotten all about being angry at Ilyena and only felt frustration at having to split my attention between moving the scooter forward and Ilyena’s hands.

  “Almost there,” Ilyena said.

  Damn right I was. Another thirty seconds and I was going to have a mind-blowing orgasm, right out in public. I felt the energy building in me suddenly jolt upward, then Ilyena pulled her hand out of my pants.

  “Wait! Why… don’t stop!”

  “Shh,” Ilyena said. “There will be plenty of time for that later.”

  “But I was so close!” I pressed my legs together, trying to get enough pressure onto my clit to finish what her fingers had started. Our voyeur pulled away and turned off Santa Monica, and I suddenly realized it wasn’t me Ilyena had been talking about.

  “He had to finish. Are you okay?”

  “No, I’m not okay! Damn it, Ilyena!” Try as I might, I couldn’t replicate the feeling Ilyena’s fingers had been giving me and my orgasm faded away. All I was left with was aching arousal. Twice in one day Ilyena had gotten me hot and bothered then left me hanging.

  She wiped her fingers on a paper towel and I remembered her getting it at Ethan’s house.

  “Wait, you planned this?”

  “It is your path,” she said smugly. “Don’t worry, your jeans won’t spot.”

  I frowned, flustered, then said, “The underwear. God damn it.”

  She tossed the paper towel onto the median and wrapped her arms around my waist. There was nothing sexual in her grip now, just a friendly hug.

  It was confusing. On the one hand, I felt like Ilyena was using me, and on the other hand, I couldn’t see that she was getting anything out of it. She was using me for myself? For David, maybe? Traffic shifted forward again before I resolved my swirling thoughts and we made it to the intersection with the crash. A cop directing traffic waved us through and abruptly the road was clear in front of us.

  “Plenty of time,” Ilyena called over the growing wind.

  I could hear the satisfaction in her voice. God damn it.

  Christie’s had an unassuming façade, with just enough modern pretension to make it look posh without being tacky. I parked the scooter a few spots down between a Porsche and a Maserati. I fed the meter and locked our helmets to the seat.

  “Just follow my lead,” Ilyena said.

  “Hold on. What are we doing here?” If Ilyena’s plan was to molest me on the show floor I was going to hand her back to David with a black eye.

  “We need information on the skull Elaida bought.”

  “What significance is the skull?”

  “You’ll have to ask Elaida for that.”

  “Can’t you see? Isn’t it part of my path or something?”

  “I’m not a clairvoyant, Alex. I see… flashes. Decision made, coincidences that can be adjusted, but not much else. Details and… consequences, are beyond my gift.”

  “Was there a path that could have led to you masturbating me to orgasm?” I grumbled. A val
et attendant we were passing looked at us, startled, and I flicked him off.

  “Not that leads to our goal,” she said seriously.

  “Shit.”

  She stood up on tiptoe and kissed my cheek. “I like it when you’re grumpy.”

  “If you leave me hanging like that again, I’ll be more than grumpy.”

  Ilyena caught my hand, pulling me to a stop. She reached up and cupped my head with both hands before pulling me down for a kiss. Her lips were hot on mine and tasted vaguely of cherry. She pulled away before I could get into the kiss more and grinned up at me.

  “Next time, there won’t be a problem. I promise.”

  I liked the sound of that. I let her take the lead into Christie’s, my imagination running wild. I felt myself growing wet again. Whatever else Ilyena might be, she drove my libido crazy.

  Christie’s lobby had a minimalist waiting bench, an abandoned reception desk and a potted fern. I stood behind Ilyena and wondered how long we could wait without it becoming awkward. Before I grew bored enough to sit on the bench, a door behind the reception desk opened and a young woman in stiffly formal attire walked in.

  “Good afternoon. Do you have an appointment?”

  Ilyena took a half-step forward. “I wait for minutes,” she said loudly in a thick Russian accent. “I thought this Christie’s!”

  “Sorry about that, Ma’am,” the woman said smoothly, as if she had pissed off Russians yelling at her every day. “Is there something I can help you with?”

  “I purchase item last week then I learn there is second part to collect.” Ilyena ladled on the reluctantly pacified act with a trowel.

  The receptionist nodded understandingly. “Yes, that happens. Do you have a receipt or an auction lot number?”

  “I have number.” She rattled off a string of digits from memory, or maybe from my path.

  The woman produced a tablet and tapped in the number without having to ask Ilyena to repeat it. I was impressed at her duplication and memory abilities. Maybe the receptionist counted cards on the weekend or something. “Yes, I see it here. A carved skull from our Austrian Heritage collection?” She flipped the tablet around, showing us a photo of a human skull that had been carved with lace-like patterns. I thought I could make out some harsher shapes that might be symbols among the lacework. I wasn’t surprised. There weren’t many reasons for carving bones outside of the occult.

  “Yes, that is piece,” Ilyena confirmed.

  “Well, Ms. Tindoras, I’m not seeing anything here that indicates the piece was a part of a set. Can you give me any more information about the piece you’re seeking?”

  “A journal. Maybe this thick.” Ilyena held her fingers up, indicating a size of about two inches. “Black leather binding with silver hardware.”

  The receptionist frowned thoughtfully. “I remember a piece matching that description. I would have to refer to our catalog to get the lot number… unless you know it as well?”

  Ilyena shook her head.

  “Very well. It might take a few minutes. Would you and your friend like some refreshments while you wait?”

  “Is not needed.”

  The receptionist nodded and ducked through the door again. Ilyena grinned at me and winked.

  “What’s the journal for?” I asked.

  “It is required to get to Elaida.” She shrugged and pursed her lips. “I do not know what it is beyond that.”

  “If it’s connected to the skull, then it’s probably a spell book,” I hazarded. “That skull has to do with the occult, or I’m a virgin.”

  Ilyena looked at me, her eyes hooded, a flush growing on her cheeks. “You are not.”

  “No.” It was my turn to grin. I took a step toward her and she backed away slightly. Something predatory gripped me and I followed after Ilyena, backing her up against the wall. I bent to catch her earlobe between my teeth and her breath caught in her throat. “When I am done with you,” I whispered, “you will be satisfied. That is my promise.”

  She swallowed and I stepped away from her, taking an indecent amount of gratification in the way she struggled to catch her breath. She wasn’t the only one who could play sex games.

  “Ms. Tindoras?”

  We stepped away from the wall to where the receptionist could see us. She hesitated as she picked up on Ilyena’s discomfiture, then smoothly said. “I have located the item in question. It never made it to the auction because we didn’t think it was valuable.” She raised an eyebrow. “Once we connected it with the skull, we discovered our mistake.”

  “I would like to purchase journal,” Ilyena said.

  “There will be another auction on the fifteenth, if you would like to make a reservation—”

  “Now.” Ilyena produced a credit card and clicked it down on the counter. It was an Amex black card, the kind of credit card oil kingpins and Bill Gates used. The kind with a monthly limit high enough to buy a house on.

  Finally, something to shake the receptionist out of her cool detachment. Her eyes widened and she gave a jerky nod. “It is irregular, but I will convey your request to my manager. I’m sure we can come to an arrangement.”

  Ilyena smiled sweetly and made the card disappear again. The receptionist retreated to the back once more.

  “One of David’s cards?” I asked.

  “Caradoc has provided me with an expense account.”

  “He must trust you.”

  Ilyena’s lips twitched downward. “It is not a matter of trust. He wished your path to be followed and provided the means necessary to do so. Nothing more.”

  “Still. With a card like that… you could run to the Bahamas or something.”

  “The card would be canceled before I got onto a plane, Alex. I would be arrested and returned to my master in disgrace.”

  Something in her voice told me experience was talking. “I’m sorry,” I said quietly. “Of course. I wasn’t thinking.”

  She touched my hand and smiled. “Your care is touching. I am content with my life, Alex. I do not need to be saved.”

  The receptionist’s return was swift. She placed a package on the counter, wrapped in brown paper and tied neatly with twine. “The collector who posted the items with us included a buyout proviso.” She passed a slip of paper to Ilyena.

  Ilyena glanced at it before handing it back. “I need to make phone call,” she said, returning to her heavy Russian accent.

  “Take your time.”

  The hinn stepped away and got her phone out. I heard David’s voice on the line but didn’t know more than a word or two of Russian and couldn’t follow the conversation. After a brief exchange, Ilyena hung up and got the card out again.

  “Your price is satisfactory.”

  The receptionist ran the card, and just like that, we were out the door with the package.

  “How much did they want for the journal?” I asked.

  “Fifteen thousand.”

  I gaped at her, uncertain I had heard her correctly. “For a notebook?!”

  “It is an old notebook, though.” Ilyena grinned at me. “There are perks to my job. Occasionally buying expensive things is one of them.”

  I started walking back to the scooter, but Ilyena caught my arm and steered me the other way.

  “Are we going somewhere?”

  “One more stop. Only a few blocks away.”

  Walking through the Beverly Hills shopping district was an experience. There was more wealth on display than I had ever seen. Expensive cars were everywhere and the people strolling down the streets wore fashionable, opulent clothing. The store fronts glittered with jewelry and shone with brilliantly colored clothing. Every store we passed was another leading brand in luxury.

  It was tempting to run into one of the stores with David’s credit card and go on a wild shopping spree. Any dallying I did was hurried along by Ilyena, though. She seemed in a hurry and I could tell by the set of her shoulders that she was worried about something.

  When she
finally stopped and ducked into a store, it wasn’t what I expected.

  “I didn’t think they even had book stores in Beverly Hills,” I complained. “Out of every possible store here, we have to go to this one?”

  Ilyena rolled her eyes at me and gestured toward the back. “You’ll probably find something interesting over there.”

  Feeling a little bit like a child sent to play while the adults talked, I wandered toward the back of the store while Ilyena went to speak with the store clerk. My initial boredom was softened by the effort that had gone into setting up the displays. The bookstore was, if nothing else, fancy enough to match its neighbors. Then I reached the place Ilyena had pointed me to and found shelves of nothing but erotic photography.

  The last couple days to the contrary, I wasn’t only interested in sex. In fact, before my apartment had been broken into, it had been nearly a month since my last romantic encounter. Still, it seemed a crime to pass up flipping through at least one of the photography books.

  I picked a book at random and let it fall open somewhere in the middle. A full-page photo of a man’s raging hard-on, glistening with… something, stared back at me. I swallowed and shut the book. In my current state, this was not helping.

  “Find something you like?”

  I jerked and nearly dropped the book. An older man with a neatly trimmed white beard had snuck up behind me. “Ah, hi. It’s nice, just a bit… much.”

  He lifted the book from my hands and turned it over to look at the cover. “I’m assuming you’re not talking about the price tag.”

  I smiled weakly. “Not really.”

  “Artists seem to have as much interest in the shock value of their work as they do the aesthetics.” He clicked his tongue in disappointment and put the book back on the shelf. “Not all of them, of course. Here, take a look at this one.”

  It was a big, heavy, coffee table book. I opened it at random and was greeted by a black and white photograph of a woman’s profile, the lighting arranged to cast highlights on the curves and sinuous lines of her body, and not much else. Where the last book had been garishly bright and obvious, the photographer in this book was subtle to the other extreme. The print was sharp enough that I could make out the individual hairs on the model’s body and the faint goose bumps around her areola.