by Amy Sumida
Chapter Sixteen
I had Darc lay Slate in his old bedroom, just down the hall from the office, and then kissed my men goodbye. After they were gone, I poured myself a drink, refreshed Slate's, then took both glasses into the bedroom. I set his on the bedside table and sipped mine in a nearby chair as I waited for him to wake up.
Things were cycling through my mind; the sexual aggression Slate had shown me, certain things he'd said to me, and, of course, the brutal way he had killed that Troll. I should have known there was something wrong with him. Now that I was thinking about it, even Daha had shied away from Slate. Had he known? If he had, why didn't he tell me? He'd had me alone in that room and could have said anything in confidence. But no, wait; he didn't react to Slate until after my reading.
“El?” Slate's voice was even more gravely than usual.
“Hey, you.”
He frowned and sat up. Glanced at the waiting drink. “Why am I... oh, fuck.” His silver stare lifted to mine and widened. “Was I fucking infected with Gargo blood?”
I laughed. It just sort of burst out of me in relief. “A little.”
“A little?” He growled, grabbed his drink, and downed it. “I think that's an under— oh, son of a bitch! I killed a Troll.”
“Yeah,” I whispered. “But it wasn't exactly you.”
“Fuck me,” Slate groaned as he ran his hand over his face. Then he looked up at me suddenly and with horror. “Did I ask you to strip?!”
“You practically demanded it,” I winced as I said it.
“I'm so sorry, sweetheart.” He held a hand out to me. “Forgive me?”
I stood up and went to him, leaving my glass on the table. “It wasn't you.” I took his hand and sat beside him. “It's forgiven and forgotten.”
“Thank you.” Slate lifted my hand to kiss tenderly.
“It's been a long day, baby.” I stroked his hair back. “Why don't we get some sleep?”
“I can't,” Slate said in a tired tone as he stood. “I need to know the Zone is safe.” He frowned. “And I think I need to apologize to Binx. And Jago.” His frown turned into a grimace. “Fuck, that's going to be worse than drinking Darc's blood.”
“At least you weren't awake for that.”
His grimace deepened. “Did Declan really whammy me to sleep?”
I chuckled. “Faster than I could have done it.”
“Fucking fairy,” but he said it with affection.
Slate was back.
“Okay, baby; let's go watch over your zone,” I said. “But first, you gotta do one thing for me.”
“Anything,” Slate said with utter sincerity.
“It pains me to ask this of you.” I sighed dramatically.
Slate frowned in concern.
“Put some damn clothes on, Gargoyle. You're naked. Again. And I'm tired of you showing off your assets to the entire Zone.” I winked at him then ran from the room before he could grab me.
Chapter Seventeen
Slate made his apologies—Jago surprisingly gave him more shit than Binx—then we set in to monitor the Zone's recovery. We even went on patrol at one point; we were both going stir crazy and had to get out of his office. As night rolled into early morning, the brightening lights of the Zone found us cruising down quiet streets in Slate's Maserati. We exchanged a relieved grin and finally began to relax. There had been no new incidents and, despite what I'd said to Torin, I was certain enough that I didn't see the need to bother Daha for confirmation. Instead, Slate and I drove to our palace, went to bed, and slept late into the morning.
No one disturbed us. The Zone's sunlight didn't even bother us when it edged past the balcony and into the bedroom. I awoke refreshed and ready to...
A sharp pain lanced through me. Not like a knife but like fire. It burned. I screamed. I scrambled blindly for help.
“Elaria!” Slate's arms went around me. “What's happening?”
“The RS,” I gasped.
“RS, what are you doing to her?!” Slate demanded.
Although Kyanite could only speak to Darc and me, the RS united me with my men and could speak to any or all of them directly. I heard her answer Slate, which meant that she wanted me to hear her.
I have no control of this, RS said grimly. It's what we feared. I need more fuel or both of us will burn out. Literally.
“No!” I snarled even as my body curled in upon itself as if it could deflect the pain.
Slate's arms tightened around me.
“Make love to me,” I whispered.
“You want me to have sex with you now?” Slate gaped at me.
It might work, RS admitted in a hopeful tone. I'll try to go deep into myself, back to the seed of my beginning.
“What the fuck does that mean?” Slate demanded.
“Back to when she needed lust instead of love,” I said breathlessly. “Hurry, Slate!”
“As if I could get turned on with you writhing in pain,” Slate growled.
There is more than one way to make love to a woman, RS declared. Get creative, Gargoyle!
I screamed again.
“Fuck!” Slate shouted in frustration. Then he whimpered. It was a sound I'd never heard him make; one of pain and fear but also love. “Hold on, sweetheart.”
Slate moved down my body, shifting my legs apart. I felt him slide my panties off, but the pain was making me arch and flinch. I bit my lip, trying to hold back my screams as fire—my very magic—threatened to destroy me. RS's need was unbalancing the Goddess magic and setting it free of my tight control.
Slate began to lick at me, hesitantly at first then more ardently. He groaned against my flesh, and I tried to concentrate on him and the pleasure he offered, but the pain kept rising higher like flames feeding on flesh.
Help me! I called to RS.
She is deep in herself; she cannot hear you, Kyanite said gently. But I am here with you, my love. Listen to me. Focus on my voice. Do you know how much I love you? How much I wish I could do for you what Slate is doing now? How I long to be aroused by your flesh and have flesh of my own to join with yours?
I shivered, and Slate started sucking at me. His finger slipped inside.
Keep talking, Ky, I urged.
I would harden for you in an instant and slip myself into your wet heat. I'd merge my sex with yours and give you all the pleasure I could impart. I would suck at your breasts; take them into my mouth and flick their hard nipples with my tongue.
I cried out, the pain receding beneath a jolt of lust. Slate growled and lifted onto his forearms. I felt him move over me but when he spread my legs wider and worked himself inside, it was another man's voice that made me tremble. No, not a man, but damn if he didn't sound like one.
Feel him and imagine it's me, my love, my Queen of Song. Let me have this small part of you, Kyanite went on. I would surge into you, over and over. I would press our bodies tightly together and grind the bud of your pleasure between us until you cry out as you do now. I would pull myself from you only so I could push your silky thighs up and feast on your sweet womanhood. I would lathe my tongue across your wet flesh and slip it inside you. Then, once you drenched me with your desire, I would return my body to yours and slam deeply until there would be no separating us. I would make you mine in all ways; taking you everywhere a man can take a woman. I would demand pleasure from you in as great a quantity as I gave. And you would scream for me, Elaria. Oh, how you would scream. I dream of it. I listen to your cries when you're with them and wish for it with all of my being.
Slate pumped faster, his muscles flexing beneath my hands, and I let go of Kyanite to focus on the lover in my arms. I couldn't keep listening, not when I was past the pain; past the point where I needed him. Because it had begun to feel like an indiscretion. A betrayal of the man who was physically making love to me; trying his best to pleasure and save me. But I couldn't simply abandon Kyanite either.
Thank you, Ky, that was beautiful. I'll never forget it.
Of cou
rse, my love. He went silent, doubtless sensing what I felt and what I needed. The perfect man, if only he had a body to match.
“El,” Slate growled against my throat. “Tell me the pain is gone.”
“It's gone, baby,” I assured him. “You can open your eyes.”
Slate opened his eyes and met my clear gaze with relief. I hadn't realized that he'd been as absent as I'd been; blinding himself to my agony so he could save me from it. My heart clenched; compressing in love so large and aching that no other word could describe the feeling. Compressed; as if an enormous thing had been shoved inside my chest. How vast was Slate's love for me? And how wondrous was it that my love for him matched that vastness?
“I love you, Zone Lord,” I whispered.
“I love you too, Spellsinger.” Slate kissed me tenderly before rising onto his knees to push my thighs up, just as Kyanite had described.
My eyes went wide as Slate pulled out and dove for my sex. Mind reeling, I succumbed to the pleasure of his lapping tongue and expert fingers but I didn't close my eyes. I couldn't. I needed to see that it was Slate; his mouth upon my sex and his molten stare searing me. For a second, the silver glinted like steel; sharp and possessive. Slate's jaws closed around my flesh as if he would consume me, and I screamed my release.
We're good, RS murmured wearily into my mind. For now.
Chapter Eighteen
“Love is a strange thing,” Slate murmured as he stroked my hair.
The pain was just a memory now. It was a sharp one, fresh and bleeding, but dampened by the pleasure that had followed it. So much pleasure. Slate had made love to me savagely. Extensively. Inventively. It was as if he believed that the more he made me climax, the more he could satisfy the RS's needs. As if he could stop the magic from growing by sheer force of will and the power of his body.
It was a damn good effort.
Now, I cuddled against Slate's sculpted chest and stroked the rock-hard curves idly. His arms held me tightly; his strength unfailing. I had a feeling that he'd make love to me again if I showed any inclination. I didn't. I was exhausted. Even my immortality couldn't keep up with Slate.
“Why do you say that?” I asked sleepily.
“It's labeled as one emotion when it's actually a composition of several.” He looked down at me and instead of the smile I expected, he frowned. “There are so many feelings in love; both emotional and physical. It's a craving like no other.” His hand lowered to my cheek then drifted to my lips. It hovered there, brushing my sensitive skin gently. “A driving urge to possess but also to free. A need to unite and support. Take and give. It's both clarifying and baffling. Uplifting and terrifying.” He dropped his hand to my throat and whispered, “I've never felt anything like this before.”
“Does it need to be dissected? Love is simply a strange and wondrous thing,” I laid my hand over his, bringing it down to my lap, and nuzzled closer to him.
“And possibly a weakness,” Slate murmured.
I moved back so I could look at him. “It weakens in some ways but strengthens in others.” I paused. “I'm sorry I scared you.”
Slate's jaw clenched and he looked away. “You're safe; it's over now.”
“Not entirely,” I insisted. “We'll have to find a way to keep the RS from growing. I think I should go to Coven Cay and speak to the Witches. Daha recommended it.”
“He did?” Slate slanted his gaze back at me. “When would you leave?”
“Today.” I sighed and got out of bed. “The sooner the better.”
Slate made a grumbling sound and followed me. His hand took mine. “Not so fast, Spellsinger. I haven't finished with you.”
Slate's mouth came down on mine. Hard. Demanding. His arms became a cage; one that moved me closer to him. I groaned into the feel of his lips on mine; his tongue slashing like a whip. One of his hands slid down to my ass and grabbed me there. Kneaded. With a careless movement, he tossed me backward, onto the bed. I sprawled with the graceless landing, but Slate was upon me before I could straighten.
“Slate, I—”
“You are mine now, Elaria,” Slate growled, his hand going to my throat again. It tightened just enough to hold me in place. “Here, in this palace, you are all mine. Give yourself to me. I want to see you lying beneath me; open and yielding. Desiring me alone.”
Well someone was feeling a little possessive.
“Slate, we can't spend all day—”
A ringing interrupted us; Slate's cellphone. He cursed, rolled off me, and prowled in naked, muscle-twitching glory to a dresser near the door. Slate scooped up his phone and answered.
“Yeah?” Slate glanced at me and frowned. “All right. On my way.” He hung up. “Get dressed; we need to meet Binx.”
“Where? What's happened?”
“Daha is dead.”
Chapter Nineteen
It wasn't Binx who waited for us outside Daha and Achira's home but Aaro, looking grim and worried.
“Binx is inside with Achira,” Aaro said as we stepped up. “She's taking it badly.”
“What happened?” Slate demanded.
“Someone came into their home and broke Daha's neck while he slept.”
“Great gems,” I whispered in horror. “Why?”
“I suspect it had something to do with him talking to us,” Aaro glanced at me before focusing on Slate again.
“But he already told us all he could.” I shook my head. “This makes no sense.”
“Did you have any intention of visiting him again?” Aaro asked.
Slate looked at me sharply.
“Well, Torin suggested it,” I admitted, “but after seeing how effective Darc's blood was, I figured it was unnecessary. The catastrophe had been averted.”
“Who else was there when Torin suggested another visit?” Aaro's eyes narrowed.
“Only my men.”
“You were there?” Aaro asked Slate.
Slate frowned. “I don't recall him saying that.”
“It was after Declan put you to sleep,” I explained.
“So, the only ones who knew that you might visit the seer again are men we can trust,” Aaro concluded with a scowl.
“Which means that this can't be related to Elaria,” Slate added. Then he demanded, “Show me the body.”
Aaro led us inside, past Gargoyle guards at the front door and within the house, and took us upstairs to a bedroom on the third floor. Achira's soft crying drifted into the hallway from the room next door. I glanced in that direction sympathetically but didn't want to disturb her. I was probably the last person she wanted to see.
Aaro, Slate, and I stepped into the bedroom; a space of muted turquoise and burnt orange. The furniture was set low, all of it; from the simple bed to the couches sprawling before it. Light came in through parted curtains, shining on the man in the bed. The corpse.
Daha looked peaceful if you disregarded the garish red splotches on his neck. His eyes were closed and his hands folded. He looked posed; as if he were already in his coffin. It sent a shiver down my spine.
“He was like this when you arrived?” Slate asked as he went to the bed and peered down at Daha.
The blankets were tucked under Daha's arms and smoothed around him. No one slept like that. Slate bent over the seer and sniffed deeply.
“Yes; just like this,” Aaro said, joining his brother. “Achira says she only touched him to check his pulse.”
“I smell nothing on his breath to indicate drugs but I want his blood tested anyway,” Slate ordered.
Aaro nodded.
“This print,” Slate went on, waving at the red marks on Daha's neck. “That's a large hand.”
“Several races come to mind,” Aaro noted.
I went to the other side of the bed, the one closest to the window. Daha's head was turned toward the light. I frowned. There wouldn't have been sunlight streaming in when he was killed. Or, rather, the Zone's version of sunlight. It would have been a softer light; a mimicry of the M
oon. But even those pale beams could keep a person awake. Why turn toward them if you wanted to sleep? I swiveled to look at the window. The glass pane was lifted. I stepped up to it and searched the entire area. It wasn't until I leaned out that I saw them; scratches in the stone ledge.
“The murderer came in through the window,” I concluded.
“Yes, we assumed so,” Aaro confirmed. “You saw the marks?”
I nodded.
