by Julie Kenner
“And here? In this world? Do you know how the fuerie manifests?”
This question is trickier, because my memory is very limited. “I’ve seen them here,” I say. “In New York. They appear human, but to me—to us—their faces look to be made of flame.” I glance around the table. “But they’re not like the brotherhood. No human willingly let the fuerie in. It’s like possession. Like The Exorcist,” I add, referring to the horror movie that had completely creeped me out when I saw it as a child.
“For that matter, if we’re going with pop culture references, the fuerie is kind of like the Borg.” I had been a fan of all things Star Trek growing up. “It’s one entity—one sentient consciousness. But it gets broken up into parts, and those parts live in a whole bunch of humans.”
Beside me, Raine nods, and I have to fight a grin, feeling a bit like a prized pupil.
Liam’s expression doesn’t change, but I think that I see approval in his eyes as well, though that might just be wishful thinking.
“And our mission? As the brotherhood?”
I hesitate, thinking this must be a trick question. “Um, kill the fuerie?” I frown a bit, thinking of Linda Blair as poor little Regan, all full up with the demon. “But doesn’t that kill the human, too?”
“A human possessed by a fuerie is already dead,” Jessica says flatly. “The fuerie’s energy burns them out within minutes.”
“Oh.” I shiver. “And when we kill the fuerie?” I can picture Mal and Dante fighting in that alley. The fuerie falling, then turning to dust when stabbed through the heart.
“Their energy returns to the fabric of this dimension,” Asher says. “But what do we know about this dimension?”
I shift in my chair like an unprepared student taking an oral exam. But I soldier on. “In this world, sentient energy must be contained in a vessel.”
“Right,” Jessica says. “So if we kill the fuerie and there is no human nearby into which it can get a foothold, then that energy is absorbed into fabric of the universe. And the consciousness of the fuerie as a whole is reduced by that much.”
“That’s good, though, right?”
“It’s very good,” Liam says. “But we have been undertaking this task for three thousand years now, and the fuerie is still strong, despite having felled thousands of its foot soldiers. And the truth is that some of those who work with the fuerie are simply human.”
I frown, not understanding.
“Think of the most evil people in history,” Mal explains. “Most likely those people were of the fuerie. They often manifest as charming. Personable. Intelligent. And they rally humans to follow them. Hitler was of the fuerie. So was Ted Bundy.”
Across the table from me, Dante shrugs. “The fuerie didn’t bring evil to this world. It just added to it.”
My head is spinning, but I think I understand. “And Phoenix Security?”
“We formed it centuries ago, though the name has changed over time.” Mal is leaning back in his chair, looking at me as he speaks. “The idea was to have a sort of front company. A detective agency. Bodyguards. Whatever best suited our needs. And we used the resources of that company to track down and destroy the fuerie.”
“That’s evolved, though,” Raine says. “Over half our business now has nothing to do with the fuerie. We offer protection services, find missing children, stop assassins, investigate serial killers, and even have the ear of a number of political leaders and investigative agencies around the globe. I was about to report on little Liesl, and I’m happy to say that the German team reports that we not only recovered her safe and healthy, but also delivered her kidnappers to the Munich authorities. Needless to say, the work is rewarding.”
“And being immortal provides us with an interesting perspective on the world,” Dante adds. “And our resources—including our finances—are essentially unlimited.”
“And the wider our base,” Liam concludes, “the more it benefits the dual mission of seeking out and destroying the fuerie.”
“That’s a mission that could take forever,” I say.
“Eventually we’ll prevail.” Mal looks at everyone at the table. “That is why we were given the gift of immortality, after all.”
Beside me, Raine shifts as if uncomfortable, but when I look at him, his eyes are fixed on Mal.
“But with luck and diligence,” Mal continues, “the fuerie’s defeat will not take that long. Soon, we hope to bind it in its entirety.”
“How?”
“The amulets,” Callie tells me.
“There are seven amulets,” Raine explains. “We have six. Once we have the seventh in our possession, we can bind the fuerie, then send it into the void. Or even back to our world so that it can be bound in a containment center.”
“And Christina…” Mal’s voice is gentle, and I turn from Raine to face him. “Together, the seven amulets can withdraw and contain the weapon inside you.”
A shiver cuts through me. “Where is it?” I’m almost afraid to ask. The thought that something out there in the world could set me free of this weapon is almost too much to believe. “Where’s the seventh amulet?”
Raine and Callie exchange a look. “Lost,” Callie says. “My father found it. He didn’t know what he’d found, but … well, anyway, it’s lost again.”
“And Phoenix Security is investigating that theft as well,” Liam says. “Any leads on identifying the fuerie who ran off with it?”
“Not yet,” Raine says. “The security cameras in the shop didn’t have a good angle. But there were some reflective surfaces and I’m talking to the computer, hoping to convince it to do some magic with the pixels.”
“Raine’s good with computers,” Jessica whispers. “Just like I’m good with healing.”
I nod, but I’m not really listening. I can’t stop thinking about that seventh amulet.
Find it, and I’m free.
Find it, and I’ll be whole.
I glance toward Mal only to see that he is already looking at me.
Yes.
He mouths the word and nothing else. But that is enough. It’s a promise, and I cling to it.
We will find the amulet.
We will save me.
And in that moment, my worries fade away. Because I trust him. And though I do not know how he will manage it, I know that is a promise that he will keep.
Chapter 8
‡
After the meeting, I borrow a skirt and blouse from Callie, then hang out with the girls in the members area at Dark Pleasures.
“The VIP room is the place if we want to just kick back,” Jessica says as the waiter brings us each a glass of scotch. “But for people watching and catching up on gossip, it’s way more fun in here.”
She’s right, and while we sip scotch and chat about everything from the various jobs of the members who are scattered about—including two actors I recognize from a recent run on Broadway—to our own careers, I can’t help but think how nice it is to just sit and talk with other women. Jessica is smart and funny and really did go to med school. Harvard, actually, class of 1945. The very first year that Harvard Medical School admitted women.
“I’d been a healer before that,” she says. “But for a long time I was considered a charmer or even a witch.” She shrugs. “Those were fun times. Not.”
“Jessica was actually burned at the stake once,” Dagny says, to which Callie and I reply in unison, “Seriously?”
Jessica nods. “Laying low is not my strong suit. Drives Liam crazy.”
“The hell it does,” Dagny counters. “Like he’d want a woman who’s quiet and demur.”
Jessica’s brows rise just slightly. “Are you suggesting I’m not demur?” she asks, and we all laugh.
“I know Callie’s a lawyer,” I say to Dagny. “But what do you do? Other than Phoenix Security, I mean.”
“That’s it,” she says. “But it’s more than you think.” Her smile is thin and very smug. “A few of us—including Mal
and Raine, by the way—have put in time with various intelligence agencies. Honing our skills, you know. I’ve worked at the CIA, done a stint at ATF, did the Pinkertons thing for a while, but back then I had to be the office girl. And,” she adds, falling into a British accent, “I put in a full ten years with MI-6.”
I glance at Callie. “Did you know that?”
“Not a clue.” She narrows her eyes at Dagny. “How do you deal with the background checks?”
“Oh, please. You live long enough you figure out how to do all sorts of things. Not to mention, these days people believe anything that’s in their database. And Raine can fix any database to match any situation.”
I sit back and finish my scotch, astounded by the world I’ve fallen into. “It’s amazing.”
“What is?” Dagny asks.
“This. You guys. Well, us.” I frown, because I’m a part of this too, now. “It’s the stuff of fantasies. Or psychoses,” I add sardonically.
“You’re not crazy, Christina,” Jessica says, and her voice and smile are so soft and gentle that I can’t help but wonder if she knows about my mother. Even as the thought enters my head, I realize that she must. Because Jessica is a doctor, and as far as she’s concerned, I’m her patient, and she would have gone out of her way to find out everything she can about me.
Surprisingly, the thought doesn’t piss me off. In fact, it’s strangely comforting.
We stay like that, talking and laughing, for a few more hours and a few more drinks, and I am grateful that I only have to cross the courtyard to get home. “And you’re close, too,” I say to Callie, who I happen to know lives in the fabulous penthouse apartment of Number 36.
“I am,” she says. “And if you need more clothes for tomorrow, just let me know.”
“Thanks,” I say, though I really need to get back to Brayden’s and pack a bag.
“I’m in the Village,” Jessica says. “But Liam’s with Dante over in the VIP lounge, so I’ll cut out when he’s ready.”
“And you?” I ask Dagny, who immediately turns pink. I burst out laughing. “You aren’t!”
She nods. “I told Brayden I’d come over when I was through, no matter how late.”
“Do you want my key?”
Surprisingly, her blush actually deepens. “Actually, he already gave me one.”
I meet Callie’s eyes and we share a smile.
And then I leave my new girlfriends and stumble out of the members’ area and through the private door into the lobby that was a grand ballroom before this building was converted. I cross the courtyard and let myself into Mal’s building.
I pause just inside the door and breathe deep, wondering at the simple, basic, undeniable fact that it feels as though I belong here. That this place that I barely know already seems like home.
I wait for that realization to scare me.
And instead, I find myself smiling.
I take the stairs up to the den, then find Mal in his office.
He’s bent over his laptop and is cursing like a sailor, pissed off that the goddamned motherfucking machine keeps fucking crashing.
I can’t help it. I lean against the doorjamb and laugh.
Mal looks up, his expression irritated at first, but that fades to a resigned amusement when he realizes it’s me.
“Shall I call Raine over?” I ask. “Maybe he could talk some sense into the motherfucking machine.”
He lifts one brow in a way that I consider desperately sexy. “Careful,” he says in a voice that is so full of heat I swear the only reason I don’t come right then is that I am not allowed to. “Keep talking sass and I may have to turn you over my knee.”
“Oh, no you don’t,” I say, forcing myself not to laugh. But then I squeal when he comes around the desk. I run into the den with Mal right behind me, but I’m not trying too hard to get away. And when he does catch me, I can’t deny that I’m kind of hoping he does exactly what he has threatened.
The thing is, that’s not something I’ve done in bed, and I’ve never fantasized about being spanked. But there was something so enticing about the way he said it. And this game that we’ve been playing—if you can even call it a game when the fate of the world depends on my sexual responsiveness and control—has made me realize that there is a lot of untapped sexual potential out there in the world, and I want to push a few more boundaries. At least so long as it’s Mal that I’m pushing against.
I don’t, however, have the guts to ask for it.
Not that I have time to think about this perceived vacancy in our sex life. My mind is too full of him. The way he’s pulling me close. The way his mouth closes over mine.
I moan softly and press against him, and just like that all the playfulness between us evaporates, replaced by heat and passion and an almost violent need.
“Strip,” he says as soon as he breaks the kiss. “I want to see you naked.”
I don’t hesitate. I’d borrowed a simple silk tank from Callie and paired it with a flowy maxi-skirt, and a pair of three-inch heels. I don’t have a sister, but if I had, I would have wanted her closet to be much like Callie’s.
I pull the tank over my head and toss it at Mal, who catches it, balls the material, then presses his face against it. “Lover, you smell like sin.”
There’s something so sensual about his words that I add an extra shimmy as I peel the skirt down over my hips, then let it fall in a puddle around my feet. I carefully step out of the ring of material, a move that puts me a good eight inches closer to Mal.
And even in that small distance, I can feel the increase in the tension between us.
I stand still for a moment, my legs slightly parted, my hip cocked just a bit. I am wearing Callie’s three-inch heels, my own plain cotton bra, and no panties since I have no spare and Mal already destroyed the ones I’d arrived in.
Mal’s eyes take it all in, his heated gaze moving so slowly over me that I am fairly certain he is actually touching me. And when his inspection finally ceases at my toes, I am so wet and ready that my sex is actually throbbing with need.
“Please,” I say, and am rewarded with a slow, sexy smile that practically drips with promise.
“The rest,” he orders, and I obey immediately so that I am entirely naked.
He nods toward the bedroom. “On the bed. Legs spread. Touch yourself,” he demands. “But remember—you can’t come.”
“Wait—what?” I’ve gotten myself off before, of course. But never when a guy was around. And certainly not with one watching.
But all he does is press his fingertip to my lips and say, “Now.”
I go. Because this is the plan. This is the game. This back and forth of control and submission is how I am learning to keep a rein on the wildness inside me.
That is the reason, of course.
But there is another reason, too. Because the idea of Mal watching as I touch myself is undeniably exciting. And as I spread out on the bed—as I slide my hand between my legs—I imagine that it is Mal touching me. Mal’s mouth upon me. Mal’s cock thrusting inside me.
I am not usually one for fantasy when I masturbate, but I cannot deny that I am enjoying this. Hell, I’m getting into it. I keep my eyes closed and tease my clit with my fingers, so slick with my own arousal. I lift my hips and slide two fingers inside, moving in tandem with his imaginary thrusts. And I’m close, so close, and as I bite down on my lower lip and force my hand to slow, it is Mal’s voice I imagine I hear—That’s it, lover. Close, and then back it off. Right to the peak, and then push it back down.
My eyes flutter open, and I realize that the voice wasn’t just in my head. The man himself is right there, naked now and desperately hard—and my entire body flushes with the heat of a blush that starts at my toes and travels all the way up to my hairline.
“No,” he says, moving to the edge of the bed and gently taking the hand that is now laying limp between my legs. “Don’t you even think about being embarrassed. You’re beautiful and hot a
nd sexy, and I don’t know when I have been so turned on.”
I know that he has slept with a lot of women—a man like Mal, how could he not?—but with those words, he makes me believe what he has been telling me in so many ways. That I am his. And that we fit.
I am so lost in this sensual haze that I do not realize what he’s doing until my arm is outstretched above my head. “Mal?”
I give my arm a tug, and it doesn’t move. He’s very efficiently attached me to the headboard.
“What are you doing?”
He moves around the bed, brushing his hand over my naked body as he walks. “Tying you up.”
“Oh.”
Who knew that three tiny words could be so intoxicating, but they are. My nipples have hardened and I am even wetter than before, my sex clenching with need.
And because I am naked and spread-eagled on the bed, Mal sees it all. And he smiles.
I take my free hand and put it over my face, making him chuckle softly. “No,” he says as he lifts that hand and repeats the process with the other bedpost. “Don’t hide from me. Don’t you know that seeing you excited gets me hard? Don’t you know that right now, I don’t want anything in this world except to be inside you?”
I know I should answer. Speak. Nod. Something.
But all I can manage is to breathe.
And then he moves on to my legs.
Oh sweet god.
In no time at all he has bound my legs to the two posts of the footboard, so that I am spread wide.
“Mal…” His name is a moan. A plea.
“Do you know why I want you like this?” he asks, his voice low and so edgy I think that he could cut me with his words.
“Tell me.”
He slides his hands up my legs, moving so slowly it almost causes me physical pain. I buck, my hips rising and falling in anticipation, knowing the touch that is coming. Waiting for it. Wanting it.
“Because you can’t get away from it.”
“What?” My word is a whisper. A breath. He is so close to my sex, and I want to feel him there. I am right on the verge of coming—and the sensation is somehow more exquisite since I know that I can’t go over into that chasm.
