“I can’t explain it,” she said.
Hari examined Dela’s troubled face. “This began when you met me, did it not? I am not entirely human, and unusual forces have affected my life. Perhaps my appearance, or the act of opening the box, was a trigger point.”
“But what we do isn’t magic, Hari.”
“I don’t know about that, ma’am,” Eddie said, pushing around his sandwich. “I mean, we all know there’s probably some scientific explanation for what we do, but I haven’t heard it yet. We tell ourselves the mental ability to start a fire or read the history of an object conforms to some unknown scientific principle, and maybe that’s the case. But it seems pretty magical to me—and probably to anyone else who isn’t used to it like we are. I mean, look at Hari. We all say he’s magic, right? Could be science, though. We just don’t know enough to say.”
“You’ve gone and turned deep on me,” Dean said. Eddie blushed.
“Eddie is right,” Hari agreed. “The Magi himself could do many of the things you are capable of, but he was also able to tap into forces that allowed him to twist reality to suit his desires.”
Blue frowned. “His power must have had some limits, or else there would be a history—some record—of his activities. I mean, the way you tell it, this Magi would have tried conquering all of Asia and Europe, otherwise.”
Hari shook his head. “The Magi was powerful but alone. You yourselves do not demonstrate your gifts, except to others of your kind. Why? Because you are outnumbered. The Magi came to our land through the mountains, east from China, and he was followed by stories. Uprisings, revolt. We always suspected he had been driven away, though we never knew why or how. Our forests were perfect for him; very few true humans lived there, and the shape-shifters had no qualms with magic. Until he turned on us.”
“And yet …” Dela mused, tapping the tabletop with her fingernail.
“Merlin,” Blue said.
“Morgana.”
“Baba Yaga?” Artur shrugged.
The names were unfamiliar to Hari, but he sensed their significance. “Were these people like the Magi?”
“Legendary wizards, magic-makers,” Dela explained. “Fairy tales told to children. Supposedly as unreal as the Greek gods or any other myth.”
Hari smiled. “Humans were a myth once. A dream, cast to flesh, when animals of different natures wished to mate. They were compelled to find a common body, and so imagined a form that would feel all the pleasures expressed by the heart. The problem, however, was that children born of such unions were human through and through. Sometimes they could change shape, but more often they were locked, confined. Still, they were healthy and strong; they grew and multiplied, and after a time, it became forbidden for shape-shifters to love outside their kind.”
“That is a lovely story,” Dela said.
“I guess humans aren’t off limits.” Dean winked at her.
Hari laughed. “Never. The child of a shape-shifter male and human woman will always breed true to the father, while with our females, there is a half chance.”
He looked at Dela, and found her staring at her hands, her cheeks flushed bright red. Blue and Dean were trying to hide smiles, while Artur simply appeared grave. Eddie was concentrating very hard on his pizza.
“I am sorry,” he said, confused. “What did I say?”
Dean smirked. “You’re a male shape-shifter, Hari. Who would you want as the mother of your children?” Hari stared at him, and then Dela. She frowned at Dean.
Hari could not find the words; he had not thought of it when speaking, but of course Dela was the one to whom he passed his desires. Heart-warmth instantly swelled in his throat, tightening his body as he imagined his child growing inside her, a fantasy that had been strong within him for many days.
In their brief discussions of the future, the subject of children had been touched upon, but Hari realized Dela had never stated for certain her feelings on the matter. If she did not want to have a young one with him …
His face grew hot. His stomach hurt. “I am sorry, Delilah. I did not mean to embarrass you.”
She looked at him then, and her eyes were as warm as her face, dark with promise. “You didn’t embarrass me, Hari. The only shocking things at this table are Dean’s manners.”
“Ow,” Dean muttered, rubbing his chest.
That night, curled in his arms, Dela brushed her lips against Hari’s throat. “I know the topic of children has come up before tonight, but I never really thought about what they would be like. Now I understand.”
“And does it bother you?”
His concern was palpable. Dela could taste it as she kissed his mouth; slow, deep. She smiled against his lips. “No, Hari. Although we’ll have to think about moving someplace isolated if we want to raise a brood of tiger cubs.”
Hari’s eyes sparked gold, fire flickering in the shadows of her bedroom. “This has all happened so fast. How long have we known each other? A week, a little more? Even among my people, courtships last much longer. They are full of intrigue, mystery—a dance between man and woman—kept hidden from families until a decision, a moment. Consummation. The man steals his mate away to a home he has built for her, until the birth of a child, and then all families are reunited.”
“This is very different from what you’re accustomed to,” she agreed. “But then, falling in love with a man and planning out my future with him, after little more than a week, is a little off-board for me too. I don’t know how to do anything else, though. It’s frightening.”
“So we can be frightened together,” he said, pulling her even closer. “I have told you shape-shifters mate for life, Delilah. If you ever reject me, there will be no other.”
“No other,” she promised quietly, stroking his face. “I like the sound of that.”
“You could be cruel,” he laughed, flipping Dela onto her back.
“I could bring you to your knees.”
“I think you already did that once tonight.”
They breathed in each other’s laughter, and it warmed Dela that Hari trusted her enough to smile over something so serious. She was still his summoner, his mistress, and while she would never dream of touching that power, it was there, waiting. She could bring him to his knees. Anyone who wielded the box after her could do that.
I can’t let that happen. I don’t know how to break the curse, but I can’t ever let Hari be abused again.
“Hari?” she asked tentatively, as he pressed his lips against her collarbone. “I want you to consider … if and when anything ever does happen to me, I need to know … oh, Hari. Do you want the box to pass to someone else, someone who can be trusted, like Artur or Blue? Or our … our children?”
Such a strange thing, to say “our children” out loud. Extraordinary and breathtaking, a miraculous secret meant for Hari’s ears only.
Hari’s eyes turned grave. He loomed over her body, his face scant inches from her own. “When you die, Delilah, so will I. I will be dead to the world, and that is the way it should be. I do not want to be summoned again. Let me fall into the earth at your side, and I will be content. An eternity, dreaming of you.” He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand, a whisper of flesh.
“Boy,” she murmured, kissing him. “You sure can talk.”
Chapter Fifteen
She is trapped in the oubliette, embracing darkness, vomiting obsidian on the cold stone floor. Breathing Delilah breathing—ensnared and no one hears, no one can, and Delilah, she is alone, alone, alone—
“Delilah!”
Dela gasped, opening her eyes. Sunlight flooded her bedroom, sweet as nectar on her mind, chasing shadows without words. Hari leaned over her, his skin glowing with the backlit halo of white sun. He cupped her face in wordless question.
“I’m okay,” she lied, wanting to soothe away his troubled frown. How could she tell him her latest vision, a portent of things to come? Imprisonment, isolation, despair—her own, or his. It did not matte
r to whom. Something bad was coming.
“Delilah,” he began, but she shook her head.
“Just a dream, Hari. Nothing more.” Nothing preventable, anyway.
Whatever will be, will be. That is the way of things, and the future is not set in stone. What I saw is just a fragment, the dark piece of a puzzle that could be full of light. I can’t let myself forget that.
Just as she couldn’t forget the danger was not yet past.
Hari’s eyes were far too sharp, but he respected her word and said nothing. They got out of bed, dressed, and padded into the living room. The television was on, and all four of the house’s other occupants were crowded in front of it, rapt.
“… a body was found late last night in an alley off Monroe Street. Authorities have revealed that the man was the victim of a vicious animal attack, although sources say no one heard any sounds of struggle in what had previously been a peaceful downtown neighborhood. The victim has been identified as a Mr. Wen Zhang, a resident of New York City, and a prominent businessman. Anyone with information pertaining to the attack should contact the police or animal control.”
“Shit,” Dela said. “Oh, shit.”
“Someone had good taste,” Dean remarked.
“What the hell happened last night?” Dela stared at them, but everyone shrugged.
“He must have been killed soon after he left Le Soleil,” Eddie said.
Blue scrubbed his jaw, which looked like it was three days overdue for a shave. “Do we really think this was done by an animal?”
A furrow appeared between Dean’s eyes. “They called it an animal attack, which probably means they found some saliva in the wounds. Something not human.”
“Yeah, right.” Dela said. Wen’s murder—and Dela was sure it was murder—was so unexpected, and so … convenient … it begged immediate and paranoid suspicion. She didn’t think for one second it was an animal, or anyone trying to help. Who in their right minds, except her friends and family, would do that? And if it had been her friends or family, she would know.
“This is too much of a coincidence,” Hari said. He looked troubled. “Do you believe one of his own people killed him?”
“Unlikely.” Artur cracked his knuckles, an ominous gesture. “If this was murder, then perhaps his death was in retaliation for Dela’s murdered client. A face-saving gesture. Eye for an eye.”
“With both these leaders dead, the focus should no longer be on Delilah, correct?”
Dela groaned. “Zhang’s cronies will think I killed him. Me or Hari, depending on how many people knew about our meeting.”
“One thing at a time,” Dean said. “Eddie, why don’t you go downstairs and check out the security system? We may get visitors.”
Dela rubbed her arms. “I’ll go down with you. I need to walk this news out of my system.”
Hari remained with the others. Eddie and Dela went down to her studio. She watched him check the alarm codes; his quick fingers flying over the small pad. His dark eyes were intense.
“I want to thank you,” he suddenly said, casting Dela a quick glance. “For saving my life the other night. I haven’t had a chance to tell you … but no one’s ever taken that kind of risk for me.”
There was no self-pity in his voice, but Dela still sensed the cautious hunger of a young man who had been kicked too much as a boy and was only just beginning to find his feet. A subtle hope that this, at last, would be the place to call home. I am surrounded by Lost Boys, Dela thought, as she touched Eddie’s slim shoulder.
She said, “I couldn’t have done anything less. Not when you put your own life on the line.”
A flush crept up his neck. “I wasn’t hurt bad. I think my pride more than anything else. Things should have turned out differently. I should have reacted … better.”
Dela hesitated. “With your gift, you mean?”
Eddie grimaced. “Since the attack, I’ve been thinking of all the ways I could have stopped those guys. Heated up their guns, maybe just scorched their hands. Problem is, my control is good but not foolproof. I wasn’t thinking clearly. Fire spreads so easily, and I don’t … I don’t want to …” His voice trailed off. Dela waited, patient.
“It’s difficult,” he finally whispered, and his eyes were haunted. “I don’t want to hurt people, but I also don’t want to lose my friends because I’m weak.”
“Oh, Eddie,” Dela said. “You did the right thing. Everyone has a line they can’t cross, and if hurting people with your gift is what will break you, don’t do it. Don’t take the risk. That’s not weak. It’s being strong.”
Dela’s voice sounded hot, fierce to her own ears. She wanted to take Eddie’s head in her hands. She wanted him to understand the horrible lesson she had learned from Adam’s death.
“Eddie,” she said quietly. “Are you with me on this?”
“Yes,” he said, swallowing hard. “Yes, ma’am, I am.”
She ruffled his hair. He ducked his head, blushing.
When they returned upstairs, Blue met them at the door. He looked at his watch, and crooked a finger at Eddie.
“You have a doctor’s appointment in thirty minutes,” he said.
“Awww, Dad,” joked Dean, as a look of stricken disbelief passed over Eddie’s face.
“I forgot,” he muttered. Blue grinned.
“It’s okay, kid. I’ll hold your hand when they come after you with their needles and probes.”
Dean glanced at Artur. “Guess we should go take care of that, um, other thing.”
“What other thing?” Dela asked, leaning against the kitchen counter.
“Adam,” Artur said, grave. “We are going to take his body to be cremated.”
“Oh.” Dela looked down at her hands. “I kind of figured you guys had already done that.”
“Sorry, Dela.” Dean shuffled his feet. “We were waiting to see if Wen Zhang wanted him, but now that he’s dead …”
“I understand. Do I even want to know where Adam’s body has been all this time?”
“There are places where people don’t ask questions,” Artur said. “We make a habit of learning where they are.”
Again, oh.
No one asked whether she and Hari would be all right by themselves. She almost expected it, some request that they both accompany the departing men. No one said a word, and when Blue winked at her, Dela suspected a conspiracy.
Not that she minded.
When the door shut behind them, absolute silence filled the room.
“We’re alone,” she said, astonished.
“Yes,” Hari said. “But only for a few hours.”
“Well, if you can wait—”
Hari took two long steps, threw Dela over his shoulder, and carried her into the bedroom. Dela, laughing, hooked her hands around the door and slammed it shut behind them.
The irony was not lost on Hari. Two thousand years of slavery, countless sexual acts—but here, now, as he gently laid Dela on the bed, he felt untested, clean.
He brushed his lips against Dela’s cheek, scenting her desire, hot and sweet. She trembled against him. Not with anticipation, he realized, but with nervousness.
Hari sat on the edge of the bed and held her hands, stroking her palms with his thumbs. “What is wrong?” he asked, sounding far calmer than he felt. Dela did not pretend misunderstanding; she gave him a small, tremulous smile.
“Aren’t you a little scared?”
He almost laughed; neither magic nor death had made this woman show fear, and yet now her courage faltered. As did his.
“Yes,” he said softly. “You are the first woman I will ever make love to.”
Dela sighed, and with the passing of that long breath, tension leaked from her muscles until she clung to him, limp. And then her strength returned and she hugged him, tight and fierce. There was nothing shy about her now; nervousness had fled, and in its place was the assurance of a thunderstorm: electric, full of power. Dela kissed him; he felt her essence pour into
his body, and the beast howled.
Hari pushed away Dela’s sweater, drawing her dress over her head. His hands trailed clumsily over the pale creamy wash of her skin; he lightly squeezed her soft flesh. Dela sighed against his mouth, and then his own shirt came off, his pants pushed aside to the floor.
Dela ran her hand up the side of Hari’s stomach, calling blood to the surface of his skin, heating him as powerfully as the desert sun of old. She traced the lines of his muscles, her fingertips trickling down his arms. She kissed his neck, laving the hollow of his throat with her tongue.
Hari picked up her palm and darted his tongue against her skin. Dela’s eyes widened, and as he trailed kisses across her wrist, she bent over his chest, soft hair trailing down his flushed body. Dela tasted his scars, careful and deliberate, running her tongue over rough flesh, swirling close and closer until she flicked his nipple, startling a low cry from his throat—and then another as she very gently bit down.
Now he trembled. His hands danced against Dela’s spine, loving glances of skin to skin, carving a path around her ribs to the curve of her pale breasts, drawn tight and hard, peaked for his touch. Hari tried to watch Dela’s face, but she was hidden against his chest, suckling.
Hari ran his knuckles along her breasts, unfolding his hands as Dela drew back, moaning. He pressed his thumbs against her nipples, brushing them with tender care, lightly scraping with his nails. Dela’s back arched, and Hari took full advantage, bending her backward over his arm, lowering his mouth to her breast. As she had done for him, he fed on her body, reveling in the miracle of being allowed so intimate a touch. Dela’s whimpers electrified him. In all his years, he had never once imagined he could take such aching joy in giving another person pleasure. It was a marvel, a blessing.
Dela’s hands fluttered against his shoulders. “You never answered my question,” she gasped. “What does it mean to kiss like mates?”
A growl escaped him, and he lowered Dela all the way to the bed, trailing kisses down her body, fingers whispering against her flesh. She shuddered as he spread her legs.
Hari taught her, and when the lesson was done, Dela stared at him with lazy, languid eyes that raked over his aching body with hungry deliberation. He was unprepared for her attack—had only a moment to feel surprise—and then Dela’s hair filled his lap and his world became hot and wet. The kiss of a proper mate—except “proper” was not the word to describe the exquisite torture she inflicted upon his body, stringing him out one lick and touch at a time.
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