by Renea Mason
Cyril stopped on a small bridge, spanning the cobblestone path that ran along the riverbank. He turned to face me, the full moon hanging in the sky above his head. He took both of my hands in his. “Light, I’m so sorry I’ve made a disaster of our night. I simply wanted you to enjoy yourself. As usual, my intentions may have been noble, but my execution lacking. So please, hear me out.” He closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled. “The other night, when we made love on the stairs because I was incapable of waiting the thirty seconds it would have taken to carry you up to our bedroom, do you remember?”
The encounter was hard to forget. We sat on the sofa in the game room with Clarence and Rhys, watching the feature of the week when Cyril began kissing my neck. I thought he might fuck me there on the couch beside them, but at the last minute, he grabbed my hand and pulled me into the hallway. He pressed my back against the wall and smothered me with passionate kisses. Wrapping his arms around my waist, he urged me along the walkway. When we reached the stairs, he bent me over, ripped my panties, and fucked me hard. I swallowed, suppressing the heat growing in my core from the thought. “Yes. I remember.”
“Do you remember what you were thinking?”
He saw my thoughts when we had sex, but the fucking he gave me was so fantastic I could barely remember my own name, let alone what I was thinking. “Cyril, honestly no. If I remembered anything, other than what you were doing to me, you should be insulted.”
“Perfect.” He chuckled. “Let me remind you. A movie had been on in the game room. The scene featured a wedding. When I felt your thoughts, you kept trying to picture yourself married. What it would be like to be my wife. Would I even want a wife? You were trying to reconcile who you were, with who you are. That’s why I brought you here tonight. I wanted to ease your mind.” He squeezed my hands. “I hate seeing you troubled, so I’ve decided to be more human about my choices. Make my mistakes, allow you to be frustrated with me, to experience all those things I’d love to take away. I have an eternity to dodge your exasperated stares, but the one thing I can’t live with is your doubt.” He let go of my one hand, reached into his pocket, and slid a ring onto my left ring finger. The brilliant, solitaire diamond sparkled in the moonlight. Its beveled features large and bold just like Cyril.
I couldn’t speak. What the hell was he doing? I looked up into his glossy gaze—so much love, adoration, and…fear. Unshed tears stung my eyes.
“I was going to ask you to marry me, but after dinner, I’m not so sure that’s what you want. Instead, I’ll do this.” He straightened the ring on my finger twisting it. “This symbolizes my pledge. I want you to look at it and know I’ll be whatever you need. If you want a husband, you have one. If you want a king, rest assured, you are my queen. The ring is my vow to be whatever you may humanly need.”
I returned my gaze to my hand, watching the facets of the massive gem glisten. I attempted to speak his name, but the lump in my throat made me choke on the word. “Cyril?”
“Yes, Light,” he whispered.
I took a deep breath, trying to hold back the tears. “I just need you to be you. I don’t want you to pretend to be anything else but the brutish, irresistible, pain in the ass that you are. Just you.”
He caught a tear with his thumb before it trickled down my cheek. “Light—”
“Don’t you see? If we keep attempting to be everything to each other, we’ll miss the best parts. I love you. Don’t deny me the opportunity to keep falling further in love with you.”
He peered back at me, deep in thought, searching my eyes. He squeezed my hand and said, “Are you sure that’s what you want? A man incapable of taking you on a proper date or making a marriage proposal?”
My lips stretched into a smile, and I winked. “Yes. You make up for it in so many other ways.” The many fringe benefits he provided flooded my mind. “Come on, let’s head back to the car.” The mischievous expression I shot him was an invitation.
A wicked grin formed at the corner of his mouth. “You’re absolutely sure about that? You want me to be the real me? You know how stubborn and domineering I can be.”
I chuckled and wiped the remaining wetness from my face on the sleeve of my shirt. “Yes, I know. I can handle you, Cyril.”
“All right then.”
In the next moment, he slung me over his shoulder. My head bounced with each of his large strides.
“Cyril, put me down. What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m doing exactly what you asked me to do.”
The air left my lungs in spurts as my chest slammed into his back. “This isn’t what I had in mind.”
He laughed. “It was you who said you want me to be myself. Relax, we’re going for a drive.”
“What? Where are we going?” I whined, wiggling in his hold. A drive? I fully expected him to fuck me in the car, but where could he possibly be taking me now?
He slid me down his body until I stood beside the shiny black sports car. “Linden, I’m immortal, the most powerful being on this planet. I do not negotiate when I know what’s best. And since the only thing that will please you is for me to be who I am by nature…” He opened the door, motioning toward the leather seat. “Please, sit.”
I lifted my chin ever so slightly and crossed my arms over my chest. “Where are we going?”
He didn’t respond, but rather scooped me up and plopped me in the seat. Before I formed the words needed to protest, he buckled me in and took his place behind the steering wheel.
“Cyril?” I grumbled. “What’s going on?”
“We’re taking a little trip.” He leaned across the console and kissed me. With his lips lingering just out of reach, he whispered, “Being me doesn’t change my love for you. I will always want what’s best for you, but we’re going to do it my way.”
“Oh, dear God, what are you up to?”
“You, my Light, have some groveling to do.”
“Oh, fuck me,” I huffed, rubbing my hands over my face.
He ran his hand up the inside of my thigh. “Later. I promise.”
“Cyril, I can’t face him.” I may have seen his earlier point about Overton, but I needed time to think of the right things to say.
“Oh, but you can.”
“No, I can’t. He doesn’t want to see me.” Truth was, I dreaded seeing him.
He pushed the ignition, causing the car to roar to life, and then pressed his fingers against the juncture between my legs. “We can do this the hard way or the easy way. I’ll be generous and let you decide, just this once. Which do you choose?”
I rolled my eyes, knowing I wouldn’t be satisfied no matter the outcome. “Dare I ask what my options entail?”
“Well, the easy way is for you to go to the compound and tell Overton you’re sorry. Beg his forgiveness.”
“And the hard way?”
He placed his lips to my ear and whispered, “I’ll take you out of the car, bend you over the hood, and fuck you in the moonlight. After I’ve filled you with my seed, and it turns you into a wanton horny mess, I’ll drive you to the compound. Perhaps, I’ll stop a few times along the way and spill inside you again. I don’t want to be cruel or have it be said I won’t see to your needs. But after we arrive, I’ll lock you and Overton in a room together. Neither one of you will be able to walk in the morning.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t.” Cyril, who was created by a goddess to please her every physical need, came equipped with a few enhancements—an ever-ready erection and semen that put even the most potent aphrodisiac to shame. So his threat was anything but idle. I’d practically hump a mailbox while under his spell.
“Care to test me?” He kissed me behind the ear while his fingers stroked me through the fabric of my pants.
“Fuck you.” I tried to sound fierce, but he had already won.
He pressed one more quick kiss to my lips before shifting the car into gear. “You’re right, Light. Things are much better this way.”
My only response was a groan as tires squealed against the pavement.
CHAPTER TWO
Late
The car came to an abrupt stop. Cyril drummed his fingers on the steering wheel for a moment and then unbuckled my seat belt. “Let’s go.”
I crossed my arms. “Can’t I stay here?”
“No. You need to work this out with him.”
“What if he doesn’t want to?”
He cupped my cheek with his palm. “He loves you.” Before I could release my grumble, he exited the car and opened my door, extending his hand. “Come on, I’ll walk you in.”
I hesitated.
“Linden, just tell him you’re sorry.”
I rubbed my palms on my pants, smoothing the fabric and sighed. With a deep breath, I took Cyril’s hand and slid out of the car. Each step toward the iron doors caused my heart to thunder louder in my chest, drowning out the roar of the rushing river water nearby. I hurried to keep up with Cyril’s long strides. “Cyril, there is still an abundance of magic seeping from the water beyond the compound, but much less than when the Marys were here.”
Mary, the woman rescued from the clutches of his nemesis, Vidius, had been Cyril’s housekeeper when I’d first arrived at his manor. She’d left for France shortly after my initial stay, but when she returned, there was more than one of her. Magical clones everywhere.
When I followed Mary one day to this compound, I found there were dozens of her. Some were incarcerated in small barred cells lining the walls of the multi-story structure. Even crazier was that each Mary could shapeshift into a beast with the ears of a bat, the face of a cat, and the stature of a wolf.
As bad as a horde of cloned, shapeshifting housekeepers might seem, it was the Marys’ male counterparts, who we now called the Josephs, who were the real threat. Vidius had unleashed them on the Culture District’s Winter Gala and had incited a massacre that only someone as powerful as Cyril could have ended.
Cyril’s eyes scanned the compound. The large building had once been an old steel mill or something of the like. It towered a half dozen or so stories above the river, the metal siding and exposed beams all stained with rust. “You’re right, Linden. The magic is much weaker than before. The orbs in the eyes of the young girl we found in the cellar amplified the magic. Since we moved her body to the chambers under our manor in the city, she’s no longer fueling this place.”
When Cyril shoved the heavy door open, I held my breath. Could I stand to see Overton? To see the disappointment in his eyes? To feel his hesitancy? I wanted nothing more than to turn around and leave. But Cyril pulled me across the threshold.
I heard Overton before I saw him. His voice gouged a pit in my stomach and made my heart to ache. I was thankful Cyril couldn’t read my mind in real time anymore. No one needed to see what a fucked-up mess I was. The yellow glow and soft buzzing of the tinted fluorescent lights lining the hallway made me nervous—sweaty palms, racing heart, trembling hands. Was it the memory of the horrific truth I had found in this place once before or having to face Overton now? Tears pricked the corners of my eyes just before Overton spoke. I had my answer. It was him. Weathering the horror of shapeshifting clones was easy compared to facing Overton knowing I’d hurt him. I was such a fucking coward.
Overton set a glass beaker on the metal table. “Cyril, I’m so glad to see you. You won’t believe what I’ve found.” His excited expression turned to a frown when he saw me hiding behind Cyril.
I lowered my gaze to the floor, unable to stand the pain in his eyes.
A forced recognition fell from his lips, the syllables terse and harsh. “Linden.”
Cyril released my hand and strode toward Overton’s makeshift lab in the center of the large circular, multistory room. The cavernous space made the sound of Cyril’s footsteps reverberate for a moment after he stopped moving.
Overton spent every waking hour in the compound trying to divine Vidius’s plan. Why clone the Marys and leave them here? Why clone the Josephs and send them to the gala to incite a massacre?
Even with the chambers that once housed the Marys empty, the eeriness of the place remained—industrial concrete, thick iron bars, the echo of dripping water, and the smell of mold, mildew, and cleaning solvents.
Cyril stood by Overton, examining all the scattered pieces of paper and various containers. I lingered on the opposite side of the table, watching the two men.
Overton handed Cyril a slip of paper. “It’s worse than I feared. The Marys were certainly created with your blood as Linden suspected, but they were further enhanced with some genetic engineering. The Josephs, they were created using the substance in the young Scottish girl’s gem-like eyes. It’s very powerful.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, fighting the chill in the air. “The girl’s eyes? What are they?”
Cyril’s expression remained emotionless as he spoke the word. “Aristia.”
“Wait, the goddess who created you? That Aristia? That doesn’t make sense.” I cocked my head to the side, awaiting his explanation.
“Exactly. The question is, how did fragments of a goddess end up in the eye sockets of young Celestine? She was little more than a teenager in the seventeenth century. What are the chances I had an…” He glanced in my direction, no doubt gauging my reaction. “Encounter with the same woman now sustaining fragments of my goddess?”
“This is Vidius’s work.” Overton rested his hands on the edge of the table.
Cyril huffed. “Yes. I know. The best I can figure is when Aristia banished Vidius, Myghal, the others, and me to Earth, destroying herself in the process, pieces of her followed. The green orbs in Celestine’s eyes are fragments of her essence, and the energy emanating from them is unmistakable. And they might not be the only pieces, making this serious cause for concern.”
Overton turned away from me, and I allowed the moment of relief to ease the tightness in my chest. He crossed his arms and asked Cyril the question I had been asking myself for days. “So she is the woman from seventeenth-century Scotland like you and Rhys claimed? How is it possible she’s still alive?”
Cyril picked up a small beaker from the bench and studied the strange red liquid inside. “The eyes—Aristia’s magic. It’s why the Josephs were so hard to kill. Vidius is using Aristia’s magic to strengthen them.” He sloshed the liquid from side to side, lost in thought.
The deafening silence grew irksome, so I broke the tense moment. “I had no trouble killing the Josephs.”
Cyril wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me close, and pressed kisses to the top of my head. “Yes, I know.” His hold tightened, and a growl rumbled in his chest. He leaned back just far enough to gaze into my eyes with dilated pupils.
You were my warrior. I remembered his words from the night I brought him back from between the nether realms. You did something no one has ever done. You battled for me.
His lips blazed a trail over my temple and across my cheek until his mouth covered mine. His scent, his taste, lit a fire in me. My body melded to his, blinded by his energy—the magnetism formed of love and magic.
Overton cleared his throat. “I’m going to go.”
Oh, fuck. How could I be so foolish? I pressed my palms against Cyril’s chest, trying to push him away. His eyes narrowed for a moment, and then realization seemed to set in. Since his return, we both had been slaves to lust, allowing ourselves to indulge the bond without thought. We spent more time fucking than anything else. The act symbolized our connection, was an appreciation for his return, and it helped to keep my thoughts from drifting to Overton.
Cyril grabbed Overton by the arm but kept his gaze locked on me. “Light, you and I will continue our…discussion later.” He pivoted to face Overton. “Stanton…” Cyril always referred to Overton as Stanton, his chosen first name, when he wanted to be more familiar. “I need you to keep an eye on Linden.”
I shifted into Cyril’s line of sight and rested my hand on my hip. “An eye on me? I’m not a
child.”
Cyril raised an eyebrow. “Is the tantrum you’re about to pitch supposed to convince me otherwise?”
I crossed my arms. “I don’t need a keeper.”
“You most certainly do,” he all but growled.
The objection was visible on Overton’s lips, but Cyril paid no mind as he continued. “I must travel to Scotland to get answers. Linden needs to stay since she has some unfinished business to tend to. I’ll be back before the end of the week. Keep her out of trouble.”
Overton’s expression grew grim. “Cyril, I don’t think that’s the best idea. Rhys will be back Wednesday. Can’t you delay the trip until then?” He rubbed the back of his neck, his nervous energy tangible.
“No. Besides, the two of you have much to talk about.” Before I could object, Cyril silenced me with a kiss. “I won’t be long, Light, and when I get back, we’ll continue our…discussion.” He leaned in, brushing his lips on the shell of my ear. “While I’m gone, you have my full permission to strike up a few discussions of your own with Stanton. I think it would do you both some good.”
“I don’t…” Cyril cupped his hand over my mouth.
“Stop talking and listen. Remember, I can read his thoughts. I suggest you fuck him first then talk it out later. He’s angry, frustrated, and needs to clear his head.”
Overton must have overhead Cyril’s comments because he began to choke, but it was evident that the coughing was nothing more than a cover.
Cyril’s palm silenced my gasp of astonishment.
“Oh, don’t pretend like you wouldn’t welcome the chance. I saw your fantasy last night.” He kissed my cheek. “I love you and will miss you dearly.” He removed his hand and kissed my lips. “Do not get into any trouble while I’m gone.” He turned to face Overton. “You’re responsible for her.”
Overton tried to object, “Cyril—”
“I must be off.”
Cyril was out the door before Overton could mumble, “Oh, bloody hell.”
