by Cara Lake
“Which pairing?” Choronzon’s red slits flared with barely contained excitement.
“War and Peace, Sire.” Abrasax announced as if awaiting a fanfare. Which he didn’t get, as usual. And that was so annoying.
“Hmmm.” Choronzon meditated for a moment tapping his chin. “Let me think. This reminds me of the last Realignment, eight hundred years ago, Abrasax, ring any bells?”
No chance you’d forgotten then? “How so, my Lord?” he countered, chancing his arm.
“I believe you assured me then that you had contained a certain pairing. You were particularly confident if I remember rightly, but things did not go according to plan.” Choronzon paused, probably for effect. “You. Failed. Me.” He enunciated each word through gritted teeth and leaned forward causing Abrasax to cringe and bow low. Choronzon’s clawed fingers gripped the arms of the throne, crushing the left side into dust. “You will not fail me again, will you, Abrasax? Do you know why?”
“No, my lord, I mean yes…” blustered Abrasax, desperate to claw his way back. This was meant to be a good day.
“You won’t fail me because you don’t dare to fail me. How does three hundred years chained in the play pits sound? My balauri babies are always looking for new playmates. They like fresh blood. They are particularly fond of kidney and adore raw intestines. They especially like it when their playmates regenerate so that the fun can start. All. Over. Again. Get the picture?”
Abrasax nodded. “You have nothing to fear my lord. The deal’s as good as sealed.”
“Oh, Abrasax,” intoned Choronzon, “I fear nothing. Just take care to avoid the balauri play date and perhaps I will reward you with the chance to cause chaos in the Americas. Now go suck those lovebirds dry. I do so love a happy ending!”
Abrasax turned and left quickly before Choronzon decided to toy with him as he had the rarog female. Well, not so bad he thought. A play date with balauri young. Choronzon kept a kindergarten full of these three-headed dragons, creatures prized not only for the fact that their saliva could be transformed into rubies if you knew the recipe, but also because it was incredibly poisonous. One bite from a balauri and chances were you‘d be dead in no time. Luckily Abrasax’s species had a rare immunity from which an antidote could be made, although being chewed on relentlessly by them would be no picnic. At least he would have a chance of surviving the torture. It could have been worse however. He could have been threatened with doing time at a balaurimothers’ convention. Now that was a real nightmare. Especially if they all had pre menstrual tension and once one had it, they would all get it, female biorhythms being what they are.
As he left, he could hear Choronzon behind him whining. “Now who’s got the remote? I want to see the latest installment of Keeping up with the Kardashians. I do love Kim’s mum. She reminds me so much of my own dear, sweet mama.”
Teenage surfer on crack, scratch that—middle-aged mummy’s boy on LSD! Psycho Alert.
Back on Earth, from the penthouse suite of the Abrasax Tower, with its superior interior décor, Abrasax called together his own chosen minions to plan an extraction. He needed to ensure that Tyr Bellor was tied and bound, body and soul and he was going to use all means at his disposal. If only Sal had not turned soft, letting his affection for the boy override his Discordant vows, Bellor would have been bagged and tagged by now. However, this little glitch had enabled him to make contact with Tyr’s Esseni pairing. Abrasax stared down at the information provided by Shax. Irina Columba. Lawyer, and to all intents and purposes adopted daughter of Merak Espenson. And Cassiopeia, like a sister. Well, well, well. What goes around comes around.
They must have been shielding her for a while. He smiled to himself relishing the thought of the upcoming battle. Abrasax had crossed swords with this pair of Eunomi protectors before. This time he would ensure it was the last.
Chapter Seven
“What do you think of him?” asked Cassi later that evening as they sat on the sofa, going over notes on the next day’s cases.
“Who?” Irina tried to appear casual as she sipped the ice-cold prosecco Luc had just poured.
It was obvious to whom Cassi was referring, but Irina preferred to pretend ignorance. In reality, she had spent all day trying really hard not to think of him. And that kiss. Her lips still felt warm where his had made contact so briefly that she kept wondering if the moment had actually existed at all. She knew it had, but what horrified her most was how her body had reacted so fiercely to his touch. She remembered feeling as if her bones had melted, her cells becoming liquid, her breath turning to vapor. It had taken all her energy to force resistance from her brain, the overwhelming impulse in that second to sink her whole existence into his, a fusion of body and soul. The memory of the imprint of his mouth on hers still resonated, a heated volcano in her blood.
Luc’s ears pricked up at Cassi’s question. He was sitting at his design table working on plans for a large skyscraper project his company was developing in New York. Turning to Irina, he narrowed his eyes suspiciously, piercing her with the intensity of his cerulean gaze. “Oh, that’s right,” he said. “You met the boxer/murderer, innocent until proven, again. So what’s the verdict, set-up stool pigeon or psychotic lifer?”
“Hard to say at this point,” Irina replied. “He hasn’t given up one thing about the case yet. I think Merak will need to see him. My supposedly persuasive voice hasn’t had any luck.”
“Oh I wouldn’t say that,” Cassi interrupted. “After you ducked out this afternoon, he told me he was ready to make a statement tomorrow.”
Irina’s stomach churned. “Well that’s good news. He can give his statement to Merak.”
“The thing is, Irina,” said Cassi, a strange vibe in her tone, “he told me that he will only give it directly to you.”
This caused her stomach to flutter at the fact that he wanted to see her again. “Why? Anyone can take down a statement,” she replied, hoping she sounded utterly unconcerned.
“Well… If you want to know what I think,” Cassi began, “I think he took a little, or should I say, a big shine to you.”
Luc laughed out loud at that. “That’s just so perfect and ironic. Irina, little Miss Pacifist, and the big violent warmonger! You don’t even like the sight of blood. I’m still surprised you managed to stay upright at the fight last week. At one point I thought you were going to keel over, you looked so pale.”
“He’s not as bad as that!” Irina blurted out before she realized what she was saying.
Her flatmate’s jaw dropped in astonishment. “I can’t believe this,” he said shaking his head and prowling over to the sofa. “Miss Pacifist defending the violent. Do you actually have a thing for him?” Luc’s blue eyes bored into hers with suspicion. Cassi remained where she was, an innocent but slightly smug expression on her face.
“No. No of course I don’t!” Irina denied vehemently. “But innocent until proven, as you said.”
“It’s okay, Irina,” Cassi cut in. “I understand completely. The guy has a body made for sin and the face of an Adonis. Who wouldn’t want to give him the benefit?”
“It’s nothing like that,” said Irina feeling the warm blood rising to her cheeks. “I just like to hear the facts first and we still haven’t heard his side yet.”
Cassi pounced triumphantly. “Which is why, Miss Pacifist, you are going back tomorrow to take his statement!” Done and dusted!
* * * * *
The next morning, Irina leaned back against the kitchen counter, hugging a mug of hot, strong black coffee to her chest. Lost in a tangle of confused emotions, her brain kept mulling over the events of yesterday. What was happening to her?
She shivered as a pair of black, dark-as-night eyes intruded into the knotted mess of her brain.
Those eyes. Ebony. Obsidian darkness. Black holes drawing her in with a force like gravity.
Inescapable.
Magnetic.
Compelling.
Even more disturbing,
that kiss. Had it even happened?
“Rina!” A voice shattered through the chaos of her thoughts dragging Irina back to the reality of the kitchen. Luc was standing in front of her. “Hey!” he called loudly, waving his hands in front of her face. “Rough night? Or are you just daydreaming again?”
Irina scowled. “Why does everyone think I’m always dreaming?”
“Duh! Because you are. Now move over, Miss Columba, I need some coffee.” Luc grabbed the pot and poured. Irina turned and moved away to sit at the table.
“Irina! What the hell have you done to yourself?” exclaimed Luc. “You must have been completely out of it last night! How much did you drink?”
Wrinkling her brow at him in confusion, Irina turned to meet his incredulous gaze. “What are you talking about? After we finished the case notes I went to the pub for a couple of drinks with Cassi, that’s all. I wasn’t out of it,” she denied. “Then I came home and went to bed.” Truth be told, she had really needed those drinks, her nerves completely frayed by the emotions that had risen to the surface during her strange encounter with Tyr Bellor.
“After you went to the tattoo parlour you mean!” Luc’s expression was one of total disbelief. Irina shook her head at his weird outburst. “What are you talking about? Are you crazy?”
Luc stared at her. “No, but you obviously are.” His brows furrowed in the face of her continued confusion. “Do you really not know what I’m talking about?”
“No. I don’t.”
Luc pulled her up by the shoulders and swivelled her back to the mirror that hung on the wall.
“Where did you get that?” he asked pointedly.
Craning her neck around, Irina endeavoured to look over her shoulder and could not stifle a gasp of pure shock as her eyes focused on a small—thank god it was small—round yin-yang type symbol etched onto her left shoulder. At least it was similar to the classic yin-yang symbol, except it was just an outline of the shape and lacked the blocked-in areas of the black and white original.
“What the…” Her voice trailed off in suspicion. “Luc, rub it off!” she ordered, not waiting for him but licking her palm and rubbing her hand across it. Nothing happened. The mark refused to budge as if drawn on with indelible ink or, god forbid, tattooed permanently onto her skin.
Luc stared at her in amusement. “It’s got nothing to do with me, Rina. No joke!”
“Yeah, sure! Why are you laughing then?”
He shrugged his broad shoulders, a bemused expression on his face. “Because it’s funny! I think you need to retrace your steps from last night.”
Just at that moment Cassi walked in, honey blonde hair hanging loose around her shoulders, still damp from the shower. “Hey, guys, what’s up?” she asked, eyes flicking from one to the other. “You both okay?”
“Cassi, is this your idea of a joke?” Turning quickly Irina held the offending shoulder in Cassi’s direction. Cassi’s mouth made a small “o” of surprise and her eyes blinked wide. Immediately her expression changed and Cassi was laughing hysterically. “Wow! You got a tattoo!” she stammered between gasps. “That’s amazing. I never thought you had it in you.”
Irina curled her lips scathingly, exasperated by Cassi’s clearly fake reaction. “Oh come on. Tell me how to get it off!”
“What, you think I did it?”
“Well if it wasn’t Luc then who else, or are you both in this together? Come on ’fess up and help me!”
Cassi shook her head, cobalt-blue eyes so serious that Irina almost swallowed her protestations of innocence. “I had absolutely nothing to do with it.” She was still insisting the same thing hours later as they traveled on the London underground to another meeting with Tyr Bellor.
Irina, with Cassi in tow, arrived at the police station an hour later, her mind distracted from this morning’s prank she was still convinced Cassi had played. She had considered calling Merak to say she was delayed on another case, but her hesitation had only been momentary. It was crazy, but there was no keeping away. The thread that tied her to him was already dragging her closer, wrenching jerkily toward him like a coiled spring on the rebound. Her whole body was sizzling with that weird static energy she had experienced yesterday. Those damn butterflies in her chest began turning somersaults in expectation as Irina climbed the stairs to the entrance.
It was noticeably quieter in the station and Irina was thankful the media interest in the case had trailed off. Detective Shax waved them through security and she briefly wondered if Leo was on duty, as she needed to see him regarding another case. Cassi disappeared, off to visit one of her own clients, promising to catch up with Irina later.
As she approached the interview room, it became instantly obvious that he was there waiting. The static buzzing intensified, and Irina’s heart began to beat so frantically she imagined it might just burst through her rib cage. She hesitated, took a deep breath, and walked through the door.
The room was empty. The butterflies dipped in sad disappointment. Then she felt his presence to the left beside the door. He was leaning against the wall, arms across his chest, head tilted to the ceiling. Eyes closed, he appeared to be breathing in her scent and Irina was spellbound as she watched the fall and rise of his massive chest.
With his eyes shut she took the opportunity to look, really look, at this terrifying but fascinating man who was creating such havoc in her calm, ordered life. He was wearing low-slung gray sweats that accentuated the lean cut of his hips, and the white vest top that stretched across the carved perfection of his smooth pectorals had ridden up as he arched his back, shoulders against the wall, to reveal the taut glory of a six-pack to die for. He was solid. He was rock. You could sharpen knives on those abs.
Died and gone to heaven.
Eyes as wide as saucers, Irina followed a sprinkle of dark curly hair that forged a line from those perfectly crafted abdominals and descended below the waistband of his sweats. It was at this point that she realized she was staring at his erection, which was insistently forcing the soft gray fabric to imitate a rock-solid mountain.
“Enjoying the view?” His deep rumbling voice pierced straight through to her bones, as she jerked herself away from said view and almost ran to put the barrier of the table between them, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Way to go, Rina. Died and gone to hell!
Irina chose to ignore his question. “I believe you want to make a statement?” she said, forcing herself to focus on his face. This was a mistake as his expression was predatory, ratcheting up her heartbeat until blood sang in her ears. She stared in panic as he pushed off the wall and prowled toward her with a languid grace unusual for a man of his size. His movements were fluid. Irina froze, mesmerised, unable to tear her eyes away from watching hard muscles flex and uncoil as he smoothly placed his palms down on the table and bent his dark head toward her. So close she could feel the whisper of warm breath in her hair. He was so tall that Irina was forced to tilt her face upward, eyes meeting his burning gaze. It was a compulsion she could not ignore.
“I wanted to ask you if you can feel this connection between us.”
Irina was startled by his directness. He was challenging her to deny it. “I…I…don’t know what you mean,” she stammered, panic rising. She was prey and he had her cornered.
“Oh, I think you do,” he said coolly, going into attack mode. “You were at the fight, weren’t you? I saw you in the crowd at the start.”
She couldn’t deny it, although why it mattered she wasn’t sure. “Lots of people were,” she countered.
“Yes, but no one else has eyes your color.”
“What color is that?” she felt compelled to ask.
“The color of liquid fire.”
Irina was losing the battle. Her defenses were down but she called in the reserves. “Even though I may have been at the fight, it has no bearing on your situation here, Mr. Bellor. We need to get down to business.” A shot to his flank. Tyr reached across to cup her cheek in the palm of one
large hand. “I think business can wait.”
The heat of his touch was intense, but Irina managed to steel herself enough to wrench backward and circle around him to edge toward the door. It was then, as she backed away, keeping her eyes on his neck before he turned, that she caught a glimpse of something familiar that made her heart lurch in total shock.
“What the hell is that?” she gasped, striding back toward him. Tyr turned, eyebrows arched in bewilderment as Irina pushed his right shoulder around to verify that what she thought she’d seen was real. “Is this some kind of a setup? Did Cassi put you up to this?”
There was bafflement in his eyes as he looked down at her with a frown. “I’m glad you didn’t leave,” he said, “but I’ve no idea what you are talking about.”
Irina was practically punching his shoulder now. “The tattoo on your back!” she cried. “Where did you get it?” He looked even more bemused. “What tattoo? I don’t have one.”
“Yes you do and I want to know where you had it done.”
Tyr shook his head. “I’m still in the dark here.”
Irina pulled a small compact mirror from her bag and angled it for him to see. “Look,” she said in an exasperated tone, as Tyr craned his neck to observe the small yin-yang symbol etched into his left shoulder. His surprise intensified as his eyes met hers. “Can’t say I’ve seen that before. Why are you so interested anyway? Do you want one too?” Tyr’s voice was teasing although he still appeared confused, just as she had been this morning.
Irina pulled the material of her shirt across her left shoulder. “I already have one,” she said, “exactly the same as yours.”
Tyr’s brain already vibrating with the sight and scent of her presence was thrown into shock as he registered yet another connection between himself and this slip of a girl. He had no recollection of the tattoo and absolutely no explanation for it. The fact that she had one too… His brain began to compute. Was she involved with Abrasax? Was he being set up with her as bait? But this magnetic compulsion he felt toward her couldn’t possibly be manufactured, could it? It was too real. So tangible he could almost touch it. More unanswered questions and Tyr was going have to add them to his growing campaign list. He needed to get out of here. Abrasax had indicated that he would ensure his release and he hoped to god it was soon.
