Serpent's Kiss er-3

by Thea Harrison

  Rhoswen looked at him with loathing. She spat out, “She only got rid of me when you came along.”

  “Were you her lover? Did she cheat on you?” He paused. Rhoswen glared at him but remained silent. He said, “I’m gonna take a wild guess and say that’s a no. Did she really have to get rid of her servant just because I came along? Wait, here it comes again: no.”

  “She needed me. She didn’t have anybody else. You changed all that.”

  Okay, that was getting a little too unbalanced for him. He said, “I can see there’s no talking sense to you. Here’s what we’re going to do.”

  He shifted his hold on her, grabbing her by the arm and the leg. She tried to escape again, bucking her body hard, but he held her easily as he stood up. Then he threw her down the beach and walked after her as she tumbled head over heels on the sand.

  Rhoswen caught herself and came up on her hands and knees. As he approached, the Vampyre watched with an animalistic cunning, all trace of humanity gone from her distorted features.

  He had faced them so many times before, Powerful children who rampaged like drunken godlings, profligate with their gifts as they brutalized more vulnerable creatures in fits of sullenness. He had no patience for it. He squatted down in front of her, leaned his healing forearm on one knee and regarded her calmly. Gradually the snarl faded from her expression, to be replaced with a flicker of fear.

  She knew better than to try to attack him, even though he could see how badly she wanted to. He said, “You’ve been good to Carling in the past, so even though I am tempted, I will not kill you. You are going to leave now, and maybe someday you’ll realize that life is not all about you. Then again, maybe you won’t. I don’t really give a shit either way. But what you will do is stay the hell away from both Carling and that dog, because if you don’t, I will tear the limbs from your body and burn them on a pyre while you watch. Vampyres can live for a very long time that way.”

  She whispered, “You wouldn’t.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “I have.”

  The fear in her face grew. He saw that he had shaken her at last. He really didn’t know why people always forgot he had this side to him.

  “I can’t even say good-bye?” She didn’t even try to pull the pitiful card or to appeal to his better nature; she just asked it in a flat, matter-of-fact voice as her red, fascinated gaze clung to his.

  “No,” he said. “Not after the shit you’ve pulled. I don’t trust you now. If I see you again, I will kill you. No excuses, no conversations, no second chances. Do we understand each other?”

  She held his gaze as she raised her fingers to her mouth and licked away his blood. “We understand each other quite well, I think,” said Rhoswen.

  He stood, hands on his hips and watched the Vampyre dive into the ocean. She did not resurface. After several minutes of waiting to make sure, he scooped up the dog, tucked him in the crook of his elbow and went in search of Carling. He met her on the path to the forest.

  Carling studied Rune curiously as she walked toward him. She was growing almost used to the mélange of unfamiliar emotions that started rioting the moment she laid eyes on him. He was shirtless, dressed only in jeans, boots and the bright silver cascade of moonlight, and his powerful body moved with liquid feline grace. His chest was heavy with the muscles of a swordsman, a light sprinkling of hair arrowing down the long taut abdomen.

  She had no racing pulse for him to detect, and she put her hands behind her back to hide how much they started to shake as he grew close. Then she caught the rich iron scent of blood, his blood, and she noticed Rasputin’s small form in his arms and suddenly she was running toward them.

  As she reached him, he said in a calm voice, “Don’t worry. Everything’s all right.”

  She touched Rasputin and scanned both dog and collar magically even as she searched Rune with her gaze. The dog was fine, the collar working as it should. She tried not to be affected by the play of shadows along Rune’s bare torso but found it to be impossible. He had no softness anywhere, not even an ounce of extra padding that civilization gave to so many creatures. He was all ridges and hollows, and the thick flex of hard-used muscle underneath the flow of skin. Even though he was standing relaxed beside her, his breathing slow and unhurried, the force of his presence punched the air.

  Then she found the marks. The long scores ran the length of his forearm. They were faint in the moonlight and fading fast. She touched them and ran her fingertips lightly along his skin. They were claw marks, made by a hand very similar in size to hers.

  Rage locked up her body. She said, “Rhoswen did this.”

  “It’s nothing,” he said.

  “This is not ‘nothing,’ ” she murmured. The wounds had gone deep, maybe to the bone. The heavy scent of blood lingered in the air. The scent was as intoxicating as she had imagined his blood would taste. She saw that he had bled on his jeans. “Did she taste you?”

  A long-fingered hand came under her chin. He eased her face up. His head was bent over hers, his expression mild, the lean features peaceful, those lion’s eyes clear. “You’re smoking around the edges, darling,” he said gently. She was, too. He could sense in his mind’s eye the fury spreading through her aura.

  “Did she taste you?”

  He went immobile, staring, his expression arrested. Then his beautiful carved mouth lifted at the corners, just a little. He said, “She tasted the blood on her fingers.”

  Carling’s long dark eyes flashed ruby red in the light of the silver moon.

  Rune caught her by the arm as she started toward the house. “She’s gone. I’ve already drop-kicked her on her way.”

  Carling struggled to take in what he said. The rage was an overriding force with a life all its own. It bucked against her attempt to control it. “What did she do?”

  “She was indulging in petty vengefulness,” Rune told her. He raised his hand to turn her face back to him. His smile had disappeared. He looked serious. “I’ve warned her to stay away, so if you see her, don’t trust her, Carling.”

  “I won’t,” she said.

  He slid his fingers in the heavy hair at her nape and bent his head. She was already lifting her face to him as he gave her a soft, lingering kiss. All the passion from the cottage was still there, still burning hot, underneath the gentle, leisurely caress. His enjoyment of the kiss for its own sake allowed her to relax and enjoy it too. None of the distant memories of her previous sexual experiences held this dimension. The pleasures of sex had seemed perfunctory, and the few lovers she had taken too self-involved, so much so that she had grown bored and stopped taking lovers altogether. Intrigued by the foreign concept of sexual affection, she moved her lips experimentally under his. The serrated edge of her rage eased into a smooth murmuring pleasure. She found herself leaning toward him, tilting her face further.

  He slid his free arm around her and pulled her against his body, keeping the kiss easy. She spread her flattened hands across the broad expanse of his chest, and the feeling of his naked skin under her palms was so erotic, she almost sank to her knees.

  As hot as her rage had flashed, this flashed hotter. She felt like she had been starving for an eternity, trapped in a black, sense-deprivation oubliette for so long she was only just beginning to realize how much her soul had been screaming. She broke into a spasm of uncontrollable shivering and found herself holding on to him tightly. A sound came out of her and she was shocked anew, for it was nothing she could remember ever hearing herself make before, a raw, shaken groan.

  “Shh,” he whispered. He rubbed her back soothingly as he kissed the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her temple. He hugged her hard against him. He was so much taller, and so stable in his strength she could imagine him standing in just such a relaxed stance as mountains fell down around him. “We’ll get there, darling. And it will be better than anything. I promise.”

  It was such a gentle, nurturing moment and so completely devastating. She turned her face away from
his caressing mouth when she wanted nothing more than to lean against him and soak up everything, his scent and his presence, his easy confident affection, that silent roar of Power that continually filled him, that eternal, elemental column of creation’s flame.

  All that time she had worked in the acquisition of Power. All that time she had been ruled by ambition. All those centuries that she had lived in such a vast yet fleeting journey, and here he was holding everything she had reached for, not striving, not continually learning to be better, not fighting to acquire any of it. He just was, the mysterious, magical rune, the riddle of a creature that nature decreed should not be able to exist, and yet he did.

  She stiffened her spine, bracing herself against the moment. She tried to stiffen her knees and stand on her own, and after a moment she managed to do it. She fought to stop the cascading emotion, to reassert her control, and somehow she found a way to do it.

  Then she happened to look down.

  Rune was still cuddling her dog in the crook of his arm.

  The wild feeling surged back, higher and more devastating than before, and she—the woman who had bargained with demons and stared down monsters, who had counseled pharaohs and created kings, who had once looked into dust-filled shadows of her empty, partially constructed tomb and said no, I will not go there—she broke down and fled.

  Rune’s body went into a clench as he looked after Carling’s slender, escaping figure, his eyes narrowed. He took in deep draughts of the cool night air, fighting his instinct to give chase. After a few moments, he followed at a slower pace.

  His battle was hard-won, because all of his instincts were roaring to go after her. He wanted to drag her to the ground, tear off that god-awful wretched caftan and spear into her naked body. He wanted to watch her face as she climaxed with him inside of her; he wanted to climax as he watched her beautiful face. He felt immense, full up to bursting and hard as a rock. His erection strained against the zipper of his jeans, and he had nearly come from just the touch of her hands sliding across his chest, from that broken needy little groan Carling—Carling—had made against his mouth.

  And the way her eyes had turned that pretty, scary ruby red when he had been hurt was just fucking adorable. He wished he’d seen her fangs descend too. They probably didn’t do that anymore, since she no longer fed on physical nourishment.

  But it was kind of a major clue when a lady ran away from a bloke.

  That said something, it did. That was a signpost that read: approach with caution. Falling rock up ahead. Handle with care. You’ve come so far with her, much further than you ever thought you’d get. Don’t fucking blow it now, son.

  That signpost was one of the busiest he had ever laid eyes on. It had a hell of a lot of text. He figured pausing to read all of that was a good thing.

  He hitched Rasputin up higher on his chest and stroked the dog’s soft fur. This was probably the quietest Rune would ever see him.

  “I’ve eaten critters that were so much bigger and badass than you are,” he said to the dog. Then he listened to the silence. He sighed and patted Rasputin’s warm little body, and strode forward to meet Carling on the beach.

  She was standing at the edge of the shore, holding herself by the elbows and looking over the water. She had packed all the bags in the waterproof container. She looked so beautiful, lonely and defensive, Rune’s heart melted and his cock grew hard, and hells bells, if that wasn’t enough to confuse a bloke, he didn’t know what was.

  He weighed his options and decided to stop just a few feet away, not too far but not close enough to spook her either. Then he turned to look over the water too as he tried to figure out if he had any other options available. Further action on his part seemed undesirable at the moment, because he wasn’t at all sure what might make Carling run away again.

  So he stood and waited, and he tried to hide how greedy he was as he breathed deep to catch snatches of her scent on the wind. And he wanted with all of his might to go put his arms around her and hold her, just fucking hold her, just rest his head on her shapely, slender shoulder and feel her arms slide around his waist as she hugged him, but that goddamn signpost was busily ticker-taping more text. Now it read: not yet, son. You can’t go there yet. So he petted the dog, and did nothing.

  Finally Carling turned. She gave Rune a confused glance. She didn’t feel capable of figuring him out at the moment. The clean lines of his profile, with the bold cheekbones, strong nose and lean jaw, were clearly outlined against the churning foam of the sea. He looked so patient and calm, so completely at odds with the tumultuous mess that was churning inside of her. He looked as if he was prepared to stand there and wait forever for whatever it was he wanted.

  Instead of facing him, she turned to face inland. She looked up at the dark sprawl of her crazy-gothic house and wondered if she would ever see it again. She felt a pang and let it go, and it was another release.

  She glanced back at Rune. “Ready?” she asked.

  She watched him take a deep breath and nod. “Yep,” he said. He turned to her. “You?”

  After all Rhoswen’s melodrama, all the internal crash of Carling’s turmoil, and it came to this. Yep. She suddenly found herself smiling and nodded.

  He strolled over, and there it was. There was the snapshot she wanted to take of him and keep forever, that easygoing way he had of moving his big body, the intent expression in his eyes as he looked at her that was so much at odds with the deceptive sleepiness on his handsome face, and she realized that sleepy, relaxed look of his was when he was on the prowl and at his most dangerous.

  She whispered, “You don’t fool me.”

  He gave her his slow, famous, heart-stopping, rock star smile. “You think too much. Where do you want your dog?”

  She took Rasputin, wrapped him in Rune’s ruined T-shirt, and tucked him gently into the waterproof container. Rune rubbed the back of his neck and winced as he watched. She said, “You know, he’s perfectly safe traveling this way.”

  “I get it,” he said. “He doesn’t need to breathe right now. It just looks disturbing.”

  “Short of a little scuba mask, I couldn’t think of any way to get him through the passageway.” She stroked the dog’s soft ear. “And this way he isn’t distressed by the journey. It’s like taking a nap on a car ride. He just goes to sleep and wakes up somewhere else.”

  Rune’s face softened. “You love him.”

  She kept her head down as she secured the fastening. “I don’t know. I suppose.”

  “You totally love him. He’s your widdle snookums.”

  She snorted a laugh. “Yeah, I guess he is.”

  “Who kept him when you and Rhoswen traveled to Adriyel?” Rune took the container by its strap and slung it over one shoulder.

  “My household staff looks after him when I travel. I don’t think it’s fair to ask that of them all the time, though, which is why I had asked Rhoswen to hire someone to look after him. I think we should drop him off at the town house for now, though, when we get back to the city.”

  “I agree. It will free us up to do whatever needs to be done.” He held his free hand out to her. She hesitated only a moment. Then she put her hand in his and they walked into the ocean together.

  The water was cold enough it would have sent an unprotected human into hypothermia within minutes. Rune found it just as refreshing as he thought he would. Better than a cold shower. He estimated the crossover passage that ran along a fissure on the ocean floor to be at a depth of around six hundred feet. It was very dark, but the crossover blazed clearly ahead in his mind’s eye.

  He mulled the experience over as they swam the passage. It was utterly familiar. Underwater or on land, he had crossed over passageways like this countless times before. And it was almost exactly like the crossover experience he had had during Carling’s episodes, except for that bent feeling, that sense of turning a corner.

  Or maybe it was more like folding a piece of paper. For such a dramatic event,
the image was rather boring and prosaic. But still there was something to it, an intuitive fit that appealed to him. The two portions of the folded paper existed side by side so close they touched. One portion of the paper was the present. When he crossed to Carling’s past, he was traveling around that tiny, tight fold to stand on the other side.

  Only the analogy broke down almost immediately, because there would have to be a countless number of potential folds in the paper to account for every moment in time. But still there was something to the concept of traveling around a bend that was so impossibly small and tight it took up absolutely no space at all. It made sense to him in a way, because . . .

  . . . because the concept felt like it might be a direction he could actually follow.

  If he hadn’t already been doing so, he would have held his breath.

  That feeling could very well be an illusion. He had nothing at all to base it on. He could just as well take a flying leap off a strange cliff into absolute darkness; it felt that dangerous. But he would be very interested to take that feeling into Carling’s next episode.

  He realized he was starting to believe that he really was interacting with the past, the actual past, not just what had happened to Carling in her own mind. He was looking forward to finding out what that damn Djinn discovered when Carling set him on the task of finding Rune’s knife.

  Either Carling sensed he was deep in thought, or she was preoccupied with thoughts of her own, for they made the trip in almost complete silence. After following the underwater fissure and completing the passage, they kicked upward. On the other side, daylight rippled along the water’s surface. Rune’s lungs had begun to burn by the time they broke the surface on a pale, chill fog-enshrouded day.

  They treaded water as they gathered their bearings. Rune asked, “How do other Vampyres make that crossing safely when you never know what time it is going to be on the other side? Rhoswen’s face, hands and part of her feet were exposed.”

  Carling shoved her soaking hair out of her eyes. She started to swim, and Rune kicked along beside her. “They can take precautions and dress so they are completely covered before they make the swim,” Carling said. “There is also an underwater tunnel here, and a cave on the other side. When they are coming up from the passageway, they have plenty of time to see whether or not it’s daylight. Then they can stay underwater and swim to either the tunnel or the cave. On this side, the tunnel is part of an old city sewage system.”