by Isis Rushdan
“And you didn’t know any of that before?”
“A level four warrior could not beat a level five or even consider fighting a level six until your mother showed us how.”
The admiration for Sothis exuded in his voice. Her mother’s impression on the warriors was undeniable. Serenity couldn’t fully understand it and never would, but if it were anything like the enigmatic, inexplicable hold Sothis had on her, they’d forever hold her in reverence.
Light and fragrant smoke from a campfire hit her.
Crossing the tree line, Spero stopped. “He’s just up ahead.”
“It wasn’t your fault you lost me in Iceland. Sometimes you can’t save a charge from a foolish act.”
“Your mother has shown me that a smart warrior with the right skills can save any charge, even a foolish one, from the clutches of death.” He took a step back and bowed his head. “Enjoy your evening.”
Cyrus sat on a blanket in front of a fire. The air was rich with saffron and citrus. Two clay pots rested in the embers, ensconced in flames, steam simmering from the tops. He closed his eyes, clenching every muscle in his body as his mate’s stream hooked into his.
The immediate pull was sharp, vicious, almost violent in its suckling thirst.
Sitting beside him, she kissed him tenderly as if to soothe the intensity of their connection.
“I slept well. It made quite a difference in my day.”
“Good.” She stroked his face.
Cyrus held her gaze. “I don’t like it when you lie to me. And I don’t like it when you take unnecessary risks such as climbing the side of a cliff.”
The amethyst in her eyes sparkled in the firelight. “And I don’t like it when you speak to me in that condescending tone as if I were a child. You needed to rest and you couldn’t do it with me in the room. It was unreasonable for me to stay and you were too pig-headed to see it.”
He laughed. “Sleeping without you made a notable difference, but I have no intention of making it a habit.”
“How do you know about the cliff?”
“When I reported for proper sentinel work, I ran into Argyle. He mentioned your conversation in the garden and how he took it upon himself to watch over you.” Grabbing tongs off to his side, he pulled each clay pot out of the fire and set them in the sand.
“You’re in a much better mood after sleeping alone. You’re not as much fun to be around when you’re cranky.” Flashing that soft smile, she ran a delicate hand through his hair. Then she curled her fingers on his thigh, and he sensed his mate wanted something he wasn’t prepared to give. “Neith said I could paint in the lounge in the evenings.”
Despite his comment about sleeping apart not turning to habit, his mate had other plans.
“You already admitted it made a difference. I’m only suggesting that after you fall asleep, I go down to paint. I’ll be back in the room before sunrise. You won’t even miss me.”
Dark ideas lashed at his mind, stirring his heart toward the dangerous edge of fierce jealousy. “I slept well last night, but I missed you.”
“It upsets me to know that we’re draining you.”
This would be a futile debate. She’d either get her way in an argument or do what she wanted in the end. There were no locks on the doors and he couldn’t watch her all night.
“I told Neith about the baby. It’s been confirmed. I’m nearly eleven weeks.”
Surely Adriel had confirmed it. Raising the issue would only lead to a quarrel.
“She’s overjoyed, but doesn’t want a hasty celebration.”
“We’ll celebrate on our own.” He nuzzled her neck. “Why don’t we start with food prepared by my hands?”
She winced. “Do we have to?”
“Very funny, but I’ve been ensured by Lazarus personally that this is foolproof and sure to delight your taste buds.” He stirred one pot and inhaled the aromatic steam.
“I thought they don’t particularly care for you in the kitchen.”
He dismissed her comment with a wave of his hand. “Everyone can’t be a fan.” He handed her a plate, scooped potatoes with kelp from one pot and a lobster from the other onto it.
“You don’t like kelp,” she said, staring at the green tinted potatoes and thin strips of seaweed.
“Lazarus said it’d give the potatoes great flavor.” As much as he hated to admit it, he had grown and learned so much more rotating through the work details on Neith’s island.
As his mate tasted the food, she nodded with enthusiasm. When she touched the bright red lobster shell, she cried out, “Ouch!”
He took her hand and kissed each burnt finger slowly, sucking the meaty tips. Although he was starving and the drain on his energy stream immense, he wanted to toss her plate to the side and make love right there, regardless who saw them.
She turned her head and scanned the trees.
“What is it?” He glanced at the tree line.
“I was contemplating jumping your bones, but I remembered Neith has one of her little spy cameras hidden around here somewhere.”
Cyrus put his plate down and stood. It took him less than ten seconds to find the small black device planted in a tree. “Should we wave or should I smash it?” He pointed to a blinking red light, atop a tree to the far left.
“Let’s not give Neith the satisfaction of either response, especially not the latter.”
“I don’t want your naughty thoughts to curdle. I’m full of energy tonight.” He slid his hands up her legs to her hips and pulled her closer. His mouth clamped down on hers, and she sighed into the kiss.
It’d been weeks since he touched her with raw yearning. He needed to show her the depths of his unquenchable desire, the range of his savage hunger to heal the bruises on both their souls for the way he’d spoken to her the other night.
No amount of goading should’ve driven him to speak of Lysandra, especially in that way.
Breaking their embrace, she handed him his plate. “Neith told me about your thirty-seven aunts and uncles. I heard it’s a record. Any reason you neglected to mention it?”
“Of course I didn’t mention it.” His mate barely wanted to bear him one child and their lives depended on it. Her human upbringing hadn’t prepared her for the possibilities of Kindred procreation. “The idea of having one child terrified you. If I told you about the size of my family, you would’ve packed your bags and run off in the night.”
Anxiety flickered across her brow as she rubbed her belly. “With such a large extended family, do you wish you had siblings?”
If not for his mistake, which led to his mother’s death, things would’ve turned out differently. “I wish my parents had the opportunity to have more. My mother wanted to space us far apart to reduce the chance of rivalry. My father had a difficult time with thirty-six brothers and sisters, most of them born close together. She thought giving her children a wide berth would prevent problems, but…” He shook his head, reluctant to say more. “Honestly, I’m glad not to have any siblings.”
“Really, why?”
“Spiritual purity and mating with one’s kabashem is the foundation of my House. But when someone loses their kabashem, as my father did, it’s the responsibility of the fallen mate’s sibling to care for the partner left behind. My mother’s sister tends to my father.”
Tends to him far too well. The accepted tradition of mercy not between kabashem in his House sickened him.
“Sounds like a good system,” she said lightly, having no real concept of the havoc such a tradition could wreak.
“My aunt has taken over the duties of a mate, providing him with companionship. He eats at her table and sleeps in her bed.”
“Oh, so she doesn’t have a kabashem?”
“She does and has been sealed to him.”
“When a union is sealed, doesn’t it mean you’ve chosen that person to be your one and only mate? I thought Herut didn’t condone sleeping with anyone except your kabashem.”
&nb
sp; This subject, like so many others between them, needed to be aired. Here on Neith’s island, it was easy to forget death loomed somewhere offshore, waiting to strike and claim their lives.
“Only in the event that a mate is lost through death is such a union condoned by Herut and only with the fallen mate’s sibling. My mother only had one sister.”
“Does she have to sleep with your father?”
“The practice of taking a consort-misère is optional, but considered merciful.”
“So both your father and her mate share her?”
Disgust twisted his mouth as he nodded.
“Seems a little weird to think if you had a brother and something happened to you that he’d feel obliged to take care of me in that way.”
“From what I’ve witnessed it’s rarely an obligation.” Most were far too eager to take in their deceased sibling’s mate, but none quite as keen as Leta. “I revile the practice. I’ve seen my uncles covet the wives of their brothers and my mother’s sister was all too enthusiastic to tend to my father.” Clenching his jaw, he clasped his hands. Having a kabashem didn’t inoculate one from being attracted to others. A fact he knew intimately.
“Fortunately, neither of us have siblings to worry about.” She returned to eating.
His mind didn’t ease as he stared at the sand. He would do anything, risk anything, sacrifice anything, including his own life to ensure his mate and their child survived. But if he fell in the days to come, he didn’t want her to spend a century, much less a millennium alone.
“When Neith told me about your endearment link to Adriel she used the word brotherly several times, but the way he looks at you reminds me of my uncles and the way they’ve leered at the wives of their brothers, covetous and cautious. It’s perverse that fate wouldn’t give me a natural brother, but instead sends Adriel.” He drew in a heavy breath. As deeply as it pained him, the boy and the insufferable link might serve a higher purpose if…
She set her plate down and took his hand.
“Adriel and I,” he continued, “may not have the same blood in our veins, but he’ll watch over you out of affection as well as duty, as a consort-misère would. He’d gladly take my place if I was to fall someday and you’d consider him. All the things I could expect from a biological brother.”
“No one could ever replace you in my heart.”
“What about in your bed?” Her careless tongue had only confirmed his suspicions.
She kissed his palms and then put them to her cheeks. “You’re irreplaceable to me in every way. I can’t lose you. If grief didn’t kill me, I’d make sure something else did. We live this life together or death can have us both.”
There was no reservation in her words, only fiery resolve. As he’d held her dying body, life force slipping away after she’d been shot in New York, he realized he didn’t want to live in a world without her. To know she couldn’t bear life without him, wouldn’t want a life with another was more than he ever hoped for. But things were different now.
She had to endure for the sake of their child and as much as he hated to admit it, Adriel would be able to ease her grief, if it came to that.
“I don’t want to think about anything happening to you, not now—” she shook her head, “—not ever.” She sat in between in his legs. Resting her head against his chest, she put his hands on her belly. “I thought we were supposed to be celebrating.”
“You’re quite right.” He rubbed her stomach. “I can’t wait for you to get fat.” She laughed. “I want your belly to be huge, your hips to grow round and your breasts to…” Oh, that had been a sore point last night.
Her shoulders tensed.
He pressed his lips to her ear. “You’re perfect just as you are. You’re not allowed to get fat. In fact, I only want to see your belly change. And these—” he caressed her breasts, making her squirm with laughter, “—better not grow one ounce. If they do, I’ll make you sleep outside.”
“Oh, really?”
“Don’t test me.”
She tried to lean forward, but he kept his hands clamped to her chest, jiggling her breasts. Knocking his hands away, she picked up both plates. As they finished their meal, she told him about Abbadon’s message and Aten’s lunar month to respond.
If Aten flushed out that Abbadon had the Book of Bylaws, Neith’s neutrality would come to an abrupt end, and death would be nipping at the shore sooner than they expected.
When they were done eating, Cyrus helped her transfer the art supplies from Neith’s office down to a corner in the lounge. If he refused to help her, she’d only seek assistance elsewhere while he slept. He set up her easel and stacked the canvas beside it. “I’m still wide awake.” He twirled a lock of her hair.
“So.” She fiddled with the art supplies.
He removed her hand from a tube of paint and held it. “So, let’s go upstairs.”
“I’m quite content to stay here and paint.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Now you’re playing with me.”
“I’m not joking. I’ll need an extraordinarily good reason to go upstairs.”
“I’ve been a bad boy.” He roped her in his arms. “Why don’t you come dole out a little punishment?” he crooned.
She gave him a stern look. “The best way to truly punish you would be for me to stay down here and paint.”
Touché. “What constitutes an extraordinarily good reason?”
“Perhaps if you were to beg, I might reconsider.”
Beg! Then understanding flickered through him. He’d made her beg after getting her wet one night not too long ago. Turnabout was only fair play. He glanced at the packed lounge. With all of the record-keepers recalled, the communal social area stayed full after dinner until late in the night. A comforting thought if she was going to be down here.
“Come up to our room and I’ll beg.”
“No deal.”
“I beg of you—” he pressed his palms together, “—please come up to our room.”
“You lack sincerity and conviction. No sale.”
His gaze shifted from her to the others just a couple of feet away. She picked up a pencil and began making an outline on the canvas.
Cyrus got down on his knees. He put his hands on her hips and gazed up at her. Heads turned in their direction.
“I beg you to have mercy on me.” He didn’t lower his voice, but it was only loud enough for those closest to hear him. “I beg you to come to our room so I can show you how much I missed you last night. I beg you to forgive me for my foolish ways. I beg you to grace me with your touch, to unite your soul with mine so that we can transcend the shell of our bodies and know the beauty of heaven on earth.”
Her face lit up. “Sold.”
He stood and scooped her in his arms. “You drive a hard bargain, woman.”
Chapter Forty
The first two nights Serenity painted in the lounge until sunrise, hoping Adriel would appear, grateful he didn’t.
With the complex full of recalled record-keepers, the first level stayed active well past midnight. It was in the last five hours before dawn, when nothing stirred besides the wind or a passing sentinel that her thoughts wandered to him.
About an hour before daybreak on the third evening, he crept up behind her, silent as a cat. “When will you paint me?” he whispered, moving from her right side to her left.
Glancing from her unfinished painting of Cyrus, a nude of him lying on his stomach asleep, to Adriel, she couldn’t ignore the question lingering in his eyes.
“I’ll never paint you,” she said, seated in chair, her tone more biting than she’d intended.
“Why not? I think you see my soul clearly.”
“That’s the problem. I see you all too well.”
He gazed at her from behind the easel. His expression was soft and he didn’t seem to take offense. In fact, he looked pleased as if he knew she wouldn’t be able to maintain any pretense in his portrait, each line and every stroke wou
ld reveal the tenderness in her heart for him.
He picked up two cushions from the sofa and motioned for her to stand. He placed one in the seat of her bamboo chair and the other against the back.
The plush change highlighted her previous discomfort, making her buttocks and lower back ache with gratitude.
He flopped down on a sofa, kicked his feet up and proceeded to read a comic book. He hadn’t come to distract or be the focus of her attention. He’d only come to keep her from being lonely. His mere presence made a difference, along with the sound of him yawning and the rustling of the pages turning.
Over the next five weeks, he came down earlier every night until he stayed with her for at least four hours before sun up. Sometimes he found a way to make her laugh, sometimes he dozed off, napping for a bit, sometimes they played a game of chess or practiced Latin, but mostly he simply read.
As the hall lightened, sunrise still a good hour away, she yawned.
Two tall women and a portly man, the roundest Kindred she’d seen, wearing cloaks, jeans and boots, entered the far right of the lounge. They glanced in her direction, and then their eyes shifted to Adriel. They crossed the main hall and went up the walkway.
Adriel sat up. “That’s Tosia’s team. They’re the last of the record-keepers to come home.”
“When will Neith send everyone back out on reassignment?”
He shrugged.
She finished her fifth painting of Cyrus and rinsed her brushes in a clay jar with a mixture of water and turpentine.
“You did it again,” he said from a chair, his comic lowered to his lap. “That was the third time you yawned.”
She remembered yawning once earlier.
“You haven’t yawned once in weeks.” He rose and went to her. “Are you tired?”
Yawning again, she covered her mouth. “I guess a little.”
Adriel picked up the finished painting and grabbed his comic. He walked her up to the dormitory level and as they turned down her sector he extended his forearm for her to hold on to. The dizziness and nausea that swept over her as she connected with Cyrus had worsened to where she’d almost fainted last week, but Adriel had been there to steady her.
