Wicked Circle c-5

by Linda Robertson

  He hadn’t wanted them to know too much. Zevon did not have much use for current events, international politics, or the names or locations of world leaders. It would not bode well for the shabbubitum to know such things. Their reputation indicated they could not resist powerful temptations . . . so, better to shield them from it.

  But he could not shield them from the novelty and comfort of a limousine. He could not keep them from seeing the modern city of Athens or the ruins that made them cry. He could not keep them ignorant of the machine that carried them into the air, or the impressive nightscape of New York City as the Gulfstream landed.

  He could, however, make them remain on the plane while it refueled.

  Mero checked his messages. An assistant had left him a lengthy voice mail about the Zvonul having announced the confirmation of a Domn Lup, and followed it with the public details. Not good for Menessos if Giovanni has his way.

  Minutes later, the shabbubitum grew excited as lights streaked toward the plane, and they chattered to themselves seeing that it was another limousine. It was no surprise when the cabin door was opened and Giovanni boarded.

  He had to see. Like a child, he must poke at the dead things he has found.

  The sisters remained in their seats, attentive but quiet as they considered Giovanni. Ailo and Talto reacted to his exposed scars and warped skin with unmistakable revulsion. Liyliy’s expression revealed only a wary curiosity.

  Giovanni visually inspected them as well, obviously noting with predictable male appreciation the curves beneath the gray silk. His gaze lingered on the eldest. “What is your name, my beauty?”

  At the sound of his voice, her curious expression fell into a repulsed sneer. She stood. “I am Liyliy.”

  Giovanni’s admiration dissolved with her revulsion. “Has Mero told you the purpose of your freedom?”

  “He speaks little.” She lifted her chin. “But he is more pleasant to hear.”

  Features hardening into a scowl as rigid as the flesh of the disfigurement he flaunted, Giovanni spun to the doorway behind him and barked, “Bring him.”

  Mero knew what was next. He wanted to deny Giovanni, but showing a discord between them would only give the shabbubitum something to work with. He held his tongue, but it was not easy.

  Heldridge joined them.

  The sisters had a completely different reaction to the broad-shouldered and handsome vampire. Ailo and Talto came to their feet beside Liyliy. Chests heaved and fell as adoring sighs were cast into the air. Mero could not deny the smirk that crawled over his mouth when he saw Giovanni’s jaw flex angrily while the females admired Heldridge.

  Giovanni saw Mero’s sordid satisfaction and growled to Liyliy, “Read him. Tell me if he believes the Northeastern Quarterlord bears the mark of a witch.”

  “Who are you that I should obey your order?”

  Giovanni glowered.

  “Liyliy,” Mero said, “tell us if Heldridge sincerely believes the Northeastern Quarterlord bears the mark of a witch.”

  “Gladly.” Liyliy strode forward, circled Heldridge once as she appraised him. Before him, her silken gown faded into a puddle of mist at her feet. Her sisters joined her. “Give us your hands.”

  Heldridge swallowed hard. He had feared the Excelsior would require that he prove the truth in his words. No matter how gorgeous these women were, he knew that what was going to happen to him would be terrible. He’d heard Menessos’s tale.

  But my former master, my Maker, will get what he deserves.

  He offered them his hands.

  The most beautiful one touched him. “What is your name?” he whispered.

  “Liyliy.” As soon as she had answered, she began whispering a chant.

  Her clothes had dropped away and he was mesmerized by her voice, her pert breasts. Her sisters whispered, too, and in seconds the mist swirled like a tentacle around his neck. He had only a moment to worry about it, then that mist surrounded his head like a mask and thickened. As he smothered under what now seemed like cloth, instincts overpowered him. He shook his head as if that could loosen the fabric—but it couldn’t. Then he felt them, thousands of . . . somethings . . . like tiny mites marching across his face, crawling under his eyelids. They surged into his ears and up his nose. They tunneled into every pore. He screamed and they flooded into his mouth.

  It was like being eaten alive.

  Suddenly his lungs were full with them, each one now like an atom of oxygen racing into his bloodstream and being carried throughout his body. Worse, the tiny assailants burrowed through his skull. His head felt perforated, as if he would crumble in on himself at the slightest touch. If he’d had the breath to scream again, it would surely have killed him.

  Then these tiny things slithered into his brain like electric eels, jolting him, sinking barbed teeth into his memories, then twisting without letting go, wringing every thought he’d ever had and drinking up whatever spilled.

  Mero had witnessed the method of information transference before, so instead of observing the shabbubitum at work, he watched Giovanni. He wanted his coadvisor, who had been so eager to unleash this trio, to be sickened by the scene, to be horrified by the screams and disgusted by the red foam that bubbled up from Heldridge’s throat onto his lips. But Giovanni seemed to notice only Liyliy’s writhing nakedness.

  When it was done, Liyliy languished in her position atop Heldridge, arching her back and stretching her arms up high. The tentacle of mist that had coiled around Heldridge’s head retreated from the vampire and slithered up to form black satin gloves on Liyliy’s upraised arms.

  It could have been a beautiful display, but the vampire’s screams of pain were still echoing about the cabin as she topped that sound with her own throaty, maniacal laughter.

  Her sisters traded glances and joined her in the sinister mirth, wrapping their arms around her waist. Liyliy’s arms fell about her sisters, and the disturbing joy continued into awkwardness for those around them.

  Mero understood what had spawned the sister’s reaction, though he doubted Giovanni did. Menessos had given these women power that led to their self-destruction, then Menessos had confined them in stone. Now, Heldridge had demanded they be set free to judge the very vampire who had imprisoned them.

  Moreover, the treacherous sisters now had the not-so-naïve knowledge that Heldridge possessed. That data would contain inner workings of the vampire power structure as it existed today, as well as U.S. and international politics that affected the haven Heldridge used to master.

  The fool has no idea how much he has increased the difficulty of my task. Or maybe he does.

  Liyliy laughed. Heldridge had lived a long, long time. The information she and her sisters had just gained from him was much more complete than poor nonstudious Zevon’s. A vampire’s longevity provided a depth of knowledge that a young mortal man could not fathom. The industry and mechanization of the world had changed radically under his watchful eyes, and now she understood this marvelous age more thoroughly.

  “Well?” Giovanni demanded, interrupting her amusement.

  Her mirth faded. “Yes. He believes that Menessos has been marked by his Erus Veneficus. A fairy told him as much, but events he has witnessed and conversations he has overheard support the claim.”

  And now I know why we were brought back. Now I know that the one who released us, this Meroveus, though he worked with the one who imprisoned us then, he is now reprimanding our jailer.

  Giovanni extended his hand to one of the vampires who had escorted Heldridge aboard. A leather case, much like a sealed quiver for arrows, passed into Giovanni’s grip. He tossed this to Mero, who caught it and set it aside.

  Wondering what was in it, Liyliy stood. She eased away from Heldridge and toward Meroveus. He’s giving me one of the two things I want most of all—the vampire who caused our tragic curse. Eventually I will get the necklace away from him too . . . maybe even right now. . . .

  Her black gloves faded to mist, which reap
peared around her body as she crossed the small space inside the flying machine—the jet airplane. When she arrived before him, the mist had made a revealing gown of black lace that accentuated the size of her breasts and was translucent in all the right places. “You are taking us to Menessos. You want us to search his mind for the truth. Correct?”

  “Yes.”

  The corner of her mouth crooked up sweetly. “Allow me to show my gratitude.” She reached for him.

  He swatted her wrist away, then backhanded her across the jaw.

  “Numquam tangent vester dominus!” In English he repeated, “I am your lord. Never touch me. Dare you even try that again,” he spat, “and I’ll bind you into the stones of the nearest urinal.” He looked past her. “Giovanni, get Heldridge off the plane.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  I stared at the plate of food. I was hungry, but my hands were gross with scabs matted with wolf hair. I turned on the faucet. When the water was warm, I started washing with the hand soap from the counter. It stung like hell.

  Menessos disappeared into the back of the apartment and returned with a small first aid kit. He set it aside and reached for my hands. “Allow me.”

  “I can do it.”

  “And I allowed you to tend my wound once. Please be so kind as to allow me to return the favor?”

  Long ago—well, it seemed like a long time ago—Samson D. Kline had nearly staked Menessos; I’d cleaned the gash, put antibiotics on it and bandaged him up. Of course, he’d promptly quoted poetry and come on to me, too. Sighing, I sidestepped to let him close.

  We were silent for a long minute as the warm water ran and ran. The static sound of its flowing became musical as he continuously rubbed my skin with gentle, diligent strokes. His every rhythmical movement was made with such tender purpose that I was spellbound by it all. His thumbs slid over the grooves in my flesh, and the sensation was exhilarating—it took my breath away but it wasn’t pain, no, it was rapturous and left me gasping. Though I detected a stinging ache, it seemed far away from my body and inconsequential . . . so long as he did not stop.

  “Do you remember when we met?” Menessos asked as he sat beside me.

  I blinked as if just waking from a dream. I recalled him patting my hands dry and wrapping gauze loosely around the backs of my hands, and I remembered eating three meat-and-cheese-topped crackers, but I did not have a recollection of planting myself in the very corner of the black leather sectional couch. Yet, here I was.

  “Do you?” he repeated.

  “Yeah. What does that have to do with your plan?” I drained the last of the wine from the glass.

  “Everything.”

  As the effects of the wine loosened the tension and soreness in my shoulders, I twisted and propped my feet on the end of the sectional away from Menessos. Candlelight and wine. I could guess what he wanted. But what I wanted was a nice, hot bath with enough bubbles to make me forget what had just happened on the rooftop of the wærewolves’ den. However, I was betting that the bubbles the wine produced in my brain had a better shot at achieving that.

  “Do you recall the stake that was on your property?” Menessos asked.

  “I do.” His former and estranged E.V. had made and enchanted a stake to keep Menessos away from her. She’d used a little of the home earth in his dirt-bag mixed with her own blood—which was bound to him—and Blessed Water to create it. He had not even been able to be in the presence of the stake. I’d destroyed it.

  “Once I’d marked you, it hurt you to be near it, though more subtly than it hurt me. And when I was near it, I could convey some of the pain it caused me onto you.”

  “Yeah, so you could threaten Johnny.” He’d let me bear all the pain. Damn near killed me, but also enabled me—and Hecate—to flip the mark back onto him, though neither of us had known it at the time.

  “Exactly. It was . . . self-preservation.”

  “Something you lacked on the beach.” I leaned forward and put the empty wineglass on the floor. When I sat up, Menessos scooted closer.

  “The beach was different.”

  His whisper was imbued with such sweet resolve that I couldn’t argue. I could only stare and relive the moment I’d staked him, then rewind and relive kissing him.

  Would I be better off in his arms instead of Johnny’s? Would I be safer?

  I held my breath.

  How can I even think this? Am I so tired I’ve gone fickle?

  My gaze dropped to my twice-wrapped palms.

  I knew exactly how I could be thinking what I was thinking. But it hurt so damn much. Like the shabbubitum, I’d done this to myself. I’d given Johnny what he needed to be Domn Lup: his wolf unbound. But I’d also created a situation that undermined the love that had prompted my actions.

  There’s that stupid L word again.

  Menessos slowly lowered his lips to my wrist, giving me plenty of seconds to protest. I didn’t. When his fangs pierced me, I barely felt it. He didn’t go deep, but he didn’t need to.

  With his teeth just under my skin, he kindled my flesh, raising heat throughout my body. Gooseflesh followed. The hair at the nape of my neck prickled and a deep sigh drifted from my lips. My sternum burned within me. My nipples hardened and I yearned to be touched.

  But he held only my wrist and sipped of my blood.

  So I touched him.

  The fingers of my free hand stroked his head, combed slightly through his walnut-colored curls. His hair was so soft. When I caressed his earlobe, he shuddered, and I felt the needle-tips of his fangs leave my flesh. He kept his head lowered as the kindling died slowly away, but I could hear his breathing had accelerated.

  He sat up slowly and released my wrist. “There, my master. That should be better.” He freed one of the bandages.

  He’d pushed some healing into me. A week or so ago, after the Omori had hit me with a baseball bat, Menessos had fed and the goose egg on my cranium had disappeared. Now, the cuts on my palms were more like scrapes, and the sore puffiness was gone. I wasn’t as tired, either. “Much,” I whispered.

  He relaxed into the couch and stroked my cheek, then his hand fell to his lap.

  Zhan could have told him that my afternoon was spent with the wæres. From that, and my weepy arrival, he could infer a lot.

  Menessos is the master manipulator. If he’s sitting here being so gentle and sweet, he has a reason. Maybe Zhan even told him how Johnny was acting, what she overheard.

  “How does the stake connect to our dilemma now?” My voice was still husky with desire.

  “I can still transfer my pain.”

  Aha. “To your master.”

  “Yes, but you are here and expected to be seen. If you fell into agony, it would give away what I was doing.”

  This wasn’t going where I thought it would.

  “But if I move it via my soul . . .”

  I blinked. “You mean you’d send it to Johnny. Through the sorsanimus.” Was he testing me, to see if I felt vindictive? “Why not just spread it out over your people? The whole haven will be here.”

  “I can and will . . . they will be expecting that. But since Johnny could endure a lot of pain, I would give him a large chunk of it, and meanwhile, as I pretend to be in pain, I’m actually still able to function secretly.”

  “Is this what you and Creepy worked out? Torturing an innocent in your stead?”

  “Johnny is hardly innocent.”

  I tilted my head forward expectantly. “Elaborate.”

  “Your hands have been torn open, and his fur—I could smell him—was stuck in your dried blood. Follow that with your tears and I don’t need you to tell me what happened, sweet Persephone, because I can guess.”

  I swallowed hard. I expected him to ballyhoo about Johnny being dangerous and to boast how he was fully able to control himself. But he didn’t crow about his merits at all.

  “I have to keep some of the pain.” He shook his head side to side, as if his body were trying to refute the no
tion. “The shabbubitum are skilled mistresses of torture. They would know if I was completely faking. So our new ally taught me to think through the pain. I know what they will be asked to find, and I will make that easy for them. But I suspect they will dig deeper for information, information they want personally that has nothing to do with the request being made of them and everything to do with how to hurt me most. It is that which I cannot give them . . . so I must give them a lie.”

  “But they will know.”

  “As they increase the misery to find what they seek, I will defer more pain to Johnny and maintain my own ability to think. I will guide them to the knowledge they think they want. All I need is for you to call dear John and tell him what to expect. Receiving the news from you will be less irritating to him, despite whatever has happened, than if I delivered it myself.”

  The mere idea of calling Johnny inspired an Olympian amount of grumpy anti-enthusiasm, and some angry little part of me did think the idea of Johnny getting a whopping dose of out-of-nowhere pain was something he had earned. Shut up, little angry part. That is not the person I want to be. “Won’t the shabbubitum know you’re deferring the pain?”

  “Not with the aid I have secured.”

  “What did it cost you?” My arms crossed over my chest. Again, it felt way better to argue about this than to accept the anxiety over the idea of talking to Johnny.

  “Much. But less than it would without his assistance.”

  “Menessos—”

  “Shhh.” His finger touched my lips. “I have already torn my soul and given my life for you, Persephone. Comparatively, what Creepy asked is a small price to pay.”

  I uncrossed my arms, batting away his gentle touch, and then scooted around on the sectional in a huff. With my feet on the floor, I glared.

  “What?”

  “My mother is already using what she’s lost in an effort to control me. I don’t need you doing it too.”

  Menessos blinked, rose from the couch, and left without a word.

  I remained where I was, feeling like an ass.