“Wail, little banshee. Wail for the end of this life, and the beginning of the next.”
“No.” Her eyes widened and she went stiff, her hands coming up to push against his chest, even as her inner muscles clenched around him. “No. I can’t. If I do the Council will find me.”
He couldn’t help the smile bursting across his face. “That doesn’t matter, sweetness. Trust me.”
Gràinne’s eyes searched his for a moment, and then she nodded. When he thrust again, angling his body so the entire length of his cock slammed home into her, he saw her head go back, her mouth open. He didn’t know what to expect, but it wasn’t the high, melodious sound issuing from her throat, echoing through the room and, he was sure, far out into the night.
But there was no time to marvel at her banshee wail. Emotion had become a firestorm and as it whipped through him, taking them both closer to orgasm with each frantic motion of body against body, he lowered his mouth to her breast.
Elemental fire he had in abundance, thanks to the Orixás. The shape and size of the sigil was emblazoned on his brain. The fire rose in his throat, filled his mouth, and he pictured the mark as the heat passed from him into her skin.
Her body bowed beneath his, the cadence of her wail changing, going higher. Her pussy clamped around his cock, rippling, milking him, and he lifted his head to join his voice with hers in a wild duet of release.
The orgasm hit like a hailstorm, battering and stunning him, draining all thought from his head, locking his muscles in a rictus of pleasure. Beneath him Gràinne arched and shuddered, her voice falling silent, her hands going limp and sliding from his body. But her inner muscles kept convulsing, prolonging his ecstasy until he thought one more moment would surely kill him.
Somehow he kept his arms locked despite their trembling, held his body above hers. The blood still thundered through his veins, but the storm had abated, the energy expended by the act of marking her. Disentangling his body from hers, he pried his eyes open and looked first at the inner curve of her breast, wanting to be sure he had actually been successful. The sigil still glowed, fiery against her skin, and Jakuta let his head drop forward in relief.
“Thank the Orixás.”
He’d never meant a paean of praise as fervently as he did that one. Lifting his head, he smiled at Gràinne, opened his mouth to ask how she felt.
She was limp, pale, not moving—not breathing.
Gone.
Chapter Nine
Jakuta held her, unable to believe he hadn’t been successful in saving Gràinne. Had he been too late? Had the barrage of emotion been too much, despite his giving her the mark?
No answers came to him and a haze surrounded his brain, blocking all emotion. All he knew was that it was over, and he’d failed.
Again.
How long he stayed there, holding her still form, he didn’t know. Eventually, when even the outline of the sigil had faded to a dark mark, all fire erased, he forced himself to rise, pull on his pants. Taking one of the linen drapes Hervé kept for his more prudish clients, Jakuta put it over Gràinne. But he couldn’t bring himself to cover her face.
That would make it too final.
Kneeling beside the daybed, he gently swept her hair back from her cheeks, traced the line of her brow, the curve of her lower lip. Even now her beauty called to him, wrenched at his heart. Was it truly only a few hours before that she’d come into the café? He felt as though he’d known her forever, had lost the only thing of importance in his life.
I’ll see you on the other side, Jakuta Dagbo.
Her voice came to him, as though on the wind, and he squeezed his eyes shut, clenched his fists to hold back the roar of pain building in his chest. Did she remember him, wherever she was? Did she know how much he cared, that he would give his own life to have her back again?
Realistically he knew there probably wouldn’t have been anything lasting between them. She’d been going through a metamorphosis, evolving into a being with the emotions most took for granted. He didn’t expect what she felt for him to last, but that didn’t matter. Even seeing her walk away would be preferable to this aching, all-encompassing sense of loss. At least then he’d know she was still out there, somewhere, laughing, smiling, living.
The agony expanded, pressing on his heart, demanding release. He had to get away, go somewhere remote, find a place where he could wreak as much havoc as he wanted without hurting anyone else. But there would be questions to answer about her death, people to inform, although he wasn’t sure exactly who to tell. Ula would know. He’d go talk to her, explain what had happened. The sooner he got started, the quicker he could get away. Levering himself to his feet, he took a couple of steps toward the door then stopped, unable to go on.
The anguish burst from him so suddenly he didn’t have time to curb, temper or control it. His roar of agony shook the room, took him to his knees, went on and on until his lungs were empty, he was empty, all thunder gone, all lightning extinguished.
When the door flew open, he hardly had the energy to lift his head.
“Jakuta—”
Jasmina stood in the doorway, her face pale, her dark eyes wide as she looked from him to Gràinne’s body. Behind her were others, but he couldn’t find the strength to care who they were. Then one stepped forward, brushing past the jinn to enter the room. A female, wearing a white suit. Her long face was pale, her eyes blue as ice and just as cold.
“So, we are too late.”
The cool, unemotional tones grated on his nerves, brought Jakuta to his feet. He put his body between her and the daybed, causing the woman’s gaze to flicker to him before immediately returning to Gràinne.
“Who are you?”
He put all the thunder he could into the question, although there was little of anything left in him except pain.
Once more the woman’s gaze flicked his way. “I am Eevul, head of the Banshee Council. We’ve been searching for Gràinne, followed her wail here, hoping to save her.”
Three other banshees had crowded in behind her but kept their distance, allowing Eevul to take the front position. Jasmina transported herself to Jakuta’s side, laid her hand on his arm.
“What’s going on, Jakuta?” The worry in her voice was apparent. “What happened to that woman?”
“There is nothing to concern you here, jinn,” Eevul said in her cold, clear voice, finally giving them her full attention. “Gràinne destroyed herself. There will be no repercussions for anyone. We will collect the body and be gone. No one will know what happened here tonight except us.” For a moment her eyes seemed to glitter, grow colder. “And I’m sure it is in your best interests not to let anyone know a client died in your establishment.”
“No.” Jakuta stepped forward, shrugged off Jasmina’s detaining arm. “Gràinne doesn’t belong to you anymore, banshee. I’ll take care of her now.”
Both he and Eevul ignored Jasmina’s murmur of protest. He locked gazes with the banshee, suddenly flooded with strength, ready to fight, destroy her if need be to keep Gràinne safe from the cold world she fled.
“You have no claim on her.” Eevul’s voice showed no difference in tone, but her eyes narrowed slightly. “It is up to us, as her sisters, to give her a proper farewell.”
“You can’t.” He clenched his fists to stop from blasting the banshee into the hereafter. “She wasn’t one of you anymore when she died. She was a being full of emotion, overcome with it. You aren’t capable of giving her the sendoff she deserves.”
If it were possible, he would have thought Eevul went even paler. The three banshees behind her exchanged looks. One stepped a little closer to address him.
“You say Gràinne had recovered her emotions?”
Jakuta didn’t take his eyes off Eevul as he answered, “Yes.”
“That was always a possibility,” Eevul interjected, turning to the other banshee. “She took the rune and although she shouldn’t have been able to do anything with it, there was still
the chance it might affect her.”
“It shouldn’t have affected her that strongly.” The banshee who had come closer pressed the point, although there was no emotion in the words. “The process was supposed to be irreversible. That is what was promised to us all.”
“What process?” Jakuta addressed her, holding up his hand when Eevul would have spoken, speaking over her when she tried to interrupt. “Gràinne said the banshees were one of the races who came out of the raising, after the Great Purge. Is that not correct?”
Once again the banshees exchanged looks, but none answered. Jakuta turned his attention back to Eevul, stepped a little closer. “You might as well tell me. I won’t stop until I find out the truth. That woman gave her life looking for answers, and I have no problem with wreaking havoc on your Council until I find them on her behalf.”
“Why would you care?” Eevul gave him a cold stare. “This has nothing to do with you.”
Lightning sparked in his belly and the lights dipped with his anger. “I’m making it my business. Tell me now or tell me later, but I will find the truth.”
“Tell him, Eevul.” The banshee who’d said nothing up to this point spoke. “There is no point in not doing so. We can end this here and now.”
But Eevul merely turned slightly away, as though distancing herself from the discussion. After a hesitation one of the others spoke.
“The banshees were not created through the raising, but were, nonetheless, a product of the Great Purge. After the Purge many of those who had been there and saw what befell the combatants were unable to live with the memories. This was especially true of the wives who followed their husbands on campaign. They were offered the opportunity to forget, to start life over with emotion and memories stripped away and trapped in the runes for eternity. There are a few of us on the Council who know the truth. The others don’t remember, wouldn’t care. We keep to ourselves to avoid kinsmen recognizing those they thought lost.”
“Gràinne made the same choice as the rest of us,” Eevul spoke again. “I don’t know what happened to her, or why. Nor do I care.” She turned, pointed to the daybed, and Jakuta felt the air around him stir with her power. “Take her body, and the rune. Our business is concluded here. Destroy him if he tries to meddle.”
Jakuta readied himself for a fight but, instead of following Eevul’s direction, the three banshees seemed frozen in place. Eevul stepped back, her eyes not on Jakuta, but on a spot over his shoulder.
“You lie, Eevul.” Jakuta froze too, too afraid to turn, to see whether Gràinne’s voice was just a figment of his imagination. “I didn’t have a choice, didn’t want to forget. The transformation was forced on me—by you.”
Finally he found the strength to turn and look, the breath catching deep in his chest at the sight of her standing there, wrapped in the linen drape. She seemed even more alive than before, if that were possible. There was a hint of natural color in her cheeks, her hair was more golden and had a slight wave. When she glanced at him, Jakuta realized her eyes were smoky gray instead of sea-foam green. It was as though she’d been a pale reflection of herself before and now was colorized, brought to vivid life.
And there was new power within her too, magic that hadn’t been there before. It rose and swelled, and his stirred anew to feel it.
She took his breath away.
Eevul’s magic seemed to intensify too, pushing out into the room as though reaching for Gràinne. He turned toward her, ready to strike out with his power, but before he could intervene there was a rush of sensation as Gràinne repelled Eevul’s spell, causing the head of the Banshee Council to grunt and step back.
However, it didn’t take any time for her to recover. Eevul’s voice was bland as she said, “Gràinne. We’re happy to see you’ve survived. But obviously your ordeal has caused some damage to your mind. Give me the rune and come with us. We’ll take care of you, bring you back to yourself.”
Jakuta wanted to turn back to look at Gràinne, but something about the way Eevul held her body coiled tight told him not to take his eyes off her.
Gràinne laughed, but it was a harsh, disbelieving sound. “Call me Badb, as you once did, Eevul, and for once in your life speak the truth. Taking care of me means once more stealing my life, my magic. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but that’s impossible now. It’s too late to undo what’s been done.”
Eevul turned her head slightly to speak to the other banshees, even as her gaze remained fixed on Gràinne. “Search the room. Find the rune.”
“It’s not here.” Gràinne stepped up beside him, the power coming off her in waves to roll with amazing force over his body. “It is hidden where you will never find it. And even if you did, there is nothing you could do with it to hurt me again.”
There was a swish as the drape fell from her hands, and Jakuta saw all four women’s gazes drop to her tattoo. Even the emotionless banshees seemed stunned, and Jakuta wondered exactly how little they really felt, if some had more capacity for emotion than others. He received an answer to that question far sooner than he expected, as Eevul’s face contorted with a vicious sneer.
“The great goddess Badb. Traitor. Murderer.” Her fingers curled into talons, and she braced as though to spring at Gràinne. “Making you banshee was better than you deserved. I would have annihilated you if I had the power, but you were too strong. Instead I stole from you what you’d stolen from me—the life that could have been.”
She didn’t have a chance to attack, as she seemed set to do, for the two banshees closest to her stepped forward, grasping her arms. They must have done something to negate her magic, which was abruptly curtailed. Eevul laughed, even as she twisted, trying to escape.
“You’re a thief, Gràinne Bairdie. I accuse you of theft of a magical object. You will surrender yourself to the authorities. You think you’re free, but I will make sure you are never free again.”
“That rune was imbued with my stolen emotions and memories. No fey court will find me guilty of theft for taking what was rightfully mine.” Gràinne sounded strong, so alive Jakuta’s heart leapt and his stomach clenched. “You, on the other hand, stole my emotions, the life I was entitled to. I think they will find that a far more heinous crime.”
“It was worth it, to see the great traitor Badb reduced to an emotionless cipher.” Eevul whispered it, her voice taking on an edge of madness. “You took everything we valued, betrayed your own. We would have ruled this world if not for you. Memories are long, Badb. They will spit upon you in the street, just as I spit upon you now.”
Finally he could look at her again and once he had, Jakuta couldn’t take his gaze off Gràinne. Pain shadowed her eyes at Eevul’s words but although he wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms, something about her stiff posture kept him away.
There was the sound of a scuffle and Jakuta turned to see Eevul being dragged out the door by two of her companions. The third lingered, her eyes on Gràinne, concern tightening the corners of her lips.
“We will have to check each of the recruits Eevul brought to us after the Purge, to ensure there are no more like you.” She seemed to sigh slightly, her gaze turning inward for a moment, then returned to Gràinne’s face. “Our entire way of life has been jeopardized by this. Up until tonight I would have sworn all banshee were that way by choice. If this matter becomes known, women who wanted nothing more than peace may be forced to accept memories and emotions they no longer know how to bear.”
“Take any you have doubts about to the room where the runes are kept.” She bent to pick up the drape and wrapped it around herself again. “My rune called to me, as though it knew I hadn’t surrendered myself willingly. Perhaps the others will react the same.”
The banshee nodded, relief flitting over her features. “I have been in the room where the runes are kept, felt no draw to any particular one. That may be the answer we seek.” She started to turn away, hesitated. “Can we count on your discretion in this matter? You have my word tha
t we will deal severely with Eevul. It will do no good for others to know the truth of who, what, we are.”
Gràinne nodded, pain ghosting across her face. “You have my word, I won’t tell anyone.”
The banshee left, closing the door behind her. Jakuta stared at Gràinne, still unable to move, to even speak. After a quick glance at him, she dropped her gaze, and his heart stumbled.
“Well.” Jasmina’s voice startled him. He’d forgotten she was even in the room. “I think I’ll go down and let Ula know everything is okay up here, but I want the full story, and soon.” She disappeared in her usual swirl of gold-and-green lights, leaving silence behind.
Gràinne sank down on the edge of the daybed, still avoiding his gaze, and pain sliced through his joy. Then she raised her hands to her face, but not quickly enough to hide her desolate expression.
“Gràinne—” Without conscious thought he moved toward her but stopped, shocked, when she flinched away from his reaching hands. “Sweetness…”
“By the Goddess.” Her voice was muffled by her palms and her shoulders were hunched, bowed as though by a great weight. “How can I bear this?”
Moving slowly, he approached her trembling form, stooped down next to her, but held back from touching her, knowing she didn’t want the contact. “What is it?”
She raised her face and his heart clenched at the pain evident in her eyes. “I remember everything—everything. It was I who conspired with the dragons, caused the Purge.” If he didn’t know better, he would have thought it was anger making her voice rough, abrasive. “No wonder Eevul wanted to destroy me. She was our queen, lost her husband, Galedron, to the dragonfire.”
He didn’t know what to say, how to assuage such overwhelming agony. How incongruous to think of Gràinne, as he knew her, betraying her own people. It seemed wrong, fitted ill with the woman he’d come to know.
“Why?”
Fleeing Fate Page 8
