by Vivien Dean
The Ice Butterfly
A Phaze Snuggler HeatSheet by
Vivien Dean
Phaze
6470A Glenway Avenue, #109
Cincinnati, OH 45211-5222
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
eBook ISBN 1-59426-582-8
The Ice Butterfly © 2006 by Vivien Dean
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Cover art © 2006 by Trace Edward Zaber
Phaze is an imprint of Mundania Press, LLC.
www.Phaze.com
Also by Vivien Dean
The Canvas of Her Skin
Anyone who ever thought snow was soft and silent had never trudged through the bowels of northern Canada in the middle of the night in mid-December with a thirty-pound pack strapped to his back and a hundred-pound thief complaining at his side. With their destination still miles away, the only thing to keep the sound of the monotonous crunching from turning Tomas Dalmau homicidal was his dwindling pack of Winston Reds.
''Jesus, T…'' Though the only light came from the few stars that remained in the night sky, the wave of Jett's lithe hand in front of his face was still all too visible. ''What the hell did I ever do to you? You're trying to kill me here, I know it.''
Deliberately, Tomas turned and blew the smoke he'd been holding in his lungs downward into Jett's face, watching with mild amusement when the smaller man burst into a coughing fit and waved more frantically in order to clear the air. ''I don't see you carrying the pack,'' he said, his smooth baritone pitched low in the somber Saskatchewan night. ''So stop bitching if I'm doing what I have to to stay warm.''
''They're called coats. Look into 'em.''
''For one assignment?'' Tomas snorted. ''They don't pay me enough.''
His cigarette left a red arc in the air as he lifted it to his mouth and took another long, deep drag, savoring the heat flaring through his veins. He could practically feel them crisping. Of course, with as much whining as Jett had done since Tomas had teleported them north, he could almost see his lungs blackening, too, but he wasn't thinking about that right now. He'd think about that later. After he didn't need the nicotine courage to face the next four hours.
''And what the hell is it with taking this assignment anyway?'' Jett was either on a roll, or he was talking to keep his mouth from freezing shut. Tomas was half-tempted to make the latter a very real possibility anyway. ''I didn't think you ever set a foot north of the thirty-fifth parallel.''
''I don't. This'll be my first.''
''And you're busting your snow cherry and dragging me along for the ride because…?''
Tomas glanced down at the cigarette burning down between his long, callused fingers. He had been vague on details of the job when he'd contacted Jett in Miami, purposefully so. ''I need the best hands in the business,'' was all he'd said, and the little guy had jumped on the compliment like a whore on a john at the end of a very bad night.
''Because I'm the only sentinel who's got a history with her,'' he admitted.
For the first time since they'd stepped ankle-deep in snow, Jett looked at Tomas with something other than annoyance. ''The honchos roped you into it, huh?''
''No.'' It took twenty yards of silence for him to confess to the clarification. ''I asked for it.''
That shut Jett up. Tomas knew it would.
He didn't know if she would remember him, but he'd carefully left that detail out when he'd made the plea for the job. Their last encounter had been a decade previous, at a sentinel gathering in Tijuana. Tomas had been high off graduating the Institute six months early and Rana was part of an entourage that had crashed the party. They had three sex-drenched days when the city got hit by a freak cold snap and then she was gone. Along with half of his magical supplies and the Incan totem that had been entrusted to his care for his first official assignment. Tomas had sworn then and there never to let a woman use sex to get to him again.
Half the time, it was a philosophy that actually worked.
Next to him, Jett blew on his gloved hands, as if that would be enough to warm them through the thin leather. Tomas glanced down, a mild surge of guilt drawing his brows together, and tossed his cigarette butt aside, listening to the faint sizzle when it hit the top of the ice-encrusted snow.
''Sorry I couldn't get us closer,'' he said. It was a weak apology, but it was the best he could manage. ''But Rana would've detected my magic and figured out there were two of us before we got within striking distance. The whole trip would've been a waste.''
Jett shrugged. The thick anorak he wore barely moved. Tomas thought it probably weighed more than the tiny thief did. ''I've worked worse,'' he said. ''Don't even get me started on what happened at that furries and plushies convention in Brooklyn. And it's not like we're sticking around. In and out, right? Presto, change-o, I'm invisible.''
''She'll never even see you,'' Tomas assured. ''The spell will tip her off I'm in the area, but by that point, you'll be cloaked, and I'll be busy keeping her distracted while you find the butterfly.''
''How come you can't just zap it out of there yourself?''
''Because she's not a witch. Our powers are incompatible.''
''Wait.'' Jett stopped in his tracks and frowned. The ski cap he wore over his blond buzzcut didn't protect his face, and the tip of his nose was bright red from the cold. ''What the hell are we dealing with here? I'm not going to have to watch out for fire-breathers or bloodsuckers, am I?''
''You shouldn't.'' He sure as fuck hoped not. ''Rana's an ex-legate for the Elemental Regency. She's got some magical powers, but those all stem from the forces of nature, which don't reconcile with sentinel witchcraft. It's likely she might have a guard or two around her hideaway, but for the most part, they're redundant.''
''Why?''
Tomas stuffed his broad hands into the pockets of his pea jacket. Talking about Rana made him itch to strangle something. ''Because she's got the weather at her beck and call. Mostly. You think it's an accident she's squirreled herself away in the winter of our discontent?''
Jett stared at him for a long moment before letting loose a martyred sigh and resuming his path. ''Oh, man…'' he muttered. ''I'm beginning to think getting stuck in an elevator for three hours with a six-one cowboy named Otis in a wolverine costume was preferable to this.''
The guilt swelled for a brief moment before receding back to an acceptable level. Nothing's going to happen to him, Tomas reminded himself. It was just melodrama in action.
They walked in silence for another mile, the velvet sky unbroken above the Canadian prairie. The lack of cover was a good sign of imminent success; Rana could conjure up a cloud or two, but nothing that could merit a blizzard or ice storm or something else that might render them snowmen. At least, Tomas didn't think so. The sentinels had little current information on her, and the Elemental Regency was staying mum. They were still reeling from one of their own going rogue.
Both men stopped when they rounded the crest of a small hill and saw the sprawling house in the valley below. A slight wind, the kind that cut to the bone and made Tomas long for his apartment in Puerto Rico, picked up the light snow that dusted over the icy drifts and blew it in eddies around their ankles. The cold crept up his worn jeans, but it was the sight of their destination that riveted him in hi
s spot.
Rana had a touch for the flamboyant. The ranch-style home that had probably been on the property for decades had been transformed with her arrival, siding replaced by sheets of ice that glittered even without any light, the chimney fashioned into a turret that looked like it had been carved by Michelangelo. Somehow, smoke still curled from its opening, and the entire house glowed from within. It almost pulsed.
Jett whistled under his breath, and the cloud of it hung around his head. ''Lady's got style,'' he murmured.
''The lady has the ice butterfly,'' Tomas countered. He shifted the pack off his shoulders, dropping it to the ground. ''Let's do this.''
With their target in sight, both men eighty-sixed their foul moods in favor of the job at hand, crouching on either side of the supplies to take what they needed. For Jett, it was his roll of tools, tightly bound in black velvet, and the small box to contain the ornament for the transfer home. For Tomas, it was a series of weapons that he tucked around his person, a blade at his calf, a gun in the small of his back, and the vial containing the potion for the invisibility spell. The pack was nearly empty by the time they were done.
Tomas handed the vial over to Jett, who grimaced as he pulled out the stopper. ''How come all your best magic smells like my Aunt Ro's compost heap?'' he complained.
''Just drink it. The sooner I can't see you, the happier we're both going to be.''
He ignored the show Jett made of holding his nose as he downed the thick fluid, choosing instead to bow his head and close his eyes. For all his caustic comments, Tomas felt like throwing up. At that moment, his every nerve and every fear decided to remind him that this was the same woman who'd made a fool of him at his graduation. He'd come a long way since then, rising through the ranks of the sentinels, but it had been a rocky start, complete with a probation that took forever to finish and lingering disappointment from those he'd admired. Damn it, with that single theft, Rana had stripped Tomas of the regard and respectability he'd fought for throughout his teenage years.
He shouldn't be nervous. He should be pissed off as all fuck.
He took a deep, steadying breath. Part of him was. Deep inside, in a dank corner that only saw the light of day when Tomas needed to draw upon those powers that frightened even him, he was angrier than anyone could be. But if he let that out, this entire mission would be over before it even started. Not even Jett would survive that blast, and the little guy had more lives than a pack of cats.
Maybe it was better to be scared.
When he lifted his head, his stomach as calm as it was going to get, Jett was nowhere to be seen. Well. That wasn't exactly true. Tomas could see the distortion in the air that indicated where Jett was, but that was because it was his magic. To everyone else, there was nobody there. Nobody would ever be the wiser.
''That stuff tastes as bad as it smells.''
As long as Jett kept his complaining mouth shut.
''You have four hours before the potion wears off,'' Tomas said. He handed the empty pack over and watched it fade into the same thick air that characterized Jett. ''Get the butterfly and then come find me. I'll teleport us out of here as soon as I see you.''
''Got it.''
The two men began their slow descent down the hill, Tomas leading the way. Twenty feet from the front gate, the door opened and a swathe of brilliant white light cut across the snow, blocked out quickly by a female form. They froze as she stepped onto the porch. At his side, Jett whistled under his breath.
''What a way to bust your cherry…'' he muttered.
Everything inside Tomas sizzled at the sight of her. All he could do was nod in agreement.
Rana looked exactly the same.
She wore a long nightgown that would have been prim and proper enough for Tomas' great-grandmother if it wasn't for the fact that it was completely transparent. Even from that distance, her hard nipples were dusky shadows through the fabric, calling attention to her full breasts. His gaze traveled downward to the ripe curve of her hips, his fingertips growing hot at the memory of sinking into the soft flesh, of gripping her tightly as he ploughed into her from behind. It was almost a shame she was facing them. Rana had a magnificent ass.
''If she's some kind of winter element chick,'' Jett whispered, ''where's the white hair? Shouldn't she be all pale and icy or something like that?''
''You don't know your temperatures,'' Tomas replied, his lips barely moving, his voice so low that his breath didn't appear as a cloud in the crisp air. ''Get cold enough, and you always burn.''
She still wore her fiery red hair in a pixie cut that exposed her long neck and delicate bone structure, and the rest of it was straight out of the scrapbook of his memories. Deep brown eyes. The crooked mouth. If she smiled, a dimple would dance in her left cheek.
She wasn't smiling now.
Rana came off the porch and onto the snow, her feet bare beneath the hem of her gown. It took several seconds of scanning the darkness, but then her head swiveled, drawn in his direction as if that had been her intent all along, and her gaze settled on them unwavering.
''Wait until I'm inside,'' Tomas breathed without a glance at his partner. He walked forward until he reached the edge of the front path, his strides long and confident in spite of the cyclone currently residing in his stomach. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught his reflection in the ice and wondered if he looked the same to her, too. He doubted it. If nothing else, his six-two frame was no longer the rangy limbs of youth, with bulkier muscles cording his back and shoulders, and there was a strand or two of gray shot through the dark hair that was always a little too long, a little too wavy. Maybe only the eyes would be the same, deep-set and heavy-lidded.
Considering what he'd seen over the past ten years, though, maybe not.
''Tomas Dalmau. This is…unexpected.''
Her honeyed alto made him hesitate, his foot cracking through the crusted veneer to sink to mid-calf in the snow. Rana's fingers flickered, and the ice re-formed around his leg, closing in on his jeans to root him to the spot.
Rana stepped within six feet of him, though maybe glided was a better word. She had the grace of a winter wind, and while the breeze still snuck beneath his clothes to chap his skin, her gown hung untouched around her legs. ''A little…cold for you, isn't it? I wouldn't think you'd travel this far north.''
Tomas shrugged. ''What can I say? I'm the sultan of surprise.''
She laughed, and it made him feel twenty-one again. He could almost smell the sunshine.
Shaking off the nostalgia, he pulled himself to his full height, ignoring his inability to move from where he stood. ''You know why I'm here, Rana,'' he said. His voice cracked a little on her name. He really shouldn't have smoked as many cigarettes as he had. ''This is official sentinel business.''
''Since when do I care about official?''
It was a good question. Rana had left the Regency in a high-profile theft that had rocked the supernatural world and never looked back.
''Are you armed?'' she asked.
''What do you think?''
Her gaze raked over his long body, pointedly lingering on his hips though the length of the pea coat hid his crotch from her scrutiny. ''I think you're a lot smarter than to show up on my doorstep without a small army to take me in.''
''That's because I'm not here to arrest you.'' His calm tone was rewarded with the swift leap of her eyes back to his. ''I'm here to negotiate for the return of the ice butterfly.''
Rana arched a single brow. ''Negotiate? Since when do sentinels negotiate?''
''Since I asked for the chance to talk to you, up close and in person. I'm not interested in seeing you get punished, Rana.''
She exhaled, long and slow. Even at that distance, it tickled across his neck, colder than the slight wind. ''Well, well,'' she murmured. ''You are a sultan. Too bad I can't believe you.''
Tomas had expected that, but still asked, ''Why not?''
''Take the word of a sentinel when I've broken enough laws
to never see the snow of winter again?'' Her eyes took on a calculating gleam. ''I'm not so dumb, either, Tomas.''
As soon as he began to reach for his coat pocket, her hand shot out, ready to stop him. Tomas froze. ''Come look for yourself,'' he said.
He stretched his arms out to his sides, inch by inch, until her hand relaxed and she took a step closer. Rana's gaze jumped from his face to his coat to his face again as she closed the distance, until she stood directly in front of him, dark eyes fixed on his. Without looking away this time, she took the path he had, sliding her hand inside his pocket and curling around the object she found there.
He could see the surprise in her face long before she pulled it out. Sooty lashes widened, and her nostrils flared. Tomas never moved, not until she had retreated several feet with the broken half of the amulet clutched firmly in hand.
''I'm authorized to negotiate,'' he said, as if he hadn't already made the declaration more than once already. ''You want my weapons, fine. I'll even swear not to use any attacking magic. But I'm not interested in standing out here in the cold any longer than I have to. If you don't want the other half of the amulet, just pass it on back and I'll be on my way.''
She wouldn't turn it down. The Willandra Amulet was a valued piece of the Elemental Regency's collection. In the wrong hands, it promised more power than even the butterfly did. Provided it was whole.
''Your magic couldn't harm me anyway,'' she said. Her attention slid back up his body, long and lingering this time, with a fresh hunger that made his cock jump. ''But I think stripping you down will suit my purposes just fine.''
He had never deluded himself into thinking distracting Rana long enough for Jett to do his thing was going to happen with conversation, or at least, not a lot of it. Those three days in Tijuana had been three of the most sexually intense days of his life, before and after. He might not like Rana very much at the moment, but there was an electric attraction between them that still made his blood hum. Looking at her now – and yes, the sheer nightgown helped because it only reminded him of how lush she really was – brought back the sensations of how dangerously soft her skin had been, how her body had moved in time with his without his ever saying a word.
