I took it, opened the bag, and made sure that its contents were just as I’d left them. It was odd to think that this one simple canvas bag, literally, held the keys to our defenses against The Sevens.
Without another word, her job here finished, Mrs. DeVille met her husband at the entrance to the hallway, and without a goodbye, they left for their residence in the back of the shop.
“Thank you,” Jocelyn called out, receiving no answer in return. When she gave up waiting for it, she looked around aimlessly. “Umm, okay…”
I knew what she was thinking, but she was so intriguing to watch that I didn’t break her concentration right away.
“Where…?” she muttered, and then giggled. “Okay….”
Completely amused, I strolled to the large snake mirror Mrs. DeVille had been digging next to and shoved it aside where it exposed a square carving in the wall.
I wedged open the parcel of wall and set it down inside as she came up behind me. Then I flicked a switch and a bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling made the room visible. “So, this is where we’re sleeping,” she stated, appraising it.
In war, luxuries weren’t options for those in the trenches. I was hoping she’d be all right with it. And then, without hesitation, she slipped through the wall and sighed, “What an improvement over an underground jail….”
Good, I thought, and then realized my error. She is so much stronger than I give her credit. Always…
“Better than the Ministry?” she asked, half teasing.
And I laughed under my breath. “Far better.”
The unpainted particle boards that made up the walls and ceiling gave us little space, just enough to stand, to walk three paces to the bed, and to fit a twin-sized mattress adjacent to the back wall.
“Estelle would have a fit if she saw it.”
“And that’s why Estelle is staying in a furnished room below the Fielding family’s main staircase,” I said while stepping inside, repositioning the mirror back into place, and securing the wall.
Then I faced the room and found her spinning slowly for a view of our new room. It was obvious she was evaluating the differences between a room beneath a staircase and one behind a wall. “This isn’t much better, I know,” I said, and she cut me off.
“It’s perfect,” she blurted, stopping to stare at me. “Perfect,” she said again, softer.
When neither of us moved the tension in the room soared.
I hadn’t felt her in so long, and I knew what was waiting for me. God, I wanted to hold her so badly.
Prove the theory, my mind shouted. Reach out and touch her. You won’t hurt her!
But Jocelyn turned and sat on the bed, and I missed my chance. “It’s odd that Mrs. DeVille argued with you about the need to hide. She was part of Ms. Veilleux’s coven, she knows about the future, she even helped give me the scar that prompted this war into being. But I think…I think she truly believes we’ll all be fine.”
“Life-altering changes can be hard for some people.” That sounded preachy, so I followed it with, “I think she’s in denial.”
“Hmm,” Jocelyn mumbled, contemplating it. “Oh, uh, I think these are for us.” She put a hand on the stack of folded clothes at the foot of the bed. “Compliments of our housekeepers,” she added with a grin.
I crossed the small room to pick up the shirt.
“It’ll be good to get out of these,” I said, ripping the Vire shirt off my shoulders.
“Mmmmmhmmm,” she mumbled, sounding a little distracted.
I unbuckled the black belt and yanked it off my waist before shoving the pants down to my ankles. Stepping out, I picked them up and threw the whole damn thing in a pile in the corner.
That was when I saw what was preoccupying Jocelyn and came to a stop.
Her eyes seemed to be locked on my chest, maybe a little lower, but when I went silent, they drifted back to my face.
“You’re smirking,” she pointed out.
“And you’re fascinating.”
“Not as fascinating as you.”
“Oh,” I laughed, “You’re wrong about that.”
Doubting me, she decided to test me on it. “How am I fascinating?”
“Jocelyn,” I said, standing over her, staring down at her until our eyes met. “I don’t know of a single person who has survived a Vire prison…except for you. I don’t know of anyone with more influence over our world…than you. And no one captivates people the way you do when entering a room. No one is like you, Jocelyn. Not a single one.”
Neither of us spoke a word, and the tension between us came back. Without inhibition, her eyes coursed over my body, taking it in.
My entire soul screamed at me, telling me to move toward her.
Do it now, you wuss! I actually heard that in my head. Touch her! This is your chance!
“So, what’s in the bag?” she asked, and again the opportunity passed.
I grunted, angry at myself for letting it.
“What?” she asked, thinking I said something.
“Oh, nothing,” I replied concentrating on picking up the canvas bag and carrying it to her. She took it, opened it, and assessed the contents.
“Keys?” she asked, confused.
“To the Thibodeaux warehouses.”
Her eyes grew larger. “This was what The Sevens were torturing the Thibodeauxes for, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” I said through gritted teeth. I hadn’t let the feelings attached to that memory go yet. “Mr. Thibodeaux brought them to me before I left for the Ministry, and asked me to take them. Almost like he knew The Sevens would be coming after them.”
She set the bag on the ground and watched me for a second. “You had all this planned, didn’t you?”
“What do you mean?”
“The hiding places, our secret bedroom, everything.” Without waiting for me to confirm, she added, “And you planned for the two of us to stay together, here, at the DeVille’s.”
Not sure how she’d take that, I braced myself for the confession. “Yes, I arranged for you to stay with me.”
She nodded, slowly. Something was on her mind.
“Are you ready to try it again?” she asked, without warning.
“What?”
“Feeling me,” she said, and stammered for a less openly sexual suggestion. “T-Touching me.”
And it dawned on me that she had come to the same idea I had.
“Maybe it’s me who can’t do the touching,” she suggested. “Maybe I can’t start it or reciprocate it, but I can receive it.”
“I wondered the same thing.”
“Okay,” she said, taking a deep breath, preparing herself. “Let’s give it a shot.”
It was incredibly bold of her. At the shack, I saw the pain in her face, wracking her body; and here she was ready to try it again.
“Are you nervous?” I asked in a low, hushed voice, trying to put any inhibitions she had about it at ease.
“No, I-I don’t think it’ll hurt.”
A mixture of excitement and relief washed over me. And then the agony she suffered in the shack flashed through my mind.
Don’t rush this, I told myself. This has to be precise.
Kneeling down in front of her, I positioned my hands over her thighs, hovering there for a second.
My breath became locked in my chest.
And then I settled my fingertips lightly over her dress.
And we waited.
A second passed.
Another second passed.
And then she smiled.
“Nothing,” she said simply.
I let go of my breath, and we both laughed.
“Okay,” I said, hesitant but hopeful. “Now for the real test…”
Picking myself up, I stayed bent, putting my hands on both sides of her, where her hips lightly brushed the outside of my thumbs. It was an innocent connection and still it stoked my craving.
Slowly, I reminded myself. Slowly.
; With extreme patience, the kind I didn’t know I had in me, I gradually closed the distance between us. And then, finally, my mouth met hers and I stayed there, waiting.
And then she let out a moan.
No!
Damn it!
I jerked away, my hands coming up, ready to hold her, knowing I couldn’t.
I searched for her body and found her bent over in pain, her face filled with suffering.
But she was still. Her eyes were closed. Her fingers were curled, gripping the bed sheets, but that was the only sign of tension from her.
She opened her eyes and focused on me, and there was no pain in them, only yearning.
That was my sign.
I pressed my lips to hers again, drinking her in, letting myself satiate the need I had for her since I saw her on that stage. My eagerness pushed her back, onto the bed, and she went with it.
My lips never left hers, and when the bed stopped her movement, I lingered above her, close enough to feel our chests touch with each breath.
It felt like we had been pardoned…but only for a day.
Her lips were motionless, yielding too easily to me. Her arms lay limply at her sides.
I could touch her, taste her, feel her against me, but she couldn’t respond. She couldn’t release her own pent up craving. She was restricted to an immobile body.
A single word coursed through my mind as my lips fell away from her and I sucked in a frustrated sigh. “Damn it.”
Whether Jocelyn picked up on my actions or overheard my thought, it wasn’t clear, but she acknowledged it. “I want to, Jameson,” she said with uninhibited yearning.
“I know,” I said, my voice gruff with frustration. This wasn’t fair to either of us, but mostly it was unjust toward her.
“Lay against the pillow for me, Jocelyn,” I whispered.
She looked at me curiously and then shifted backwards until she was in line with the bed. And then my breathing stopped because I was seeing a side of her I hadn’t before. The swell of her breasts, the fall of her dress between her legs – all of her – is what I dreamt about. And now she was here, giving herself completely to me.
If I took every moment of carnal tension I’d ever encountered in my life, every infatuated thought, every corporeal fantasy and put them together, this moment far surpassed it.
When my breathing started again it was ragged, and I felt completely in awe of her. “Jocelyn…you are the most beautiful woman in the world.”
Her hand lifted, less than inch from the bed, moving toward me, but she caught herself and lowered it.
Yes, what I had in mind would be the only way. But she needed to understand something first.
“If I do anything that brings on pain, anywhere or to any degree whatsoever, you need to tell me. And if I think at any point in time that I’m beginning to cause you pain, I’m going to stop.”
She nodded, watching me, wondering what I was doing.
And then I settled next to her and laid my hand on her stomach, where the excited beating of her heart made it through the fabric to my hand.
“Is this all right?” I asked her, gauging what she might be feeling.
She smiled contentedly. “It’s perfect,” she said, her voice coming through my head.
“Close your eyes.”
She did, and I watched her for a second, amazed that I was lucky enough to be here with her.
“Tonight, Jocelyn, is entirely about you.”
I lifted my palm until only my fingertips were left in contact with her. Taking all the time needed, filling in for the time we lost, I languidly drifted the tips of my fingers to the soft curve of her neck, where I trailed them along the outline of her chin as gently as I could.
And she quivered.
Satisfied, I carried them to her lips where I traced their teasing contours, noticing that her warm breath was beginning to come faster now. My fingers drew an unhurried path from there, down her arms, to her thighs, where she trembled.
I’m not sure how long this took, my journey across her body. Time seemed like a distant concern to me. I only noticed the staggered rise and fall of her chest, the tilt of her lips upward in a preoccupied smile, the wistful sighs released when I touched her in places I’d never been before.
And when her body arched up, and she released a moan, relieving all that had been building in her, she forgot restraint, and she responded to me.
Her moan, filled with so much pleasure, with such satisfying liberation, turned to torment, and she curled into a ball burrowing her face into my side.
I cradled her head in my arms, doing my best to comfort her, until it passed. When, finally, she lifted her head and I saw the exhaustion in her eyes.
“Sleep, Jocelyn.”
I could see her fighting it, but her eyes were already beginning to shut.
“Sleep…”
Within seconds, she found the peace she needed. And then, when I was sure she wouldn’t wake up, I followed my own advice.
The next thing I knew the DeVille’s were under attack.
8
SISERA
THE BREAKING OF GLASS FOLLOWED BY someone’s brisk command to “drop to your knees” woke me, and I was out of bed before I heard Mrs. DeVille’s ensuing panic-driven voice shouting, “Don’t hurt him.”
I’d known Mrs. DeVille my entire life. I’d watched her drive children to tears and adults to their breaking point. She cowered to no one…unless they wore a Vire uniform.
I was at the makeshift door by the time the sound of breaking glass reached me.
“Resist,” said someone with authority, “and you’ll face the full penalty for your actions.”
In the words of Vire language, this translated to: death.
In the seconds it took for me to put the cut-out of the wall on the ground, she was already countering with a whimper. “We aren’t resisting.”
By the time I was leaning out the cut-out, I felt something sweep along my shoulder, diverting my attention.
It was Jocelyn. She was holding out the Vire uniform.
Good idea. Might be of use.
I dressed as quietly as possible and then motioned for her to stay here.
It was almost incomprehensible to me, but she listened and agreed.
Good, I thought, just hope she stays that way.
I could focus now on the DeVilles, who were clearly about to see their necks slit.
“Please don’t hurt us,” Mr. DeVille was saying as I pulled the mirror aside, cautiously so that it wouldn’t draw their attention.
I determined by the distance of their voices that they were coming from the next room, the front of the store, but I was still gambling that no other Vires were clearing out the other rooms.
A deep voice with a hint of an Indian accent broke in and what he said wasn’t comforting. “You have aided and abetted felons.”
Have aided and abetted…in other words, in the past.
They don’t know we are here.
“Were you involved, Mrs. DeVille, in the attack on our Vires in the Louisiana bayou?”
“No!” she quibbled. “We weren’t! We honestly weren’t!”
Following a pause, the Indian said simply, “I do not believe you.”
Mr. and Mrs. DeVille exhaled anxiously, loud enough for me to hear.
“We will take all actions necessary to prevent it from reoccurring.”
“Please-” Mr. DeVille pleaded.
“However,” said the Indian, cutting him off, “leniency for your actions will be considered if you give us information on the whereabouts of Jameson Caldwell and Jocelyn Weatherford.”
The mirror was now out of the way and I had a full view of the room. There were no Vires in here, but through the door, directly on the opposite side, were the backs of two men dressed in the same ridiculous uniforms that were now so familiar to me.
I left the bedroom and slid the mirror back into place, keeping Jocelyn safe as best I could.
Safe,
I thought, we should have left the second I knew the DeVilles hadn’t gone into hiding. They should have, should have been on a riverboat. Only Jocelyn and I were supposed to be here right now, and the place was meant to appear vacant. But no, Mrs. DeVille had a stubborn streak, and it was about to get her and her husband killed.
I had no weapon, and the junk collected in the backroom didn’t offer anything that wouldn’t break on me with the first strike. I’d have to go in without. That was virtually suicide, but I didn’t have much choice.
The Indian was waiting on the DeVilles to answer as I entered the room, hoping my Vire uniform would buy me enough time to assess the situation.
I stepped up beside the two Vires in the doorway and took a sweeping glance at those present in the front of the store.
There were about thirty Vires in all and the DeVilles shoved inside this small shop. But no one in the room drew as much interest from me as the one with the turban on his head. He stood, stately, with a moldavite-encrusted robe, hands properly crossed in front of him.
Sisera. One of The Sevens, who was noticeably out of his territory of control.
I didn’t wait to find out why, because Sisera’s voice had ceased and he was staring across the room at me with a peculiar expression.
I struck the first Vire in the knee and he collapsed.
The Vire beside him turned, but not fast enough. I took out his knee just as efficiently. The two of them squirmed on the ground, clutching their legs, as the next Vire came at me.
He was a big boy with a torso the size of a dump truck, but he went down pretty swiftly when I swept his legs and crushed his windpipe with the edge of my palm.
By then, my presence was known and whoever had the ability to levitate used it before I could take out another one of them. I was slammed against the wall, where something round protruded into my back. Vaguely, I remembered a framed picture being mounted there, but the sight of Jocelyn in the doorway ended all rational thought.
Prophecy (Residue Series #4) Page 9
