by CC MacKenzie
Her dark eyes went wide as she studied him, her mouth pouty.
"Might have."
He dipped his head to inhale the scent of his woman and to let his mouth nibble on her full bottom lip.
"I missed you. Every second. Every minute. Every hour. Every day."
He took the kiss deeper and she was with him all the way.
"Show me," she whispered.
And he did.
***
Meanwhile, Duncan Gillespie was holding a meeting with Cristophe and Samuel in the penthouse suite of the GPH building in New York. At the moment he was eyeing his youngest son. Adam Gillespie was pacing back and forth in front of his desk, wearing a hole in the thick rug of ivory wool.
"I must return to Edinburgh, papa, before it becomes impossible for me to travel."
Moving across international borders was becoming tricky. In an attempt to stop the mutated flu-Ebola virus in its tracks airlines were taking temperatures at departure gates. Anyone with so much as a sniffle was barred from flying. He knew Adam was worried about his young soon-to-be mate who was a medic. France was now quarantined after two asylum seekers smuggled into the country from Africa died of the virus in Paris.
"I am thinking of bringing all the family together. Here. Under one roof where we can keep a close eye on the women. Daniel is ready," said Duncan.
Adam's dark brows rose. "Daniel is going to make his move?"
Duncan nodded. "When he returns from San Francisco. He wants to keep a close eye on Charlotte and he's training Anais."
"I cannot believe he didn't tell us his mate was right under his nose."
"She was widowed six months ago. You know he would not touch her while she was married to another."
Now Adam stood still, his eyes a deeper and more serious blue than his brothers, met his fathers.
"Daniel didn't..."
Duncan rolled his eyes.
"Don't be ridiculous. He had no part in the man's demise." That was the trouble with Adam he trusted no one completely, not even his family. Where the mistrust had sprung from, Duncan had no idea. Perhaps it was simply a part of his complex personality. The boy kept things very close to his chest. He thought too much. He felt too much. "Leave tonight. But keep in touch."
Adam's blue eyes went warm as his gaze met his fathers.
"I will. I don't like being away from my city for any length of time."
"Still having trouble with the Order?"
He nodded.
"They are rigid in their thinking and unbending in their religious dogma. Curbing their natural inclinations to feed from the populace whenever the urge takes them can be challenging at the best of times. Now the Elders have accepted their challenge for authority, I have a feeling things in the near future are going to become interesting."
"Cristophe will cut the head from the snake," muttered Duncan.
He rose to refill his glass of heavy Edinburgh crystal with the water of life, Scotch whisky.
Now he turned to his old friend who was sitting back in his chair, all relaxed, coiled like a big black cat, watching and listening to their discussion with a lazy interest.
"Si," he said now, Italian accent rumbling in his vast chest. "This is true. In Rome we already have six priests under close guard. I burned one church, as an example you understand. If the Order cause you a moment’s concern in Edinburgh just let me know. Vassili and Voltaire are promising retribution. I find the timing of their uprising more than... suspicious."
If Adam wanted to catch his flight, he didn't have time to debate religion or politics.
He bowed politely to the three princes and took his leave.
After he left, for a long moment an uneasy silence dominated in the room.
Eventually Cristophe broke it.
"You have fine sons, Scotsman. But I sense your concern. What troubles you?"
"Apart from the flu-Ebola virus and religious bigots stirring up trouble. What do missing baby boys, vanishing in the middle of the night, remind you of?"
Cristophe plucked a slim cigar from his suit jacket pocket, patted another pocket to find his lighter. He sat back, lit his cigar and puffed. Once he blew a smoke ring in the air, he narrowed his dark eyes as he watched it dissipate.
"There is one creature who needs the juice of the innocent to grow in power, who thrives on pain and suffering. You think he is still contained?"
"If I was a pessimist I might believe all the signs reveal the possibility he has bypassed the seal." Duncan stopped, gazed deeply into the liquid in his glass. His eyes lifted to stare hard at his closest friend. "Or someone or something has broken the seal on his behalf."
Cristophe took a deep inhale.
He shook his head.
"No one would dream of releasing such an abomination. What would they gain except instant destruction?"
"A valid point," said Duncan. He turned to the silent Englishman, Samuel the pirate, brooding in the corner. "What say you?"
Cold eyes, so devoid of emotion they made the hair on the back of Duncan's neck prickle uncomfortably. He rubbed the spot.
"Until I have proof the seal has been broken, I do not have an opinion. I deal in facts, not impressions or hunches."
"Fair enough," said Duncan.
Cristophe sucked in air through his teeth. "Who among us will be brave enough to open a portal and find out?"
"I suppose it must be me, since I am the one who imprisoned him there in the first place."
"You are no longer young, Duncan. You are no longer a Celtic warrior."
"True," Duncan admitted. These days his bones ached. Although he hadn't, yet, lost his zest for life.
"You could always ask Sorcha for help," Cristophe offered the idea.
It sat uncomfortable in a chilling silence.
The chill came from Samuel.
Duncan took a deep sip of his whisky, and thought of his ex-wife. Thought of the myriad of reasons why he could never reach out to her and ask her for... anything, never mind assistance.
"You would have me break the law?"
Cristophe puffed on his cigar, blew another couple of smoky rings. "You broke the law as soon as you lay with her. And broke another when you married her. And yet another when she carried your babes."
"Exactly. I think I've broken enough laws to last a lifetime."
Cristophe's dark eyes stayed on his. "We do not know for certain The Maker is behind our... troubles."
"Who else is there?" Samuel demanded to know, forgetting that he'd just said he wanted facts not fiction. "Who else had the means, the power?"
"Si," agreed Cristophe. "But he cannot enter this world. Even if he has managed to escape confinement, he cannot enter our reality. We are safe."
Duncan listened to his friends discuss the old arguments with half an ear.
While The Maker existed at all, they were not safe.
And neither was their world.
"The trouble with dealing with an immortal is..." Duncan interrupted his friends. And once he had their full and undivided attention again, he began, "The trouble with immortality, the one thing that makes it a dodgy disposition in the first place, is... ennui. One has to be very careful of tedium. When a sentient being does not care if it (he) lives or dies, it has already lost the ability to experience valid emotional conflicts; love, desire, hate, anger, joy and heartbreak. There is the potential for a callous disregard for life, all life, to set in. And that, is the first step upon the slippery slope to... boredom. Therefore, it is always crucial for those of us who live long, or who are immortal, to have a Grand Plan. A working concept of The Big Picture. The ability to move through time, to travel through alternate realities just adds a complex variety of opportunities into the mix, an endless game with limitless possibilities. Games make existence, well, fun.
"Let's face it, immortals don't have mere worlds to play with, they have entire universes and the peoples and creatures who dwell in those universes. Endless variations and themes for war games
with supernatural and sentient beings. In fact, The Maker once had the opportunity to play with many variations of the same universe in seven realities. Mind boggling if you think about it. It really is."
Cue a very stunned silence.
Cristophe rudely levelled his cigar in Duncan's direction.
"My brain hurts just trying to understand the conceptualisation of such worrisome thoughts," he said. "The portals have been sealed for hundreds of years. No one would dare defy our laws. We need facts, so we will get facts," Cristophe turned in his chair and pointed his cigar at Samuel. "Who will be prepared to take on such a task? We are no longer young or foolish or stupid."
Samuel's hard mouth kicked an attempt at a smile, that smile relieved Duncan's growing anxieties about his friend.
"So, we need to find a creature who is all three?" offered Samuel.
Duncan's mouth curved.
"Let me think upon it."
Chapter Twenty
Charlotte’s heart thundered in her ears as she moved to rest on her hands and knees on the thick carpet.
Her palms were damp and her vampyre told her to prepare herself.
'For what?' she asked.
'He must test us,' came the response.
But before she could ask what sort of test, a big hand pressed firmly between her scapula, forcing her shoulders to the floor.
Her wrists were caught behind her back and raised to rest between her shoulder blades.
She couldn’t move.
And the position raised her hips high in the air leaving her bare bottom vulnerable and exposed.
And unbelievably her nipples became too painfully sensitive as a dark arousal swelled between her legs.
Then Charlotte realized it was her vampyre, finding the entire situation darkly erotic and so turned on, that a warm fluid leaked from her womb.
James didn’t utter a sound.
All she could hear was his unsteady breathing as he fisted himself. Then he stroked the head of his shaft across her slick heat. Evidently her legs weren’t far enough apart because he used his knee to make her open them wider.
The blow of the flat of his hand on her backside was so unexpected her shocked cry pierced the silence.
Then there was another blow on the opposite buttock.
Again and again he took an upswing over burning flesh.
Her sobs caught in her throat as her cheek rubbed against the carpet with every smack of his hand.
Heat spread from her buttocks to the blood pooling between her legs and even into her womb.
She closed her eyes and simply let herself feel.
Of course she’d heard of people indulging in spanking. She’d even included it as one of the things to be enjoyed in her Dirty Little Secrets diary. But never like this. Her shoulder blades burned with the pressure on them as did her arms, her wrists, as he kept them pinned down.
He’d found a steady rhythm now and she realized the way he struck her was not actually inflicting pain but causing a deep and dark pleasure, so erotic, so intense, it felt as if her core was about to spontaneously combust.
Without warning he let her go and stood as she collapsed to the floor at his feet.
Rolling the ache, the stiffness out of her shoulders, Charlotte just lay there melting into the carpet.
A part of her hoped that the worst was over.
While another part of her felt a tiny pang of disappointment.
And then she was lifted on to her feet, her hot cheek now pressed against the coolness of the wall, her wrists again captured in his and placed above her head. Her breasts pressed against the wall but he pulled her hips back, into him.
Oh my God.
Her ankles were nudged wide apart by his.
He pushed her hair across her shoulder, ran his incisors down her neck and growled low in her ear, "The choice is yours. Walk away now or I take you. If I take you like this, you are mine to do with as I wish, when I wish. Do you understand me?"
The way the muscles low in her belly ached, throbbed, made her moan out loud.
"Take me."
And she didn’t care that she was begging.
But horrifically another part of her rose now.
Magic.
And the realisation that she might not be able to control that magic made her panic.
"Oh no! Wait!"
But it was too late.
Without warning, without pity, he speared inside her and he took her so fast and so furious that oxygen whooshed out of her lungs making her dizzy. Her vampyre was screaming for her to keep control of the mystical energy that now grew within her to surround them. The sound, the scent, of fireworks sparking made her grit her teeth and use brute force to hurl her magic back. But then his hips pistoned causing a friction she couldn’t believe as her orgasm grew from her toes. And with it came an immense surge of magical capability that rose so fast and so furious Charlotte didn't stand a chance in hell to regain self-control.
If this type of magic arose, so powerful, so overwhelming she knew she’d lose James.
She'd lose everything she held dear in this world.
How could she possibly go on living without him?
Her cries of dismay rose as she struggled frantically to move, to pull away, but it was no use.
And her heart broke, divided into two separate pieces as reality struck her too hard that her love for her husband was not enough.
Sorcery held her too tight within its grasp now.
An orgasm so mighty hit as her head flew back as her back arched.
Her heartbroken scream was the last thing she heard.
And Charlotte’s world went dark.
James laid his unconscious wife on their bed and took a shaky step back.
Her flesh was bone white and her hair appeared so black it reminded him of freshly poured ink.
But it was his hands that shook as he studied them with something like awe mixed with wonder and terror. They tingled with a strange silvery blue luminescence like the glow from a laser. He opened and closed his fingers and as he did sparks sizzled and snapped in the air. He didn't feel cold. He felt a strange icy heat, which made no logical sense.
That the fuck?
His breath was sawing in and out of too tight lungs as panic ruled his heart, his head.
Charlotte's eyes snapped open, clung to his before dropping to his hands and he saw those emerald eyes grow huge.
"What’s happened to you?" her voice was no more than a whisper.
"Did you do this to me?" his vampyre's voice was no more than a deep rumble in his chest.
Her head shook in rapid little jerks.
"No! No. At least, I..." Her smooth brow creased as she bit down hard on her trembling bottom lip and a bewildered confusion crossed her face. "I... don’t know.”
He read the shocked fear and the truth in those big green eyes.
"Charlotte, if you have somehow bespelled me, you must..."
He went utterly still as his head cocked as if listening.
Instantly, he knew what had happened.
Hadn't Ezekiel said it was too dangerous to use his magic?
Nature required a balance in all things.
Charlotte's use of magic had attracted dark magic to them, to the spot.
Fuck.
What the hell was going to happen next?
He didn't have long to wait to find out.
The building beneath them juddered.
Vibrations built inexorably into a loud rumble, which became an ear bursting roar of sound.
Heart pounding in his throat, in his ears, James narrowed his eyes to protect them from flashing sparks and lights.
The portal that opened in their reality started as a pin prick, growing exponentially with the sound.
Charlotte screamed, her eyes wide with disbelief, her mouth opened wide as she clutched the sheet to her breast.
James moved to stand between it and his wife.
When Eleanor Pattullo stepped through the por
tal, his vampyre leapt as he growled a warning and grew in size into a full warrior stance.
Where the hell were his Centuri?
Armed to the teeth, Eleanor was dressed in her vampyre warrior kit of black leather, so soft it could have been painted on her spectacular body. But she wore a thin armour in some sort of black metal over her torso along with a matching helmet that hugged her skull.
"Channelling a new look, battle girl witch bitch?" James asked her in a voice dripping with utter contempt.
His fingers itched to squeeze the life out of her.
But he was naked and weaponless. As an untried newborn vampyre Charlotte was too vulnerable.
Christ, nothing like a challenge.
He swore to God this bitch would not lay a finger on his wife even if it meant he died protecting her.
Cruel eyes, crimson and malignant, took a leisurely scan of his body possessively lingering on his balls, his penis between his legs.
His erection withered and died.
Dream on, bitch, it’s never gonna happen.
Eleanor smirked, her fangs grew and the air around her crackled with a malevolent darkness that seemed to suck in the light and oxygen from the room.
And the noxious door of corruption, oily and acidic, burned the sensitive olfactory nerves of his nostrils.
Black magic.
Fuck.
So Eleanor had betrayed her people and her family.
Jesus, Cristophe Pattullo would make it his mission in life to hunt his daughter down and destroy her.
James dropped into a fighting stance and the way Eleanor simply raised a dark brow and tipped up her chin shot a spear of alarm to the base of his spine.
"You provoked the wrong vampyre, James."
He didn’t pretend not to know what she was talking about and his disgust for her only grew.
"A woman scorned, Ellie? You always were a twisted bitch. And now you’ve turned to black magic? Smacks of desperation to me, abomination."
Her eyes narrowed into slits.
"Semantics, prince. By the time I am finished making you mine, you will be begging for mercy."
"Delusional, too? You need to go on a little trip of self-discovery, straight unto The Fade and it’ll be my great pleasure to send you there."
