“Is this what I have driven you to, Octavian? Cavorting with fledglings who resemble me enough that you can pretend?”
Octavian’s features hardened, eyes narrowing. A powerful anger parachuted in and snapped his head back. “Beware the scabs you pick at, Gisele. The wounds beneath are large enough to swallow you, too.”
Gisele laughed airily, her hand moving in a graceful but dismissive gesture. “You misunderstand me, Octavian. I belittle myself, not you. I am ashamed of what I have put you through, all for the love of someone who apparently will never love me back as he should.” She paused, a doleful expression claiming her face. “You see, we are more alike than you think, but perhaps that could change?”
“Gisele?” Octavian whispered, jolted to the core and certain that he could not possibly have heard her correctly, or if he had, that he had been catapulted into some alternate universe. He did not know what bothered him more, that she could so drastically change his reality or that it did not really bother him all that much.
“Send the child away, Octavian. She cannot give you what you need.”
Octavian’s gaze moved uncomprehendingly between Marielle and Gisele. It might have been comical if there was any room for humor underneath the shroud of confusion. For some reason, he could not find his voice. Fortunately, he did not have to; the baleful look Gisele leveled on her did the trick. Marielle was gone so fast that Octavian found himself dazedly wondering if she had even been there at all.
Gisele watched Marielle’s departure and then turned back to face him, all of the venom gone from her features. Octavian wondered if he was imagining the adoration he saw in her eyes, or if it was truly there, what ulterior motive powered it. Gisele was deeply wounded, and as far as she was concerned, it was entirely Jason’s fault. Octavian knew better, knew that though Jason was indeed to blame, he shared it equally with Gisele. In his head, he had no illusions as to why she was really here: she sought the one ally who could be manipulated into standing against Jason, and she had even deluded herself into thinking that it might make a difference.
Once again, Octavian knew better. Even together, there was no chance, and death was the most likely outcome of that fool’s quest. He wondered if he was actually willing to throw away all sanity and embark on a futile and probably fatal journey to have the one thing he had always wanted, even if it was only for a few nights, but the fact that he was even considering it spoke volumes.
At least he would die with a smile on his face.
As he searched himself for the answer, another thought occurred to him: perhaps that was not what she was after at all. Perhaps she sought only to bite off a chunk that she could get down without choking. An eye for an eye. Perhaps he was the pawn she needed to happily scream “Check!” in this infernal game that had been playing out since she had fallen head over heels for Jason and resented the loss of control. A game that, at the very best, would end in a stalemate, but could just as easily end in a ruthless checkmate after Jason had removed all of their pieces from the board in precise and calculated fashion. Only in this game, Octavian knew that the last piece to fall would be the Queen, not the King.
As this new and much more plausible theory rattled around inside his brain cage, Octavian found himself more confused than ever. Here it was, everything he had ever wanted; all he had to do was risk his life to reach out and take it. What did it say about his life that he was not even concerned with the risk? What really concerned him was the relief that had come when the Ancients and Jason came to an understanding; was Gisele, or anyone, worth losing that?
If she truly loved him, then the answer was ‘yes’, without hesitation, but to believe in her love required a trip back to Octavianworld. Since his awakening, he had spent far too much time in that little place nowhere near the vicinity of reality, and he was not sure he would survive another visit, literally or figuratively. He could rationalize this out any way he wanted to, but it all boiled down to whether or not he was going to help Gisele take revenge on the revenant he had sworn to obey not a week earlier. And meant it.
Then ego took over. Trampled into the mud by the common sense galvanized by Jason’s revenant might, it had nearly resigned itself to accepting the position to which it had been relegated until a small portion of Octavian’s mind, the portion that believed he still deserved to be king, picked it up, cleaned it off, and fed it like some poor beggar child on the street.
Of course she loves you, ego exclaimed. It was always only a matter of time before she came to her senses. She sees, as you have always seen, that you deserve to rule, and with her at your side, you can again!
Ego continued ranting, growing stronger with each moment that Octavian did not rebut it. Common sense watched in powerless silence, a position that it was clearly used to until recently, its hands in its pockets as it shook its head, seeing the iceberg and realizing it was going down with the ship. Fucking idiot, it whispered, only to be drowned out by the marching band that ego enlisted to pitch its cause.
Gisele watched the internal war waging within Octavian and felt a sense of victory that she carefully kept off her face. She knew Octavian could convince himself that he was the Messiah if that was what it took for him to believe that she loved him, and as she saw the outcome of the battle, she approached him slowly, pouring every ounce of sensuality possible into each of her movements.
He swallowed the hook whole. There was really never any doubt.
He pulled her into his arms swiftly, but he was surprisingly gentle about it. His lips locked on hers, and he lifted her off the ground, swiveling to place her on top of his sarcophagus. His tongue spread her lips as his hands spread her legs so he could step between them, her thighs bracketing his waist.
As their tongues entwined, she could feel all five thousand years of pent-up emotion pouring out of him, and for a moment, she forgot that this was all calculated. She reveled in the fact that he loved her so intensely, and his passion became contagious. She began to enjoy more than just the plan she had set in motion, and a warmth she had not felt since before that morning in the vault - God, it seemed like a lifetime ago - began to seep into her limbs and pool in her belly.
She kissed him harder.
Octavian growled into her mouth, immediately noticing the change in her response to him. Ego presented the new evidence and gleefully rested its case, and it took longer for the jury to file out and back into the courtroom than it did for them to reach a verdict. If common sense ever had any chance of pulling him back from the brink, it was gone, so it donned a life jacket and braced for impact.
◆◆◆
My mind was not exactly on the task at hand as we waited for Richter’s detail, and even as I recognized the danger of not having my mind in the moment, I was powerless to fight it. Somewhere along the line, the problem with Gisele had given it a will of its own, and I was simply along for the ride while it pondered every possible scenario over and over again, despite the fact that each simulation ended the same...
Badly.
This dichotomy was oddly soothing, as if there were now two sets of consciousness assigned to the task. It felt surprisingly good not to be going through this alone, but that feeling, too, was fleeting and dangerous. I was going through this alone, and there could be no other way.
I said nothing, locked in my internal struggle as the surly Porter, whose bitterness toward me had almost elevated to the hatred level, led a chain of fifteen men and women into the room. They were all similarly dressed, as if Porter picked out their clothes or all of them shopped at the same store, Covert Operators “R” Us. Black on black is a smashing ensemble, really.
Every person who entered the room carried at least one firearm and some kind of backup weapon. Four of the five members of Alpha Detail, who would go on duty immediately following the meeting, had fully automatic and silenced FN P90s. The last, a rough-and-tumble woman who went by the name of Rio, carried twin Powder Springs .380 MAC-11s. I wouldn’t know the difference between o
ne MAC-11 and another, but Brenda did, which made me wonder if we should seriously consider offering her a full-time position once her month was up.
Porter introduced the detail leader, a quiet man of unremarkable physical characteristics, named Bondermann. His only notable feature was a highly intelligent pair of ice-blue eyes that never seemed to stop moving. It was enough to convince me that his position was well-earned.
Bondermann offered me a hard hand and shook briskly, those eyes taking me in at a glance. He was aware of how Porter felt about me, and the cause, but surprisingly, did not let it affect his own opinion. A lifetime of nameless combat zones had taught him the dangers of preconceived notions and not performing your own evaluation of the people who cross your path. His initial assessment of me was that I was very dangerous, used to being in control and impatient; so accurate that I couldn’t help but be impressed.
He introduced each member of his detail, but none of them moved to shake. Rio regarded me with a detached gaze, but her mind told me she found me attractive. She wasn’t pretty, but she was appealing in that Vasquez-Aliens kinda way. The other female member of the detail, Brit, found Alicia more to her liking, as did every male member of the detail except for Bondermann. Bondermann never mixed business with pleasure, even in his head, and that was the most impressive thing about him.
“You’ve all been briefed, so I know I don’t need to reiterate,” I said.
Bondermann turned to me. “How long before we have to be ready to receive?”
“Thirty-six hours.”
◆◆◆
Octavian awoke from Slumber with an overwhelming feeling of dread so oppressive that he had to fight for each breath. He was briefly confused until he focused on Gisele’s face on the pillow beside his and realized what was causing the dread. He had sealed his fate, all for a fantastic piece of tail and maybe, a piece of the heart she dangled in front of him like a carrot on a stick. With a new evening’s clarity, ego too busy basking in the afterglow of victory, Octavian realized that getting her heart was not all that likely. Deep and troubled thoughts flew at him, one after another, and he could not duck them all.
“You look guilty,” Gisele said, startling him. His eyes snapped open. She had not moved, just opened her eyes, fixing their obsidian depths on him with an unwavering, unreadable gaze. Her mind was veiled, but for the first time, Octavian did not find it difficult to know what she was thinking. She was wondering if he was backing out now that his long-suffering desire had been met and reason could once again filter in.
“This doesn’t rank as one of the smartest things I have ever done,” Octavian muttered honestly, sitting up and swiveling to slide his feet to the floor, his back to her. He could feel her stare, like two tiny suns burning holes in his back.
“Perhaps,” Gisele answered with a smug arch of a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, “but it surely qualifies as one of the most enjoyable.”
Octavian whirled, pinning her with a “cut the shit” look that made her laugh. “Ohh, relax,” she sighed, rolling onto her back and stretching. Octavian’s thoughts went up in smoke along with about a thousand brain cells as he watched her. “He will probably not even care; he has Alicia. What does he need me for?”
The pain darkening her voice resurrected his thoughts and gave special attention to his doubts about her feelings for him. Not knowing for sure was driving him mad, and he could not allow it to continue, either way. Finding out that she was only using him might well finish him off, but even that seemed better than this limbo. But how to find out for certain?
Octavian thought about this as he dressed, and Gisele watched him with a careful, predatory gaze. She watched the play of his muscles as he moved, but this evening it meant nothing to her. He was so different from Jason, and that difference robbed her of any appreciation of his physique or the blatant maleness before her. Watching him only emphasized the bleak emptiness that had settled into her stomach, gnawing at her guts like a starving rat.
For a split second, Gisele contemplated swallowing every ounce of pride and running to Jason, begging his forgiveness and pleading for him to wrap her in his powerful arms forever. She would even be willing to share him with Alicia just to have him back. The depth of her need frightened her even more than the capitulation she was considering, and the ensuing panic drove her further away from reason. She fortified her shield and wrapped herself in the warmth of her plan; it was an empty warmth, but safe.
Enough to hold her steady.
As he donned each piece of clothing, Octavian felt more convinced that a small test was in order. A test of her feelings. He would suggest that they tell Jason immediately, and if she was sincere, she would agree even though there was less power in telling him immediately. If she was not sincere, she would want to save that revelation for the optimal time, for when it would cause the most damage and have the most residual fallout.
That was it, the only way to be sure. Octavian fortified his shield and turned to put his plan in motion.
Logically, it was a sound plan; however, as it has already been established, Gisele is rarely logical, so using logic to divine her intentions is not usually the best move. If Octavian had gotten to know the real Gisele instead of nurturing the inflated image in his head, he would have known that she did not intend to use their relationship to shock Jason into anger or jealousy. Instead, she wanted to use it to make him realize that she had subverted his control over Octavian, testifying to her willingness and ability to undermine him. Knowing her as he did, Jason would recognize the gauntlet before it even hit his face. Octavian was simply the first and most obvious target in a mass campaign of prolonged subversion.
“We have to tell him, Gisele. We owe him that much. You owe him that much.”
Gisele sighed, looking away. She knew Octavian a great deal better than he knew her, knew exactly what he was up to. She might have known even if he were a stranger, because it was the kind of thing she would do herself. Being better at these sorts of games, she also knew that immediate agreement on her part would only raise red flags.
“Perhaps, but I do not think I am ready for that yet,” she replied, still not looking at him.
Octavian let out a pent-up breath. He had been so sure that she was going to outright refuse, and her hedging took him by surprise. And gave him hope. Trying hard not to celebrate victory prematurely, he circled the bed and grasped her hands in his. “I know it will be difficult for you, Gisele, but you can’t shy from it. It’s best to get it over with.”
Gisele turned to him, looking up at him from under dark lashes. Her eyes were pink with unshed tears. “I do not think I am strong enough,” she whispered, so softly that he barely heard her.
Octavian had never seen Gisele so fragile, and it brought every one of his protective male instincts screaming to the surface. He drew her up off the floor and into his arms, her head resting on his shoulder. “Then take whatever strength you need from me,” he whispered, brushing her hair softly with one hand.
Over his shoulder, Gisele smiled.
◆◆◆
Alicia and I shot hungry glances across the table at one another, each appreciating the formal wear of the other. Dinner at the ultra-exclusive Bergeron’s in downtown Seattle had been her idea, a mini-celebration of reestablishing communication with Barrera and finally installing Richter’s detail. It was the first relaxed, social thing we had done since meeting, and it felt good to pretend to be normal for a night.
Of course, even pretend normalcy cannot last for any length of time, but I get ahead of myself.
Alicia looked as delicious as anything on the menu at the five-star restaurant would have looked to a starving man. Poured into a five-digit Dolce dress and glowing from her day-long spa and beauty salon pampering at the Seattle safehouse, she had me mesmerized, and I was not the only one. She drew enough glances from the restaurant’s other patrons - envious from the women and lusting from the men - to give my ego a seven-course meal worthy of the surroundings.<
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If Alicia noticed the spectacle she created, she never let on. In fact, she seemed to be as taken by me as I was with her, a heady, wonderful feeling that cast a haze around the entire restaurant, rendering everyone else a faceless blur that made it almost seem as if we were in our own little world.
The sommelier waited patiently as I halfheartedly scanned the wine list, my eyes focused more on Alicia than the words in front of me. Next to her, they might as well have been a geological survey, but to a vampire, wine lists in general are pretty boring unless they include a cask of “Evildoer.” Especially the older vintages; the older a mortal donor, the more memories to download. With blood, life was like alcohol: the higher the content, the more potent the brew.
Alicia licked her lips, bothered by the lipstick that she would normally never wear. “Wipe it off if you want. You don’t need it,” I offered, my voice husky and low. The sommelier pointedly ignored my words and Alicia’s reaction.
“Order the wine,” she answered, her tone velvety and potent, like a glass of Black Bowmore.
I smiled, and the sommelier let out a nearly silent sigh of approval. Without taking my eyes off Alicia, I folded the wine list and held it out to the sommelier. “We’ll have the ’92 Caymus Special Selection.”
“Very good, Sir.” He smoothly accepted the closed wine list and disappeared.
Alicia looked around self-consciously as she wiped the lipstick from her lips with the expensive cloth napkin. It had been a while since she'd been out in public with a man - bruises had a way of making dining in a necessity - and even longer since feeling like the object of so much desire. Her uneasiness sparked my protective instincts, and it was sheer force of will that kept me from collecting her into my arms and rocking her like a child. She crumpled up the napkin and deposited it in her lap, reaching across the table to grasp my hand. I was glad for the contact.
Corrupting Alicia Page 37
