Adonis’ stomach bottomed out. Dear gods, she’s going to start a war.
“What?” Etienne demanded.
Robin stilled, then crooked his finger at Marian. She pressed her lips together, but strode over to him.
“If you’d said ‘come,’ I would have smacked you,” she informed him under her breath.
“And I would have deserved it,” Robin soothed. Then he cleared his throat. “At this time, I feel I owe you an apology. I can see now that just because something is true doesn’t mean it’s appropriate to voice out loud.”
Marian snorted. “Miracle of miracles.”
“Speaking of miracles,” Adonis muttered, “we might need one.”
All three of them watched Etienne staring at the vampire. Adonis saw the wheels in his head turning, saw him study Kirill with the intensity of a predator contemplating larger than average prey. Kirill for his part, didn’t seem the least bit perturbed at the conversation that had continued around him, nor did he seem surprised at the rise in Etienne’s hostility. Of course, by this time, that was probably old hat. It was practically traditional for Etienne to offer some threat to the vampire. Though, there was something different this time. Etienne wasn’t just angry, he was…thinking. As usual, Kirill’s face gave nothing away, his cool blue eyes as serene as the countryside after the first snow. Perhaps it was that unflappable, unapologetic stare that cinched it for Etienne.
“You did.”
The words whispered past Etienne’s lips, the softness in his tone belying the golden light simmering in his eyes. Tension rippled over his body, tightening muscles in minute, almost imperceptible ways. Then he took a step toward Kirill, and there was enough threat in that one movement to make Adonis shift forward a step as well, ready to put himself between the werewolf and the vampire if he had to—again.
“So what’s your plan then, Kirill? Wait until we help you find the most powerful men and women to bring into this kingdom and then kill us off one by one?” Etienne growled.
Adonis pressed his lips together, smothering the urge to give voice to the thought echoing in his head. If he kills us, he wouldn’t do it one by one. That would give the others warning. He’d strike us all at once.
“I have no intention to kill any of you.” Kirill spoke slowly, clearly, a voice one would use for a feral animal—or a slow child. “I simply wish to be prepared for any possibility that might arise.”
“Like what?” Patricio hadn’t drawn his sword and he didn’t look angry, but there was something in his voice that said that could change if Kirill’s answer was not sufficient. “Killing allies demonstrates a lack of logic that I would not have thought you capable of.”
Adonis sighed. “Etienne, you know Kirill is a strategist. He isn’t happy unless he has a plan for all contingencies. You can’t take this personally.”
“Adonis, for a demon, you really do have a big heart.” Etienne spoke to him without taking his eyes from the vampire, his posture still tense, hovering on the edge of violence. “But I’m afraid in this situation it does you more harm than good. Someday you will have to face the fact that Kirill is not your friend, not really. He’s taken you on as his little apprentice because he wants to use you, wants to let you be the friendly face to his would-be allies who otherwise wouldn’t deal with him at all. As soon as you cease to be useful to him, he’ll turn on you without a second thought.”
“Don’t concern yourself with educating the wolf, Adonis,” Kirill said coldly. “Even your considerable people skills are lost on him.” He met Etienne’s eyes, held them. “If you look at the facts, my dear Etienne, you’ll see that it is not I who is easily roused to aggression. You take every opportunity to threaten me, to make promises of physical violence.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Granted, your threats tend to be the result of hot-headedness as opposed to any well-thought out plan, but then again, you don’t exactly have the mind for the strategy an assassination would require.”
Etienne took another step forward, faster this time, his lip curling back to reveal teeth that were better suited to tearing flesh than speaking.
Dubheasa, who had been watching the entire exchange with dark eyes bright with interest, chose that moment to speak up again. “And what do you think, death god? Does the vampire’s contingency plan offend you?”
Everyone turned to look at Saamal, even Etienne. The god sat in his chair with his usual calm, long fingers wrapped around his glass of red wine. The fireplace behind him couched him in shadow, eating at the edges of his form so it looked like he was a manifestation of the darkness itself. For all the tension that was visible on his face, he might well have been watching close friends debate tomorrow’s weather and what effect it might have on their plans for a picnic. Then his eyes settled on Kirill.
“I find it inspiring that Kirill’s mind for strategy has evolved to such a degree that he’s taken into account the possibility that one of us may someday pose a great threat to this kingdom, enough that it could become necessary to eliminate him permanently. It must have taken a great deal of research to plan for every eventuality.”
Something crawled down Adonis’ spine, not quite a shiver, but something nearly as unpleasant. The way he’d spoken that last line, had held Kirill’s gaze while he said it. The tiniest bit of emphasis on the word “every.”
He doesn’t believe Kirill has a way to hurt a god, let alone kill one. And he wants Kirill to know he doesn’t believe it. Adonis didn’t look at Kirill, he knew better than that. Looking at him now would be as good as announcing that he too doubted the vampire could offer a challenge to Saamal. Besides, Kirill’s face wouldn’t give anything away. No one could wear an emotionless mask like a dead man.
“I second Adonis’ advice,” Saamal continued, sliding his attention to Etienne and Patricio. “Do not take Kirill’s planning personally. We should not fault him just because he is more willing than most to acknowledge the impossibility of predicting what will be in a man’s heart and mind years down the road.” His eyes lost their shine, swallowing the light until they were the strange pits of shadow that were so terribly unsettling. “People…change.”
Before the conversation could continue, the glass shimmered and a woman stepped through. Her shoulder length blonde hair shared the same air of disarray as her husband Etienne’s, giving the impression the wind had more to do with its current state than a comb. She wore a simple blue cotton dress that was caked with mud at the hem and smeared with dirt most other places. A slash of white over her shoulder and across her chest drew attention to the sling she wore and the little bundle of fur therein.
“Is she wearing a puppy?” Marian's voice was soft with the unmistakable appreciation for cuteness that struck everyone when they saw fluffy animal babies.
Adonis grinned. “A wolf, yes.” He took another sip of his whiskey. “It’s probably injured. Loupe takes her self-appointed guardianship of the wolves very seriously.”
“Is it a…werewolf pup?” Robin glanced from Loupe to Etienne.
The insinuation finally registered, and Adonis choked as his whiskey threatened to escape down the wrong tube. “No, just a wolf,” he wheezed.
Loupe’s attention landed on Etienne and she scurried across the floor to him without so much as a glance at anyone else in the room. Etienne’s face softened when he saw his wife, the aggression melting from his body like candle wax under the midday sun. His eyes darkened to chocolate brown, and he arched an eyebrow in amusement as his wife tugged on his shoulder and began whispering furiously in his ear.
Irina came through moments after Loupe. The rusalka was a raven-haired beauty with skin so pale one might easily believe she was a vampire like her husband. She wore a white blouse beneath a tight black bodice and a red skirt that flared around her legs as she walked. You couldn’t tell by looking, but Adonis knew Irina was nearly as well-armed as Kirill, her weapons hidden by her skirt, but easily accessible through a variety of well-disguised slits and open bottomed pockets.
Adonis perked up and nudged Robin. “That’s Irina, Kirill’s wife. Very politically savvy, but unlike her husband, she believes a friendly attitude and sincerity can be just as valuable as blackmail and contracts. You’ll like her. Watch Kirill’s face.”
Kirill’s blue eyes warmed from icy blue to a spring sky, his mouth curving into a very real smile that offered only a hint of fang. Irina put a hand on the side of his face and leaned in to lay a soft kiss on his lips before tucking her face into his neck and cuddling her body close to his. Adonis knew she was likely putting her ear near her husband’s mouth so he could give her a brief summary of what was going on, but it was still touching to watch.
The mirror shimmered again and Adonis set his glass on the floor. “Ah, and here is my wife.”
Ivy was dressed in a glittering golden gown that looked as if it could have been stitched together by threads of her own sunlight-fueled power. It shone as she walked, catching the firelight until it seemed as if she were wearing living flame. The display was so dazzling, it almost distracted from the multi-colored paint spatter that decorated the gown—along with Ivy’s ivory cheeks and long sunshine yellow hair. Her hair was still passing through the portal when she reached Adonis’ side and she took a moment to reel it in, tugging on the braid until it coiled in a pile beside her.
Adonis swept her off her feet, curling his wings around her to hide them from the room. Taking full advantage of their meager privacy, he closed his mouth over Ivy’s, kissing her with all the hunger that had built up inside him during their time apart. She sighed happily against his mouth, parting her lips to let him taste her, to satisfy the part of himself that ached so badly when they were apart. He’d fed before he’d left that evening, but even sated, his power licked hungrily at the hint of passion sparked by the kiss. An incubus was never truly full.
A new ripple of magic washed over them, ruffling his wings with its passing and announcing another arrival. Adonis reluctantly pulled away from Ivy and lowered his wings. Ivy swayed slightly when he put her back on her feet, sending a surge of masculine satisfaction through him. Her cheeks were a fetching shade of pink when she offered Robin and Marian a warm smile.
“You must be Robin and Marian. Adonis has told me so much about you, I feel as if I know you already.”
Robin took her hand in his, bending low to lay a kiss on her knuckles. “He has spoken much of you as well, Ivy. Though may I say, even his endless rambling about your beauty fails to do you justice. You are radiant.” He tilted his head, humor twinkling in his eyes. “And very colorful.”
Ivy’s hand flew to her cheeks and the tiny splatters of colors that dotted her skin like freckles. “Oh my, I must look a fright. I was painting when they came to get me and I didn’t have time to wash up.”
Marian smiled, the first real smile Adonis had seen on her face since her arrival. “You are stunning, Ivy. I do hope we’ll have a chance to spend time together under different circumstances soon.”
“Different circumstances?” Ivy sighed. “Are Etienne and Kirill fighting again?” She paused, looked at Adonis. “Or is it Patricio?” Her brows fell into a heavy V. “If he’s been picking on you again, I’m going to have a word.”
Marian leaned forward on a whisper, “So there’s always this much tension?”
“More often than not,” Adonis admitted.
He glanced a the mirror just in time to see Marcela surfacing from the portal. She was the shortest of all the women, her body lush with thick curves and powerful muscle. Her eyes changed with her mood, reflecting a range of blue and green as varied as the sea. Right now, they were a stormy shade of green, a compliment to her silvery dress that clung to her curves. Her hand was wrapped tightly around the shaft of a shell-tipped spear, and she looked around the room with the steady surveillance of a warrior perusing the battlefield.
Robin lifted his eyebrows. “Who is that?”
“Marcela, Patricio’s wife. A good person, but a little too serious.”
Marian's nostrils flared. “And what is she?”
“Formerly a mermaid, now an air elemental,” Ivy supplied helpfully.
Robin took another sip of his whiskey and held it in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. “How did that happ—“ He stiffened, fingers whitening around his glass. “Oh, bugger.”
“What?” Adonis reached for Ivy, instinctively drawing her closer. He didn’t like the tension singing from Robin’s body all of a sudden, the way his friend was watching his foster mother. Come to think of it, he wasn’t entirely comfortable with the intense look on the Unseelie queen’s face as she leaned toward Marcela. He raised a clawed hand and scratched his chin, hiding his mouth as he whispered to his friend. “Robin, what is it?”
“My foster mother is the Queen of Air and Darkness. Air and Darkness.”
The insinuation dawned on Adonis a split second before the Unseelie queen spoke.
“Why hello, my dear. And just who might you be?”
Marcela hadn’t moved from in front of the portal, her study of the room not complete enough for her to risk crossing to her husband and giving the rest of the room her back. She frowned at Dubheasa and her pale hand tightened on her spear. “Who are you?”
Dubheasa took a step toward her, the shadowy edges of her skirt reaching ahead as if wanting to touch the redhead before her. Power pulsed through the room, a tactile sensation like humid air rolling off the ocean. Marcela blinked and raised her free hand to her temple.
“You are…the angel’s wife.” Dubheasa tilted her head. “I thought you were a mermaid.”
Her voice had fallen to a low near-whisper. She looked straight at Marcela, but it was as though she couldn’t see her, was still straining to make out what she was looking at. As if she were looking inside Marcela.
“I…” Marcela swayed on her feet, shook her head. She started to raise the spear from the floor, but then slammed it down again, leaned on it for support.
Patricio had straightened from his position reclining against the wall when Marcela had come through the portal, setting his glass on the bookcase behind him in preparation to greet his wife. He’d seemed content to wait for Marcela to come to him, but suddenly his wings rose and his hand closed around the hilt of his sword. The muscle hardened around his jaw as he took a step toward his wife, dividing his attention between her and Dubheasa. “What are you doing to her?”
Etienne was still engrossed in his conversation with Loupe, wholly unaware of what was going on less than ten feet away. Saamal watched with all the concern of someone observing an approaching storm while safely tucked behind thick walls. And Kirill was watching with the unmistakable light of interest in his eyes.
No help from any of them.
Adonis looked at Robin and without a word his friend put his own glass on the floor next to Adonis’. He stood beside him and Adonis gestured for Ivy to stand next to Marian. Ivy did so, though she kept watching Marcela and Dubheasa, her concern plain to see on her soft features. Marian frowned as Ivy moved next to her, obviously not happy with the silent suggestion that she act as guard dog. Part of Adonis wanted to point out that Ivy could wipe out most of the people in this room if she wanted to, but he refrained, instead kept his attention on Patricio—and the sword that was no longer in its sheath.
“This is going to go badly,” he muttered. “Robin?”
“Now, now, foster mother, let’s not crowd Marcela.” Robin stepped forward, but wisely did not touch his foster mother, or attempt to physically prevent her from the inspection she seemed so intent on.
“I’m not crowding her, I just…” Dubheasa took another step forward, leaning closer as if she’d spotted something in Marcela’s chest, something the rest of them couldn’t see. “I feel a connection and I want to—”
Marcela sucked in a breath, slammed her spear into the floor and leaned on it again, more heavily this time. The muscle in her jaw tightened and she raised narrowed eyes to Dubheasa. “Whatever you’re doing
, stop it now or so help me I’ll slit your throat.”
“If it pleases you, dear,” Dubheasa murmured, waving a hand absently. She pointed at Marcela as if reaching for something.
Patricio snarled and raised his sword, the blade glowing with a light that had nothing to do with the fire. Kirill tensed, his black cloak shifting, betraying his retrieval of whatever weapon he held under the material.
“Come any closer to me with that iron,” Dubheasa snarled without looking away from Marcela, “and I will consider your duty as host to be violated, our lovely tête-à-tête at an end.”
Robin gave Adonis a look that said more clearly than words how terribly bad it would be for such a thing to come to pass. The fey were very touchy about obligations, social and otherwise. And their displeasure when such obligations were not met could be disastrous.
Marian took several quick strides to stand beside Dubheasa. Her bow and arrow were in her hands, the business end of the arrow aimed at Patricio, who still stood with his sword raised. Her allegiance surprised Adonis, but there was no time to get into that now.
A new feminine voice echoed through the room, low and soft as velvet, with just the slightest undertone of menace. “Continue prodding at her as if she were some sort of science experiment, and more than a tête-à-tête will come to an end.”
Dubheasa pinched her lips together, finally taking her eyes off Marcela to face the window behind the former mermaid. The glass glittered with magic and the final arrival to the evening’s fiasco stepped through.
Aiyana was copper-skinned, with black hair that fell down her back, straighter even than Robin’s. Her eyes were dark as well, not a common black, but the darkness one sees in a forest, shadows with the promise of living things hiding therein. She wore a simple dress of forest green that loosely clung to her curves and a cloak of impeccably aged animal skins, so soft they called out to be touched, stroked as if they were part of a still living animal seeking to be petted. The cloak was pushed back off her shoulders, revealing bare skin draped with thorny rose vines that hissed as they slithered over their mistress.
The Archer (The Blood Realm Series Book 3) Page 38
