Fatal Circle

by Linda Robertson

  He’d just turned my anger switch from “almost” to “on.” I fought to rotate it back. “Must everything be a struggle?”

  “Life is a struggle.”

  “I’ve been here a little more than twenty-four hours, and already I am sick of the damned games you play. Every time things appear clearly established, you pull some new stunt. I may walk away from it having learned something, but it’s wearying nonetheless. Is there never a moment of contentment for you?”

  The predatory, masculine countenance returned, and his eyes became glistening pools of gray. He rose and came around his desk as he spoke. “We all fight for what we achieve and what we want, don’t we?” He settled into a lean against the front of his desk, then lifted a tendril of my damp hair, admired the bandage, and reached toward my neck. In the next instant, he ripped the wide Band-Aid free.

  “Ow!” I tried to slap him. He restrained my wrist.

  “I know how this works, Persephone.” He dropped the bandage into a waste basket. I tried to pull my wrist free; he held on. “I know how you work … and then you ‘pull some new stunt’ and I find that truly, I don’t.”

  The skin on my neck was burning from the rough bandage removal. When he didn’t continue, I muttered, “Glad to know the feeling’s mutual.”

  “But that’s just it, the ‘feeling’ isn’t.” The tone of his voice was laced with a despondency that touched my heart.

  Enough of this. Every time he ignited my rage, he followed it with stirring my heart, or vice versa, shifting until my resistance was gone and my anger was fully triggered. Let’s skip ahead this time. Intending to invoke the power pull, I visualized it and felt the charge of energy materialize—

  Menessos jerked on my arm, yanking me easily into his embrace, and sank his teeth into me.

  I screamed and, my concentration lost, dropped the attempt.

  He raised his mouth from my neck and stood straight, but his grip stayed vise-tight. He hadn’t fed, just reopened the wounds or made new ones. Drops of my blood stained his lips, ran into his beard. “You may have the means to drain my energy, but I can drain yours, as well.”

  A trickle of blood slowly rolled down my neck.

  Menessos came at me again. I feared he would bite me again, but he smeared blood from his lips across my cheek and whispered into my ear, “There’s much more to mastery than simply holding the upper hand.” He jerked the collar of my robe open, exposing my neck and breasts, and bent, licking where the blood had run.

  I hadn’t dressed fearing that doing so would wake Johnny, but now I was wishing I’d taken that risk and put on more than the robe. I growled, “I still want answers.”

  “And I still want what Johnny has.” Menessos fondled my breasts. He licked at my neck as a lover would, though the blood flow was fading.

  My body was well satisfied, but even so, his touch was filling me with renewed yearning. I stepped backward to be out of his reach. It took more of an effort than it should have. “He doesn’t get my blood. You do.”

  The vampire leaned once more against his desk. “He doesn’t want your blood!”

  “But you do. You need blood to survive.”

  “Ah, but I have Beholders and Offerlings to feed me. I wouldn’t starve because you denied me blood, nor will I survive only because you gave it.”

  But you do need mine because I’m your master. I didn’t want to flaunt that tidbit unless he pushed. “You’re comparing sex to blood?”

  “Both feed certain hungers.”

  “Menessos. I think what you get should be more valuable to you.”

  “Why? Because it doesn’t require such vigorous interaction?”

  I refused to let that comment sting. “You said you weren’t sex starved. So what is this truly about?”

  “Johnny gets more than sex.”

  Aha. The sorrow in his voice beckoned my pity. I couldn’t deny it, but I could fight it with reason. I went forward and put my hands on his cheeks and tried not to think about the fact that my blood was yet on his chin. Earnestly, I said, “Menessos. I am not Una.”

  That statement had an effect.

  I felt the stirring within him cease and he stilled to his core. He sidestepped away from me and strolled to the suit of armor. His back remained to me. “You said you wanted to know about the bond between the two of you, of the imprint. I thought you would figure it out for yourself with my nudge.”

  “So you admit you did something.”

  “Through the hex, I used your passion like a ritual.”

  “You can’t mark him through me.” Could he?

  “No.” He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped at the blood on his mouth and chin.

  “You can’t make me hex someone else.” I wiped blood from my cheek with an unseen part inside the robe’s sleeve.

  “No.”

  “Then what ritual?”

  “It is a link, but without a master. As if the two of you have bonded on equal terms.” He crumpled the hanky and shoved it into his pocket. “As mates.”

  “Like a m-marriage?” I stammered.

  “You sound bewildered by that notion. You love him, don’t you?”

  My mouth was open. I clamped it shut.

  Over his shoulder, he said, “You’re not an intemperate woman, Persephone. There are emotions between the two of you, or you would not have imprinted in the first place.”

  All my warning flags were snapping in storm-brewing winds. “Basic rule of magic: you don’t perform magic for another unless they have asked you to. It’s wrong.”

  Menessos chuckled softly. “That is your religion talking.”

  I needed to get myself and this conversation back on track, but he’d opened another door and, while he’d likely done it on purpose, I couldn’t resist peeking through. “Are you suggesting my religion is not yours, as well, vampire-wizard? At the Eximium, I saw Hecate reach for you. I heard her tell you to be forgiven. What was that all about?”

  Menessos twisted around. “What did you say?” Rushing back to me, he didn’t wait for an answer. “Say that again.”

  I backed up, bumping into the desk. Menessos gripped my arms. “What did you say?” he demanded.

  Obviously, I had information he badly wanted. This was an opportunity to make that work for me. “Answer all my questions completely, and I’ll answer yours in kind.” As an afterthought, I added, “How forthcoming you are will directly dictate how forthcoming I will be.”

  “No energy threats, just questions and answers?”

  “If these are rules both sides will keep, then certainly.”

  “Agreed.” He pressed his body to mine, nuzzled my ear, and licked again at the blood drying around the wound he’d reopened. “Ask away.”

  My body’s yearning renewed. I struggled to form my lucid question.

  “And no manipulative foreplay.”

  “As you wish.” The vampire returned to his desk and seated himself behind it.

  He gave in too easily. Or, perhaps not. Mentioning I wasn’t his ancient inamorata seemed to have—at least temporarily—dampened his passion. I’d take what I could get. I sank into one of the guest chairs. “What ritual did you work over us without our permission?”

  “As I said, you are more fully bonded.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “I thought the two of you would come to understand on your own, by sharing a more fulfilling union. I told you bliss doesn’t have to be—”

  “Hard to find. I remember. And?”

  “You will share a mental connection, knowing each other’s moods more readily, empathically. If there is an emotion strong enough, like fear, it may call to the other—a benefit that, as your other role becomes clearer and more advanced, you may find as worthwhile as the more physical one.”

  If he meant being the Lustrata was dangerous, that wasn’t a surprise. I crossed my arms and my legs. “And what’s the bonus in this for you?”

  “Bonus?”

  “You t
old me earlier that ‘if there is an advantage for me, I will command you to action’ and apparently you were commanding. All your altruistic claims aside, he’s a waere and what you dared was very dangerous.”

  “With all that you are to me, for you to be bound to all that he is to become, I benefit. And with what he is to become, wizardry isn’t as much of a threat.” Menessos projected nothing but sincerity. “You must be safe, Persephone. I have acted only to increase his ability to provide protection. Think of it as a gift.”

  He had an angle that, while I didn’t approve, I understood. “Speaking of protection.” My crossed arms fell. “I spoke with Xerxadrea. Are you possibly willing to share your secret with the vampire—what are they now?—lords or executives?”

  “They are presently preferring the term ‘executives,’ but in my company you may use whatever term you like. And no, I am not willing to share.”

  “Even if it would mean they came to your aid?”

  “If they were to come to my aid, then too much would change, and nothing would change at all.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means perceptions would change, people would think the situation different than now, but it would not be.” He shook his head and stared off at one of the museum cases. “The world would have a target to blame, and an immortal sage to be hounded by museums and historians, begged for explanations of the eons. And I wish to be neither of those.”

  “Enough to risk dying?”

  With a steady stare, he said, “Yes.”

  I couldn’t breathe; tension squeezed me like a vise. I stood. “Don’t put it all on my shoulders to save you. You have to do something, too!”

  He also stood. “I am not putting it all on you. Believe me, I am being proactive about this.” When I didn’t respond, he asked, “Has WEC tried negotiating yet?”

  “Yes. The fairies will not negotiate.”

  He began pacing behind his desk. “Is there a time frame?”

  “Headlands Dunes on Lake Erie at dawn this coming Sunday.”

  He nodded.

  “As Xerxadrea said, the council wants me to deliver you. Barring that, they’re giving consideration to asking the Vampire Executive International Network for approval to take you, a debt they’ll repay with their blood.”

  “If you deliver me, what are they offering?”

  “They recognize me as Lustrata.”

  He stopped and considered it. “Not a small offer, WEC endorsement. But they still cannot force witches individually to believe it, or to like it. Depending on the influence of the higher-ups, and their take on what you represent, they could either undermine you with propaganda, or build you up with it. They could use the threat of repercussions to lessen opposition to you, or the punishments they dole out could be inconsequential.” He stroked his beard thoughtfully. “That offer could be good or bad. What’s the threat if you don’t?”

  I sat again. “That was my other question for you. Xerxadrea said I’d be Bindspoken.”

  His shoulders squared and his hands dropped, clenching. “They wouldn’t dare!” Then his chin dropped. “And yet … they just might.”

  “How does that happen?”

  “I do not know, exactly.”

  “They can’t do that from afar, though. Right?”

  His fists loosened as he considered it. “No.”

  “Is there anything in the Codex that can protect me?”

  “Yes.” He nodded and came around the desk and rested one hip on it, directly in front of me. “But first you’re going to have to go to Wolfsbane and Absinthe.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “What’s Wolfsbane and Absinthe?” I leaned toward Menessos and gripped the arm of his chair.

  “I will tell you that, after you’ve answered my questions about what you saw at the Eximium.” Still leaning on his desk, he crossed his arms.

  Damn it. Did I play stubborn? Hoping that playing along would win me some points, I conceded as he had, saying, “As you wish.”

  He nodded, then became as solemn as I had ever seen him. “Tell me again, in detail, what you saw at the Eximium.”

  “Just as Xerxadrea started to announce what her test would be, she spoke of Hecate. I felt the touch of Her power, and a light formed behind Xerxadrea. I could smell raisin and currant cakes. Then you sat up straighter. Did you see Her, too?”

  “I remember what seconds you speak of, but I saw nothing. I heard an owl screech.” His hand slid up to stroke his chin.

  “I didn’t hear that.”

  He was intent. “What did She look like?”

  “She was beautiful, and haggard. Then at the Ball—”

  “You saw Her at the Witches’ Ball, as well?”

  “Yes. After everything was over with Beverley. Xerxadrea took my arm and then …” My words trailed off. I reclined in the chair, remembering. Twice Xerxadrea had been the catalyst of my seeing the Goddess as Hecate. I had also seen Her as a mustang and as a woman in my meditations. As a child, I saw Her once when alone in a cornfield.

  “Then what?” Menessos moved to the chair next to me. He perched on its edge, leaning close to me.

  “I was with Hecate. Her face seemed to grow old, then grow youthful in seconds. Her eyes were so strange. They were eyes of the moon, eyes that had stared into the sun for eons.” She’d said I would seek Her and find Her, when I was ready to see my own soul. But I wasn’t going to tell Menessos about that.

  “And what of me?”

  “She gave Her Blessing to us, to the witches that hear Her. ‘Witches mine,’ She said. As She came forward, She reached out to you and said, ‘Be forgiven,’ as She passed and—”

  “Touched my cheek.” Menessos sat back.

  “Yes. You felt it?”

  “Like the moon had kissed me.” That made him smile and sigh. A visible amount of relief swept over him then his relief transformed into seduction. “I know who and what you are, Persephone. And you are right, you’re not Una. But, I yearn for you.”

  Not this again. “Menessos.”

  “Una saw visions of the Goddess, too. And so did—so did the second Lustrata.”

  I was gearing up to relaunch my protest, but this information made me curious. “What kind of visions?”

  “Much like yours, I’m certain. They left her awestruck and inspired. Both former Lustratas explained their visions to me, but these incidents, though compelling, do not foster the same fervor in those who hear the tale as they do for those who are a part of the encounter.”

  I shared my agreement with a nod. My thoughts skipped back to this Wolfsbane and Absinthe. If I am Bindspoken, there will be no more visions.

  Menessos touched my arm. I peered into his eyes. “Kiss me, Persephone. Kiss me and I will let you see the Codex.”

  I made an irritated face at him and stood so I could look down at him. “I know you’ve lived longer in times when women were mere chattel than you’ve lived in times where women had rights and liberties, but that’s where you are now. Either you’re with me and you share information I need without demanding whorish behavior from me, or you’re not on my side.”

  “There is nothing whorish about your behavior.”

  “A kiss in trade for valuable information is.”

  “Don’t I deserve some recompense for what I provide?”

  “You get my blood.”

  “For my loyalty.”

  I stomped my foot. “And loyalty means you share valuable information!”

  Menessos laughed out loud.

  “What?”

  “No matter what else time and circumstance has made of us, I am still a man and you are a beautiful woman. I do not need to draw you a picture, do I?” He gestured toward the rear of the room. “Actually, there is a painting back there that depicts it.” He indicated a gilded frame that held the image of a pale woman in luminous and falling bedclothes astride a man in a rumpled bed.

  I rolled my eyes.

  “If I gain your kisses wi
th information I provide, I will endeavor to always have information you need.”

  This subject needed to be resolved so we could come to some kind of mutual understanding, master to servant, vampire-wizard to Lustrata, and vampire executive to Erus Veneficus. “I need to know how to protect myself against being Bindspoken, and if you give a rat’s hairy ass about me, you’ll help me because you care and because it’s the right thing to do.”

  “I care, Persephone. I care for you deeply.” He stood. His fingers caressed my arm. “Do you care for me?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why such a fuss over a kiss? Did you not enjoy kissing me?”

  “Twice we’ve kissed, and twice I’ve been unwilling. You wound me up in your power when we saved Theo, and you manipulated me with energy here before you kissed me and fed from me. Maybe kisses are trivial to you, but they aren’t to me. They’re personal and intimate and not given so freely as you’d like.”

  He inched nearer. “Have you forgotten the kisses after you tended the injury Goliath’s brother inflicted? I won those with poetry.”

  Okay. I had forgotten those.

  “I am wounded that you did not remember.”

  “Menessos, fine, you’ve made advances on me and I know you’re interested. I get it. And in spite of all the kindnesses you have shown me, in spite of destinies running in sync, I’m not a player. That’s not my lifestyle. It seems to be yours, so go, do your thing, but don’t waste your time on me, and for pity’s sake stop trying to coerce me. I don’t want to go where kissing like that will lead me.”

  His expression went all male. “Where will it lead?” His caress slid down so he could take my hand in his.

  I did not clutch his hand in return. “You said you wanted what Johnny had.”

  “I did. And I do. But I will not take it from you forcibly. And I could have.”

  That was true.

  “Just a kiss, Persephone. Agree to just a kiss now and then, not from your servant, not from the master of the Erus Veneficus, but as a reward for service in aid of the Lustrata.”

  It sounded logical, if not innocent, and it wasn’t like kissing him had been unpleasant. It had been damned nice, in fact. But that logic disrespected Johnny and betrayed his trust. He didn’t deserve that.