“Who was your agreement with?”
“Serin Alaisa Xannon, the first Keeper of the Dolphin Throne.”
She recognized that name. Her sister had told her the leaves in the archives that her sister studied had belonged to Serin Alaisa Xannon. The sheer age of these archivists astounded her. They’d been here literally since the foundation to the house was laid. The number of things they’d seen and experienced here made her skin tingle. There was no better source of information, and it had been here under her own roof, since before she was born. They could hear her thoughts, but she didn’t care. She honored this connection and wanted them to know.
“Do you know for sure that there’s no other way to free them? Do you know for sure that removing the Stulos will cause any damage?”
Their silence was answer enough. “Perhaps you should look into that. As you said, knowledge is power. If you don’t want me to rush in, I suggest you provide knowledge.”
Her mind exploded with images and voices. She took her hand away to give them time to discuss her proposal. When the archivist reached for her again, it was a very subdued voice that filled her head.
“We are bound to assist.”
She found it fascinating that even though she had no idea what the agreement was, they felt honor bound to keep it.
Still, she had to ask: “Did you have a part in any of this with Rasmussen or Steffahn?”
“We belong to no court. We are Ancients. We are bound to the House of Xannon.” The indignation that colored the words did more to convince her than the words themselves.
“Bring me information, and I’ll consider your request.”
“It will be done.” The archivist vanished.
Some day she was going to have to learn how to travel like they did. Walls seemed to be no barrier. The House of Xannon was vulnerable to anyone, or anything, who was just like the archivists. Rasmussen and anyone else like them could come and go at will. It didn’t instill confidence.
She’d need help to make her promise happen. She might even have to make more deals, something she simply wasn’t equipped to handle. But maybe between Calliope, Frankie, Alex and Daric, they could get it done. If Daric would talk to her.
She missed her friend. In her heart, she knew he was much more than just a friend.
Time to grovel.
Chapter 45
Tarian stepped through a portal directly into the middle of Daric’s living room in Philly. “You know, you really should put some sort of security on this place.”
“No need.”
She stood next to the sofa and looked at him. He continued to stare at the TV. Bad sign.
“You say that a lot. This isn’t exactly the suburbs here. And Rasmussen attacked right outside your door.”
He blinked, but his body remained motionless.
“Still pissed?”
“What can I do for you, Keeper?” His tone was worse than angry. It was cold. He turned off the TV but didn’t turn to look at her.
“You can look at me, for starters. And you can stop calling me ‘Keeper.’”
He continued to stare at the blank screen.
“Fine. Be childish. It’s not like I haven’t been the same.” She sighed. This wasn’t going well at all. Her stomach churned.
“Do you have any crackers? My stomach isn’t happy today.”
He looked up at her, then his eyes flicked down to her stomach and back up.
“You don’t have to talk. Just listen.” She sat down next to him. “The thing is…well, the thing is I stink at apologizing. But that’s what I’m doing. I know you weren’t in on any of…what happened. I know you are, or were, my friend. And I didn’t treat you like one. I’m sorry.”
He started to speak, but she put up a hand to stop him. “No, hear me out. I just wanted to tell you thank you for all your help. And for the friendship you showed me and my family.”
She saw that at least his face wasn’t set in stone anymore. He listened, even if he didn’t forgive. Yet. “Calliope told me what happened after I banished myself, and the archivists filled in the rest. How you sent the demon back along the same line I brought him in with. How you did the spell to bring me back. All of it. The archivists are quite the spy network. I'm pretty sure there's nothing that happens in connection with the House of Xannon that they don't know. Kind of creepy to think about, but comforting too.”
She took a deep breath. “I guess if Victor Aiello were my brother, I wouldn’t have advertised it either. Family. You can’t pick them. You’re stuck with them. But you can choose your friends. And, for what it’s worth, I choose you.”
She fell silent, unable to figure out anything more to say.
“He was my half-brother,” Daric said. His quiet tone still had a hard edge. “His mother died in childbirth.”
“So he started young, then.” She nudged Daric with her shoulder. He snorted.
She paused and waited for Daric to join in the conversation. Nothing. But his back was a little less tense. Maybe.
The silence spun out to fill the room and make things uncomfortable. It was a trick she’d learned from her mother. Most people couldn’t stand silence.
She shifted on the sofa, then picked at a nail. She was about to break the silence herself when Daric finally spoke. “My mother tried to call you, but you didn’t answer.”
“Your mother? But not you?”
He stared at the blank TV.
“I gave up on cell phones. Something in my body chemistry just doesn’t agree with the circuitry. Frankie almost threw the last one at me. I killed it in under 30 seconds. He’s trying to figure out some other way for me to stay in touch. Not that anyone is trying to contact me these days.”
She couldn’t keep the depression out of her voice. Most people didn’t know how to handle her new role, and neither did she. She hadn’t been able to go out by herself. She didn’t dare leave the House unattended for long. She hadn’t heard from Daric at all, which was the part that hurt the most because it was entirely her own fault. She sniffed.
Daric glanced at her.
“I’m getting a cold,” she said, and sniffled again.
“Right.”
She sighed. “It’s been over two months, but I still feel like she’s going to walk through my bedroom door at any moment and yell at me about something. I wish she would.”
Daric placed his hand over hers where it rested on her leg.
“When you’re up for it, my mom would like to see you.”
“I’d like to meet her.” Her heart skipped more at the words than at the touch of his hand on hers. He was definitely thawing.
“You already have.”
“When?” She searched her mind for the name Voltain. She couldn’t remember anyone other than Daric with that name.
“I told you, she’s a teacher. She used to tutor you in history. Don’t you remember?”
“I hated history.” She thought back to her tutors. There’d been several over the years. History reminded her of dusty old books in the archive. An image of a tall woman with sparkling eyes surfaced. Eyes just like Daric’s. “You mean Miss. V.?”
He chuckled. “You do remember. She’ll like that.”
“I never knew her real last name. She was Miss. V. to me. And you never said. Why didn’t you tell me?” She punched him on the arm.
“You never asked.”
“I slept through a lot of those lessons.”
“I know. I heard all about you.”
He flashed a smile, and the dimple peeking out from his cheek warmed her heart.
She smiled back. They locked eyes, and something in his…concern? friendship? something else? made hers spill over in tears. Before she could stop, sobs wracked her body. Daric took her in his arms and rocked her back and forth. She sank into the warmth of his arms and cried. He rubbed her back and said nothing.
She ran out of tears but remained snuggled in his arms. She felt safe there. But she couldn’t stay. She was Kee
per. She brushed the remaining tears from her eyes and sighed.
“Well, that’s definitely going to tarnish my image.”
“Not in my eyes.” He kissed her forehead. “When are you due?”
“You can tell?” She sniffed. “I do feel fatter.”
“You’re a puddle. You wanted crackers. Yes, I can tell.” The dimple appeared as she spoke. It, more than anything, erased her tears and lifted her mood.
“End of the summer.”
He put a hand on her stomach. The heat from his hand spread into her belly.
“I can feel her.” He looked up, his eyes wide. “She’s so strong.”
“It could be a him. It’s happened before.”
“Not this time. It’s a girl.”
“Is it normal to feel the signature this early?” It was yet another question she wished she could ask her mother.
“I’ll ask Mom. I’m amazed they let you out of the House. Does anyone know?”
“There’s no hiding it. The damn throne announced it by sounding dolphin calls for an entire day. And I didn’t ask permission.”
“Keeper, I think you should go home. You shouldn’t be out where you can get attacked. Not now. I’ll go with you.”
“Told you to stop calling me that.”
“It’s just a name. It doesn’t change who and what you really are.”
“I suppose it’s the least of my worries. But it feels wrong, somehow. My mother was Keeper. I’m just me.”
“I’m sure she thought the same thing when she was your age.”
Tarian nodded and lapsed into silence again for a moment.
“What’s on your mind, Tari?”
“Nothing.”
He laughed. “Even the Keeper does the typical female response.”
“Bite me.”
“Okay, maybe not completely typical. Seriously, what’s wrong? I can tell something’s up. You have that faraway look in your eyes, and you’re tensing your right hand.”
She glanced down at her hands, startled. Her right hand had formed a fist without her even being aware of it. She uncurled the fingers, deliberately placing each one separate on her leg.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Why’d you come here?”
She looked up into his eyes. They held exactly what she needed. Concern. Friendship. Love. “For you.”
He leaned into her and kissed her, his lips tender and soft. “You already have me.”
“Is that all I get? A kiss?”
“What else are you looking for?” His eyes crinkled.
“I’d like to have sex without a demon butting in and a ritual hanging over my head. I’m taking volunteers.”
He laughed.
“Why’d you really come here?”
“I need help. I made a deal with the Carraig. I promised to free them. They kept up their part, now I need to do mine. But the archivists don’t want me to. It’s a big mess, and I need help figuring it out. And I think there’s more to the demon attack than just Victor’s little power play. You said yourself he didn’t use to be so unhinged. Something pushed him over the edge. Question is, what? Is there more going on than I see?”
“Sounds like you need a lawyer, or maybe a therapist. You’re seeing conspiracies where they may not exist.”
“I need a strategist. And someone to help me do this right. Someone to make sure I’m seeing everything as it is, not as I wish it was. Maybe your mother could help, since she knows the histories so well. This time, I want to do things right.” She put her hand on her stomach. “I don’t want her to pay for another of my mistakes.”
“Another?” Daric narrowed his eyes. “What aren’t you telling me?”
She hesitated. She hadn't told anyone other than her mother. Did she dare? Would he think less of her?
"There's nothing you can tell me that would change the way I feel about you." Daric took her face in both hands and turned it toward his. "Trust me."
She stared into his eyes and realized she did trust him. Completely.
"It's just…to get the book, I had to…" She took a deep breath and tried again. "I joined with Steffahn, of the Mayfanata. From what mother told me, even though it wasn't physical sex, the results are the same. He's a part of the child."
She closed her eyes and put both hands on her stomach. She could feel the life there. Strong, vibrant, and unmistakably happy.
"Tarian." Daric's voice was barely a whisper. She didn't want to open her eyes. She didn't want to see what expression was buried in his.
She felt Daric lean in, then his lips softly caressed hers. "She's you, and me, too. And Alex. I'd say that makes her more than a match for anything life throws at her."
Tarian opened her eyes then. Daric's were inches away from her own. What she found there made her want to cry again. It wasn't disgust, disappointment or anger. It was love.
And that was definitely power stronger than any magic.
Finding Flame, Book 2 in the Xannon Series, is available at your favorite online retailer.
* * *
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Beyond the Veil: Book #1, the Veil Series
Pippa DaCosta
“They say I’m half a demon, but I like to think of myself as half human, especially as the demons want me dead.”
Charlie Henderson is living a lie. Her real name is Muse and her attempt at a normal life is about to go up in smoke. When a half-demon assassin walks into her life, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake, Muse must return to the one man she hoped never to see again and ask for help. The Prince of Greed isn’t known for his charity. The price is high and the cost could tear her apart.
Trapped between the malevolent intentions of a Prince of Hell, a bounty-hunter with ulterior motives and all of demon-kind, Muse must embrace the lure of chaos at her core; the demon inside her, in order to survive.
If your ex is the Prince of Greed, you’d better be ready to raise hell.
Chapter 1
I should have known he’d be trouble as soon as he walked into my workshop, but I couldn’t have known he’d be the death of me. He wore a three-quarter length red leather coat, had platinum blond hair long enough to sweep back out of his eyes, and sported scuffed Timberland boots. But, if the goose bumps shivering across my skin were anything to go by, he clearly was not as human as his appearance had me believe.
At first, I tried to ignore him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me hesitate. A quick glance at my dusty clock told me it was late, past midnight, and I’d be damned if I was going to drop everything just because he’d invited himself in. I continued to work on the sword resting on the anvil before me. I hammered out imperfections in the blade’s surface with renewed vigor, metal singing at each blow. Behind me, the coal forge roared. Rolling waves of heat branded my back. I told myself it was sweltering temperatures sprinkling perspiration across my face and back, making my scruffy tank top cling to me, but in truth, it was fear.
Picking up the unfinished sword with gloved hands, I turned and plunged the blade into the glowing coals before facing my uninvited guest. He’d given himself the tour of my cramped workshop, seeming to admire the various swords on display, some unfinished, some as close to art as I was ever going to get. Shame I couldn’t wield them as well as I could craft them.
“Well?” I managed to instil some genuine irritation in my words in the hope it would disguise the anxiety building inside me. I tried to flick my hair out of my face but a few strands stubbornly clung to my sweaty cheek.
“Impressive.” He nodded once and turned arctic-blue eyes on me before flashing what he probably thought was a knee-weakening smile.
If my guest expected me to gush and swoon, he was in for a shock. “Who are you, and what the hell do you want?” It was late. I was tired. He wasn’t human. I figured I was within my rights to be blunt.
His expression tightened. “You’re
Muse, right?” He tossed a gesture at the stuffy workshop. “I was expecting something…else.”
I hadn’t heard that nickname in years. Muse was a tag left over from dark days I didn’t wish to revisit.
Approaching me, he reached inside his coat. I caught a flicker of light slide over a handgun tucked into his waistband and tensed. An unusual motif, like entwined scorpions, adorned the grip. But he didn’t reach for the gun. He withdrew a sword and rested it on my anvil. “I want you to read this.”
I tugged off my glove and skipped my fingers over the smooth surface of the blade. The metal burned cold against my insolent touch, as though the sword resented my presence. It was a wonderful piece of workmanship. The ripple - or hamon - below the surface of the carbon-steel blade hinted at Japanese origins, and the tempered edge was sharp enough to slice through flesh with little effort. An intricate hand-forged guard and leather-wrapped hilt betrayed the sword as functional but with a flair for the dramatic, and yet it was clearly a weapon meant for combat, not ceremony.
A thin snap of power danced up my fingers, and with a small hiss, I snatched my hand back. This sword would not easily give up its secrets. “What’s in it for me?”
“What do you want?”
Now there was a loaded question. I didn’t know what or who he was, and had no idea how much he could afford or what the stakes involved. “It depends on what I’m going to find. If we’re talking murder, then I want danger money. If it’s just a lovers’ tiff you’re interested in, a few hundred should do it. I’m assuming you want recent information. If you need me to go back more than five years, it’ll be another two hundred.”
“Or I could walk out of here now and tell the world where you are. I know there are a few unsavory characters from your checkered past who’d be very grateful for the heads-up on your whereabouts.” His smooth voice and slight smile belied the threat in his words.
Demons & Djinn: Nine Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Novels Featuring Demons, Djinn, and other Bad Boys of the Underworld Page 143
