by Celia Aaron
I’d always been fond of stitching; making sure each needle stroke was so very close to the last, curving my thread around each different design to keep the stitches tight. If it wasn’t perfect, I would rip through the seam and start again, frustrating everyone in my quilting circle on plenty of occasions.
The only thing I cared about more than quilting was my books. One of the few women in Killdeer Hollow who could read, I devoured every scrap of paper Pa brought me from nearby towns.
As I sewed with my mother that spring day, I began to feel ill, sinking to the floor mid-stitch. Without warning, a jolt of energy coursed through me, and my mother tried to rouse me. Just like that, cradled in my mother’s arms, Lilah the mortal died.
I later awoke as if from a pleasant dream, feeling like the cat who got the cream. A strange itching sensation on my neck was the only thing that seemed amiss. Well, aside from the fact that a goddess was standing in the middle of the Satterfield cabin. Artemis, in all her glory, had come to claim me and grant me the immortal life my parentage allowed.
It was only after I sprang to my feet and felt imbued with a strange power that my mother revealed my father was from Olympus instead of the neighboring tobacco farm where Pa was born. I didn’t know what was more shocking: that my mother, Nona Satterfield, had a tryst with a beguiling god, or that the stories about Olympus and the gods of old were true.
As I was passing from my old life, Artemis came to take me as one of her own. But Death had to have its due before a god could claim a child of both worlds, a halfling.
Dying and then being drafted by a god or goddess was the only way the child of a mortal and an immortal could bridge the gap between the tenuous mortal life and the immortal. First death and then a new life in the service of one of the gods of old. The symbol which now pulsed on my throat stood as a warning to others that I was Lilah de Artemis, a halfling warrior bound to one of the most powerful deities on Olympus.
I remembered the last I ever saw of my mother, a dazed wave good-bye and a tear rolling down her weathered cheek. And once again that day, my mother was forced to grieve the loss of her daughter. It was only now that I realized the memory of being torn from my true mother hurt worse than even Artemis’s stinging good-bye.
Though, of course, it was my own folly that got me cast out of my second family, the one I still mourned in my heart. I thought of all the times I had cried for missing my sisters, Elena and Iphi—hell, I even missed the coldhearted Lynxia. What I wouldn’t give to have another chance to beat her in Artemis’s archery competition.
There was only one thing I needed to get back the warmth of my sisters—the incubus with a high price on his head. Roth de Lis.
But how to catch him? I decided to mix a little truth with the many lies I was sure to tell in the near future. More flies with honey, I reminded myself for a second time that night. I took a deep breath and sewed the first stitch.
“It’s true.” I sighed for dramatic purpose. “I was in the service of a goddess. Then I was cast out. Now I’m what you could call a freelance immortal, serving no one except myself.”
He continued studying me with his penetrating gaze. Coolness radiated off him in the darkness. I lifted my eyebrows and tried to give off an innocent look that hadn’t worn true on me since my mortal days. Roth seemed to take the bait, relaxing the thick muscles of his chest as he considered me. I only then realized how poised to strike he’d been, as if on a hair trigger. A tingle went down my spine as I thought of the raw power he possessed.
“I don’t deny you lack the strength of an immortal in the service of the gods. The wolf would never have gotten the upper hand if you were still connected to a god or goddess,” he said thoughtfully. My stomach sank at the remark, and I lifted my chin ever so slightly to try and salvage what little was left of my pride.
“I meant no offense, carissima. That was a mark in your favor.” A smile played at the corners of his lips.
I remembered how they felt on my neck, so soft and warm. Gods! If I could have slapped myself on the forehead right then without looking like a total moron, I would have. Of course he knows what to do. He’s an incubus! It’s his life’s purpose to seduce fools like you.
“Why were you cast out?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“And who you served?”
“Also none of your business.”
He frowned again, the dark of his eyes shining like obsidian. “If you aren’t an assassin, then what do you want with me?”
Yessss. He was curious. I could work with curious. Second stitch, coming right up.
7
Roth
I took a step back from her, though it took more than a little effort. I wanted her, and not just as a matter of course for an incubus.
But I was still wary. She had gone to great lengths to find me, and something done with such focus was not bereft of a good reason.
There was some truth in what she told me about being cast out, but I would be a fool to take her words at face value.
“If you’ve been cast out and are working only for yourself.” I gave her body an appraising look. The stole covered her fair breasts, but I could easily sense her plump curves with my night vision. “What sort of business are you in, exactly? Any special services you could offer one such as myself?”
“Not prostitution. Besides, that’s more your game, isn’t it?” Her eyes flashed icily.
“Not quite.” I crossed my arms and leaned against the wall where I’d had her pinned, feeling her residual body heat coming off the stone in pleasant waves. “We should get down to it, carissima. The sun will be up soon.”
“What?” She cocked her head to the side. “Will you burn up like a vamp or something?”
“I have matters to attend to. Spending all my time with you tonight has left my incubus side a little…hungry.” I gave her a wicked smile. “Of course, you would go a long way to ease my suffering.”
She ignored my overture. “Here’s the deal. Have you ever heard of The Wife of Bath: True Tales of a Vampire Vixen?”
“Of course.” I gave a bored wave of my hand. “An unauthorized tell-all book on Desmerada, Vampire Queen, revealing all her dirty little secrets. Scathing, I believe, is the word for it. Though the writer somehow managed to leave out the chapter where I would have had a starring role.”
“Do you know who wrote it?”
“No one does. Apparently, it’s part of the appeal. If that’s all you have to tell me, I best be going.” I didn’t want to leave her, but the dawn was fast approaching. If I didn’t let my incubus side out to play soon, Lilah would be in danger. I was having trouble resisting my desire for her already, a sensation that had nothing to do with my dark nature and everything to do with the way she made me feel.
“Well,” she said, drawing out the word slowly, “what if I told you I was the one who wrote it?”
“What if you did?” I could sense her frustration when she bit her lower lip, her even white teeth pressing into the plump flesh. What would her mouth feel like tracing down my chest? My shaft jumped to attention at the thought.
“My proposition is that I write the same sort of book about you.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Carissima, why on earth would I want that?”
She was whirling the dagger around in her hand now, showing her agitation with my apparent disinterest. She’d been trained and had some skill with the blade. She kept her wrist loose and let the knife do the work. Trained by the gods, but which one?
I wanted to find out whose service she’d been in, though it clearly hadn’t been one of the goddesses of home and hearth. No. Lilah was a being of fire and impulse. I could sense it in her very essence.
She stopped twirling the blade and pointed it at me. “Because you‘ve had thousands of sexcapades with all manner of mortals and immortals. And you’re a narcissist. It’s in your nature to show off.”
I had to admit I was intrigued by the offer, though Lilah
didn’t need to know that. “Only thousands? You might want to up that number a bit, carissima.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Typical.”
I didn’t want to cut our negotiations short, but the sun threatened. The first dusky rays shot out over Sacré-Cœur, and my time was almost up. I needed to get back home, and quickly. I couldn’t risk letting the incubus take over, having gone too long already without sating its needs. Denying it for three nights straight was an acute agony. One more and I ran the risk of being at its mercy. “Besides, what if I said I don’t kiss and tell?”
“You do. That’s what your kind does.” She squared her shoulders and gave me a hard look.
“My kind?”
“You know, men.” She gesticulated toward me with the dagger, nearly cutting another hole into my suit coat.
Some male wounded her badly. “And you know me so well?” A chill emanated from me. I would rip the bastard’s throat out.
Lilah seemed to want to take a step back against my icy onslaught but held her ground, which only made me want her more. “Well enough to know you’d like to have a book written about you that would cement your reputation for the rest of eternity.”
Smart girl, playing to vanity. And her words were true enough. Desmerada had been the talk of the Underworld for quite some time after the withering tome about her life was published. Her love of bathing in virgins’ blood and torturing her lovers to the brink of death was often the topic of conversations I overheard in my dealings with other immortals. She quickly became the most notorious vampire queen of the last few thousand years. Her legend would live on long after the next aspiring queen dusted her, which I hoped would happen sooner rather than later.
“Why would I agree to go along with such a thing? To have my name dragged through the mud like Desmerada’s?” I enjoyed watching Lilah shift from boot heel to boot heel, her hips jutting out suggestively with each curiously nervous move.
And then I noticed it. She was holding her breath. She needed this from me, and needed it badly from the looks of things. Why? I let the seconds pass, seconds of borrowed time that made the incubus flick and curl inside me, threatening. I was only playing with her now. I would accept her offer, though my cooperation would come with a price, one that made me burn with desire just thinking about.
Even as I knew I wouldn’t deny her, I still couldn’t let her have what she wanted too easily. I turned my back and slowly ambled away into the gloom. “Besides, you’d likely never get the chance to finish it. Desmerada’s assassins are surely hunting you as we speak.”
Lilah let out a low and sultry laugh that made me stop in my tracks. “Why would she want me dead? She’s the one who commissioned The Wife of Bath.”
8
Lilah
ROTH’S HOME WAS one of the beautiful Paris mansions, replete with huge wooden double doors that led from the street into a gorgeous courtyard. Only steps from the Champs-Élysées, it was the most fabulous earthly residence I had ever seen. The house itself was three stories and built of pale stone, ivy winding its way up the face and forming a thick facade around the doorway. Though the home was impressive to say the least, the real gem was the garden.
Colorful birds sat in the lush tropical trees lining the walkway through a beautiful portico, and a gentle waterfall tinkled in a far corner. I took in a breath at the abundant flowers cascading from the planters and felt as though I were once again in a flowery glade on the slopes of Olympus. Deep purple and dusky blue blossoms sent out a fragrance that ensnared me as surely as if I had been caught in a net.
“Surprised?” Roth asked me, slowing his brisk pace. He seemed so anxious to get back to his home that I was beginning to suspect he might vamp out on me after all, but then I noticed the first of the sun’s rays dancing along the thick hair at his crown, with nary a wisp of smoke.
“Didn’t take you for the gardening sort.” I tentatively reached up to stroke the silky petal of a giant golden-tipped flower.
“Everyone has their vice.” He peeled the dark coat from his lithe body as he took the steps into the house two at a time.
“Where’s the fire, anyway?” I arched a brow at his retreating back.
“Make yourself at home. I’ll be back to attend you in a little while,” he called over his shoulder. He left the door to the mansion swinging wide as he disappeared within.
I continued my examination of the garden and took my time, perusing each plant in turn, trying to remember their counterparts from the wooded slopes of Olympus. After I satisfied my curiosity, I turned to enter the home.
What I saw inside rivaled anything a Paris museum had to offer. The house was marvelous, full of morning light that glinted off the beautiful windows and a huge crystal chandelier that hung in the foyer. The marble floor was polished, and the walls had been masterfully hand-painted with mythological scenes of battle and glory.
Artemis stared down at me from a beautiful woodland scene, bow in hand as she took down a stag. The likeness was nothing short of entrancing. It was one of the better ones I’d ever seen. Surely, whoever painted the murals must have laid eyes on the deity, the detail was so fine.
“Madam?”
“Gods!” I nearly jumped out of my skin as an elderly man with white hair and kind eyes appeared next to the door. His British accent matched him perfectly as he stood there in crisp butler attire straight out of the 1800s.
His mouth shot closed, and he wrung his hands momentarily. “I-I’m sorry, madam. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“Oh, no, that’s okay. It’s my fault, really.”
“Might I take your stole?” He began wringing his hands again, likely only then realizing that I wasn’t wearing anything under the fur. “Oh, dear.” He sighed, his fluffy white hair wisping as he shrugged.
“It’s okay.”
He stiffened his shoulders, seemingly trying another tack. “The master is engaged at the moment; however, I’m sure he’ll attend to you as soon as he can. Would you like some refreshments while you wait?”
“Sure.” I was happy I could give him something to do. He seemed to be itching to serve and berating himself for his performance thus far. “What’s your name?”
“Bartholomew.”
“Nice to meet you, Bart. I’m Lilah.” I held out my hand, expecting him to shake. Instead, he gave a formal bow and kissed my knuckles. “Wow, Bart, you sure know how to treat a lady. Might want to teach your boss some of those skills.”
An unexpected schoolboy blush rose to his cheeks as he began to lead me through a darkly paneled dining room and into a sunny sitting area. I plopped down onto a splendidly upholstered fainting couch and admired the sumptuous room. Roth is filthy rich.
“Might I interest you in some scones and perhaps tea or freshly squeezed orange juice?”
“You don’t have to serve me.” The loud rumble from my stomach belied my words.
“It is my pleasure to serve, madam.” A smile lit his pale blue eyes. “I’ll be right back with your repast.”
As he bustled off, I continued to admire the home. The room I was seated in was beyond opulent, with luxurious furniture and an intricate rug that sat beneath a crystal table. The man has taste. Though previously uninterested in the finer things in life—a mossy knoll surrounded by stars and moonlight had suited me well enough when in Artemis’s service—living in the mortal world made me admire beautifully crafted items. Being an immortal, I had an uncanny interest in things that would last, and so, it seemed, did Roth.
In what had to be no more than thirty seconds, Bart had returned with some mouthwatering scones on a beautiful serving tray with a fresh pat of butter and a glass full of orange juice. I eyed the rug and the nice furnishings. “Maybe I should eat this in the kitchen?”
Bart cocked his head to the side slightly. “Wherever madam would prefer, but Master Roth’s guests frequently take their tea in here.”
“Well, when in Rome.” I greedily dug into the feast. Bart seemed pleased
that I was eager to eat what he had prepared, a faint smile of satisfaction creeping into his old visage. This guy really does live to serve.
His gaze suddenly sharpened on a point behind me, and he stared at the filigreed inlay on the mantle above the massive fireplace. Moving more quickly than I thought was possible for someone his age, he assiduously whipped out a polishing cloth from within his staid butler’s suit and began wiping the marble and metal with a vengeance, though I failed to see one speck of dirt from where I sat.
“These are really something, Bart.” I relished the honeyed warmth of the scones. It seemed like days since I’d last eaten, and I enjoyed every bite as I reclined into the fainting couch.
“Thank you, madam.”
When thoroughly engaged in his mission to rid the mantle of even the hint of grime, he asked, “Perhaps when you are finished with your meal, you will be prepared for Master Roth?”
My mouth was full of scone. “Prepared for what, Bart?”
He stopped his furious cleaning to glance over his shoulder at me, the blush once again creeping into his pale cheeks. He cleared his throat softly. “Well, madam. For his…attentions.”
“Attentions?” I almost blew the scone out of my mouth as I sat up straight. “You think I’m here to-to-to—” I began sputtering and couldn’t seem to stop.
He dropped his polishing cloth, his skin going from pink to bright red. “He’s with Corinne right now, and I believe she’s the one who put in the request for a new assistant,” he said the last word as if it were in air quotes. “Was it she with whom you spoke? I can fetch her as soon as she’s finished.” He was ever trying to be the helpful butler.
“Finished with what?” I was certain I already knew the answer. The stab of hurt that went through me was out of place. I reminded myself this kind of behavior was par for the course when it came to males. Roth was doing what men did whenever I was around—getting busy with some random chick right under my nose. I didn’t understand the envy that cut through me when I imagined him with someone else. I’d only just met the creep, after all. I fought against the emotion. Why should I care if he bedded the entire city? He probably already had. He was an incubus, after all. I refocused on my mission, realizing any feelings of jealousy I might have had were inconsequential compared to my need to return home.
