by Joey W. Hill
Ramona waved a hand, avoiding the obvious old argument. “That’s how strong that connection is. But in those very first few moments, there is no questioning it. That’s our window of opportunity. We just need to keep her attention on Ben, and he can reassure her that what we’re doing is okay, while we swaddle her up in a warm blanket of magic to transport her.”
Marcie saw everyone was nodding. Well, everyone who understood what Ramona was talking about. Her husband, however, was scowling. His expression had morphed from confusion to annoyance, to a few emotions that obviously fell in the not-pleased category.
“You want me to read her a bedtime story,” Ben said. “I’m re-thinking the first thought I had on the parking deck.”
“What was that?” Ruby asked.
“You’re a bunch of nuts from a Cosplay con.”
“Oh, I love going to those.” Ramona beamed widely. “You can dress up as whatever you want.” Her gaze slid over him. “For what you’re about to do, you’ll be fine wearing what you’re wearing. But you may want foul weather gear, rain boots, because you’re going to get soaked, no matter what.”
Ben rubbed a hand over his face. Temper was about to go from simmer to boil in his eyes. Thankfully, Raina stepped in to expand on Ramona’s plan of action.
“The root of good magic is in focus,” she said. “When she emerges, she will be quite…large. Getting her attention in a positive way is a challenge. Ramona will put a focus spell on this book, so that when triggered, it will initially project itself like a tap on her shoulder, a tug of her ear. As you continue to call out the words that match the spirit of the book, but come from your heart, your experiences, the spell will unfold, wrap around her, calm her. That will give us the moment we need to create the cocoon around her she describes.”
Ben stared at her. Shaking his head, a sharp movement, he went to the couch, propped his hips on the back of it, stretched out his legs before him. As he crossed his arms over his chest, he looked toward the ceiling. “We’re dealing with something big enough to disrupt the floor of the Mississippi, cause an earthquake that will swallow New Orleans. To avoid that, we have to convince her to tiptoe out of her egg, pod, whatever. And our great idea for that is reading her an improv bedtime story.”
“Exactly,” Ramona confirmed. “What’s more soothing than a parent reading a child a bedtime story?”
“What’s the rest of the world going to be doing?” Marcie interjected hastily, as Ben’s fiery green gaze snapped down from the ceiling. “I mean, how are we going to have the time and space to do this with every law enforcement agency in the state descending on us, along with the news media and any idiot who wants to record it on a cell phone?
"Ruby and Derek will craft and hold a shield on the river to screen our activities from viewers,” Raina said.
“Along the whole river?” Marcie asked incredulously.
“No. We have a pretty good idea where she is emerging,” Ruby said. “We’ve been studying the ley line patterns for several weeks. It will happen in front of the Aquarium and mall.”
“Of course. The most popular section of riverfront in New Orleans, aside from Jackson Square.” Ben shook his head. “Any way to keep her asleep?”
“Keeping her dormant is like trying to keep a baby from being born,” Derek responded seriously.
“The only way to do that is kill her in the womb,” Mikhael said. “It was an option. Still is.”
Ramona’s gaze went him, her hands falling to the counter to grip the edge. “She’s an innocent.”
“Many innocents get sacrificed in the turn of the wheel. Regrettable as that may be, it often keeps the wheel moving the way it is intended,” he said. “Those rabbits feed many wolves.”
A chill ran up Marcie’s spine. He was serious. His eyes went peculiarly flat and dark as he spoke.
Derek didn’t disagree with the Dark Guardian, but there was a tightness to his expression that said it wasn’t his normal modus operandi.
“Marcie.” Ruby spoke, drawing her attention from the unsettling male. “Protecting the world isn’t nearly as glorious and clean as people imagine it might be. Hard choices often must be made.”
“But in this case, sacrificing the rabbit is our last resort,” Ramona said sharply, her lavender gaze suddenly sword sharp and directed at Mikhael. “Right?”
“Of course,” he said mildly. “But we also need to be alert to threats far less innocent in nature.” His mouth tightened as his gaze swept the others. “Elagra will want to witness her triumph. She will come ready to fight. We have inadvertently let her know there will be active opposition to her plan.”
Ben straightened from the couch. “Assuming Elagra’s right about the when being the new moon, we’re at less than a day and counting. And we’re still standing here.”
“We have time to get what is needed in place,” Derek said. “As we said at the beginning, this is often our usual lead time for such things.”
“Glad it’s a routine day at the office for you guys. But I’m not feeling hugely reassured to hear that.” Ben drew out his cell phone. When all eyes turned to him, he hit a button and lifted the phone to his ear. “Out of every insane thing I’ve heard here, there’s one I can address in a practical way.”
He turned his attention to the phone. “Hey, Matt. Yeah, I’ll catch you up in a minute, but we need to pull in favors from our utility contacts, and probably throw in some serious bribery. We need to shut down the Aquarium section of riverfront before midnight tonight.”
Ben glanced toward Mikhael. “No way to do a C-section of sorts, do it on our timetable?”
“Her birth must happen naturally; else it would be even more frightening and alarming to her.”
“Just like a female. The rest of us have to stand around, waiting on her to get ready.” Ben sighed and moved away to the balcony, continuing to work out logistics with Matt. Marcie expected there was going to be some creative cursing on both sides. Ben was also going to have his work cut out for him, convincing Matt and the others to stay clear of this. She understood his urgency. While she didn’t understand everything that the Guardians and witches were planning, there’d need to be a lot of oversight happening on the “mundane” side of things, to keep people safe. Matt and his team would excel at that, even though they would hate letting Ben and Marcie stand on the front line alone.
She looked at their four companions, and remembered what Raina had said down in the bar. Ben just had to convince Matt that they wouldn’t be alone.
“Crazy as it sounds, I sort of understand what his job will be,” Marcie said to Raina. “What will mine be?”
“You and I will have Elagra. You’ll be my backup when she shows up to cause trouble. If she interferes, we will take her down with the level of violence necessary, magical or physical.”
Marcie’s lips curved in a feral smile. “How broad is your definition of necessary? Because when it comes to her, mine is as wide as the fucking ocean.”
“Oh, I like her,” Ramona said.
Chapter Fourteen
Convincing Matt and the others not to get involved had been the hardest task so far, enough that Derek had murmured something to Ruby about a spell to take away memory. But Ben didn’t want them fucking with his boss’s head, or any of his brothers, so he used every argument in his persuasive lawyer arsenal. Including the less fair ones.
“You have a daughter,” he told Matt on their final phone call about it. Final, because in about an hour they’d be on their way to the waterfront. He had to make sure Matt and the others weren’t there. “Get her the hell out of New Orleans in case the worst happens. Or at least to a higher elevation. Get all of our family somewhere safe, so I’m not worrying about them. These guys…they know what they’re doing.”
He knew shit about magic, but his experience with Elagra had told him it could be powerful in the wrong hands, or the right ones. Despite his admitted incredulity over the plan they were contemplating, his brief experience with Mikhael, Rai
na, Ruby and Derek told his gut they were the right hands. They were every bit as accomplished as they believed they were. A person skilled in their chosen field projected a certain kind of confidence, and they all had it.
“You know when we have the right number of people on the job, and any more are just going to create fuck-ups?” he told Matt. “This is that point. I’m not bullshitting you.” And he wasn’t. For one thing, there were three people in his life he couldn’t bullshit. The first had been Jonas Kensington. His son had that same superhuman radar for a lie.
Marcie had become the third. She might not question or call him on it the way Matt would, but those big brown eyes would tell him she knew exactly what kind of line he was feeding her…or himself.
“I know you guys would stand with me until the end,” he said gruffly to Matt. “This isn’t about that, or me being noble. If we fail, or even if we don’t, you guys will be needed to help with recovery, same as with Katrina.”
Matt paused a long moment, during which Ben could feel him struggling with it. It was hell and gone from his nature to stand back while any of those he saw as his family stood in the path of danger. When Peter had been in Afghanistan, it had sucked for all of them. The anxious gnawing in the gut never went away. Half of them tried to tune out news reports, while the other half tracked them like hawks.
“Fine,” his boss said at last. “But only because Marcie is going to be watching your ass.”
Ben snorted. “If I could tie her hand and foot and dump her on your doorstep, I would.”
“Yeah, I’d like to see that.”
“You don’t think I could take her?”
“I think we could lay bets on how many broken bones you’d have before it was done, but yeah, you could. The problem is you could never untie her, because when you did, she’d shoot you in the balls. And then beat you to a bloody pulp with those tiny, lethal fists of hers.”
Ben’s gut eased at the low-level teasing. Matt was going to trust him on this one. But Ben knew what that could cost his boss. His friend and brother. “You’ve been busting your asses to get the waterfront evacuated while we’ve basically been living it up in this hotel suite, napping and watching the clock. You’ve done enough, I promise. I’ll keep you posted, but Matt, whatever happens, you’re making the right decision. I promise you that.”
“Survive this, both of you, so I’ll be sure of it.”
“Do our best.”
When he clicked off, he went to the bedroom. Mikhael and Raina were in their suite. Marcie had wanted a shower before they got ready to go. He’d joined her for that, but had left her to her post-shower prep to make those last couple calls, tie up some loose ends.
As he came into the still steamy bathroom, he discovered her standing in front of the large mirror over the sink. She was wearing her panties and bra, and she was still and quiet, her head dipped down.
“Marcie?”
She had her fingers on the solid silver band that rested just above her collar bones. The circlet of stainless steel had a key pin locking mechanism in back and an etching of forget-me-nots on the front. She liked calling them forget-me-knots, with a k.
Her collar. She rarely took it off, the symbol of his ownership even more a part of her than her cherished wedding set. He met her gaze in the mirror. Holding it, he fished the tiny wrench out of the watch pocket of his jeans. Her lips trembled slightly as he pushed out the pin. Before he could remove it, her hand shifted, closed over the collar fully, tightening.
“I can’t wear it during a fight,” she said. He knew that. Working for Savannah, she’d been able to wear it pretty regularly. As a cop, she wouldn’t be able to wear it on the job, couldn’t wear it to her current academy training classes. She knew he knew that, but he realized she was telling herself that, warring with herself over it.
Gently but firmly, he took the collar off her, his fingers caressing the bones at the base of her delicate throat. He fitted the pin back into it, laid it on the counter.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
“I never stop,” she said.
Curving his hand over her throat, he lowered his other hand out of view of the mirror, passing over her firm buttock. He traced the seam of her ass with his thumb as he found his way lower, and under. She adjusted for him, opening her stance, and bit her lip as he found her, rubbed against the already slightly damp fabric. He tightened his grip on her throat.
“The collar’s always there,” he said. “Right?”
She nodded. Dropping his grip from her throat, he hooked his thumb in the lace connector between the bra cups, tugged and twisted. He pulled them up so the underwiring pressed against the tops of her breasts, revealing her generous curves to him, quivering with her quick breaths, her nipples tight. She was a gorgeous woman physically, from head to toe. But her beauty, a word that had so much meaning that it could hit him in the chest and take his breath, had very little to do with her outside appearance.
He nudged her head to the side to dip his own down, touch her mouth with his lips, take a bite of her full bottom one.
“You forget how to address me, brat?”
“Yes, Master,” she corrected herself, her pupils dilating and that breathiness increasing. “The collar is always there.”
He hadn’t donned a shirt, and had only threaded the belt into his jeans, hadn’t buttoned or buckled them yet, so it was easy to push down the zipper one handed, moves slow and deliberate as he watched her in the mirror. Her eyes were fastened on him, her lips parted, breath shallow.
He put a hand against her nape, palm sliding down to spread over her back, between her shoulder blades, push her forward so she braced herself on the counter. He pulled down her underwear and pushed her forward onto her toes.
She moaned as he went into her. He didn’t hurt her, but he didn’t take his time either, letting her feel every inch of his substantial length. She was as wet inside as she always was for him. He settled himself to the root.
“Always, Marcella,” he said, his eyes boring into hers. “The collar is just a symbol. The damn thing is branded onto you, so even when you’re not wearing it, I see it. And you feel it, don’t you?”
“To the soul, Master.” That last syllable went up as he thrust in harder. Her lips parted, her tongue touching one in a way that made him wish there was time to put her on her knees, make her go down on him after this, but they were on the clock.
He’d make this count, and damn well make up the difference later. “You’ll come while I look at your face and think how goddamn lucky I am.”
She tried to look at him, too, as he built her up higher and higher, as her cries grew thin and pleading, as she went over, grabbing hold of his arm for support as she writhed and bucked against his grip. And then he held her tight, as he took his own pleasure, let his release build and build, and then jet into her, bathing her with his heat inside as he pressed against her shoulders to thigh, giving her the same warmth on the outside.
As they came down, breathing and heart rate settling, he had his arm wrapped around her, holding her up on shaky legs. “If I fucked you into near collapse, you wouldn’t be strong enough to go with us,” he said, a low growl against her temple.
“I’d find the strength,” she whispered, but she had her eyes closed and she pressed her face to his shoulder. He dipped his head over hers, brushed his lips over her forehead, her temple, stroked her there with his fingers.
He was far too tempted to do what he’d told Matt he would, so he turned his attention to more immediate, practical concerns, though equally pleasurable. He kept her leaning forward like that, his hand light but firm on her nape. One-handed, he pulled down a washcloth, ran it under the warm water tap, and then used it to run it over her still slick cunt, her inner thighs where his seed was trickling, marking her.
“Ben,” she murmured, her eyes large and deep. “Master.”
He tossed the cloth to the side after he used it on himself. “What are you going to wear?”
She gestured to a pile of neatly folded clothes on the side counter. Jeans, tank, functional fight clothes.
“If I’d known action hero was on our list of to-dos this week, I would have ordered that latex Underworld outfit for you,” he said, though his voice was rough, his delivery of the joke flat. Nothing better damn well happen to her, or someone would die.
He helped her dress, and she didn’t question why, merely stood docile as he had her step into the jeans, brought them up over her long thighs and toned ass. Lifted her arms when he threaded the tank over them and her head. He tucked it in, slipped the slim belt she was wearing through the loops, gave it an extra tight pull, making her breath skip a beat as the rough motion pulled her to him. Then he eased it out, put it at the normal hole.
He brushed her hair, having her face the mirror. Her fingers rested on the counter, her lips pressing together nervously as she looked at him. When it was silk on her shoulder blades, he picked up the band and wrapped it around the thick tail.
Done. Even without the Kate outfit, she looked better than any woman he’d ever seen. She wore no jewelry except her wedding set. She was worrying it with her thumb, those platinum bands, the marquis diamond in the center.
“It’s not the outfit, but the woman in it,” he said. “Though I’m still getting you some latex when this is over.”
A tentative playfulness crossed her features when her gaze coursed over his bare chest and jeans.
“You really need a duster so I can bring my Karl Urban dreams to life,” she said.
“You just made sure I’ll never own a duster,” he said, making her giggle, as if nothing more was happening than her going off to work. She’d plan it that way to keep his head in the game. She was a nurturer, his brat. Good thing she had him to watch over her, too.
So here they were, an hour before midnight, standing on the roof of the Aquarium, surveying something rarely seen—a deserted New Orleans waterfront. The only other time Ben had seen it was right before Katrina, when he and the other guys had helped with final sweeps to evacuate any homeless people, misguided stragglers or pets left behind.
