Soulceress (The Mythean Arcana Series Book 2)

by Hall, Linsey

  He had a feeling that this might be the first time someone had ever stepped in and saved her ass. But if he asked, she’d bite his head off.

  “Thanks for saving me.” She looked up. She’d managed to swallow most of her disappointment and gratitude showed through.

  He felt his chest swell, but he just nodded, then looked away from her. Toward the window, the door. Anywhere but at her.

  She sighed dejectedly, then leaned back on the pillow. “I lost our only clue. And I don’t even know what it said.”

  “The letter?”

  Her eyes brightened, and she sat up a bit straighter. “You have it? I thought I lost it.”

  “Aye, you had a death grip on it when you collapsed in the boat. I saved it. Figured it was important.”

  “Thank gods.” She collapsed back on the bed, relief evident in her face. Then she lifted her head, looking at him suspiciously. “Did you read it?”

  He shook his head. He’d wanted to. Gods, how he’d wanted to know what was within the crumpled envelope bearing her name. But guilt over getting her into this situation had hounded him, and he’d been unable to open it. His desire to do right by Esha now warred with his rage against Aurora.

  He still had to kill Aurora, there was no choice in that. Who was to say that she wouldn’t repeat her past, threatening mortals and Mytheans alike? There was more at stake here than just his soul or the soulceress who had started to work her way into his head.

  “You should rest,” he said.

  “I want my letter.”

  “After you rest. There’s nothing that can be done now, with you in this state.”

  “Might I remind you that you owe me? The least you can do is give me that letter, since I’m in this state because I’m trying to help you.”

  “I know that. But you need to rest.”

  “You don’t know what I need.” Her eyes flashed at him, stronger than the rest of her body—an eerie reminder that she didn’t need to be physically strong to fuck with him. Her magic would do that just fine.

  “Aye, I do. The healer told me. Nothing that will set back your progress. And how do you know the letter isn’t enchanted to cause problems when it’s opened?”

  She frowned. He could tell from her face that what he’d said had hit home.

  She pursed her lips, and her brows drew together over her eyes. “Fine. Tomorrow. But what am I supposed to do until then?”

  “Rest. Get your strength up.”

  “By staring at the wall? I’ve been sleeping for more than a day. I’m getting out of bed.” With a determined look on her face, she heaved herself up off the pillows.

  “Doona!” He stepped forward, arms outstretched to stop her.

  “Ow!” Grimacing, she lowered herself gingerly back onto the pillows. “Damn, that creepy stone claw did a number on me, didn’t it?”

  “Aye. You’ll be out for at least another day. Should be able to walk by tomorrow morning.”

  She frowned at him. “I should be healed by now. What kind of cut-rate healer did you hire, anyway?”

  How could she think he wouldn’t make sure she had the best? But the sight of her laid out in bed, still pale and drawn from the pain, nearly made him bark out a cynical laugh. Of course she didn’t trust him to take care of her. He’d gotten her into this mess. Hounded her until she’d given in and put her life in danger to help him.

  “I’m sorry, lassie. She was one of the best, but your injuries are unusual. You won’t heal as fast as you normally would, but she did the best she could.”

  “Oh, that just sucks.” Her eyes rolled back in her head. It was obvious she hated being confined like this. Inactivity was as familiar to her as the moon.

  “I’ll bring you some books. Or a TV,” he said.

  “What, you don’t think I like to read?”

  “Doona know. I’m just trying to help.”

  She looked at him strangely, eyes roving over his face as she thought about his words. “Really?”

  “Aye.”

  “Well then, how about a game of cards later?”

  She wanted to play a game with him? “For stakes?”

  “Maybe. Why not?”

  “Um, aye. That’s fine.” How high could the stakes be, after all?

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Two hours later, Esha lay in her damned prison of a bed waiting for Warren to come back for their card game. Waking up almost totally incapacitated had been a real mind fuck. Sure, she got dinged up when out hunting rogues, but never to the point of becoming bedridden. Then again, she’d never come up against another soulceress before, even one who had long since disappeared after casting her magic.

  Idiot. She was aware that she sometimes took stupid risks, but when they always worked out, could they really be considered that stupid? Until this last one. This task with Warren had turned out to be more than she’d bargained for. Apparently there were some things that she couldn’t do alone.

  But with Warren as a partner? It was an idea that initially would have thrilled her. Now it made her wary.

  What she really needed was more information. Warren wasn’t telling her the full truth about why he was looking for Aurora, and Esha wasn’t about to let her lack of knowledge become a liability.

  Hence the card game. While it would be nice to take her mind off her helplessness, what she really wanted was to pry some secrets out of Warren. What better way than by distracting him with cards?

  “Esha?” Warren’s deep voice sounded through the door and made shivers run down her spine.

  “Come on in.” She pushed her hair back and sat up straighter in the bed. Not that she cared what she looked like. ’Course not.

  The Chairman glanced up from cleaning his manliness at the foot of the bed and gave her a look that said, yeah right.

  “Oh, put your turkey leg down,” she told him, nodding at the back leg he’d stuck up in the air.

  He just glared at her. She scowled back, then looked up from the cat to see Warren striding toward her, confident and sexy as hell. He’s a jerk, she reminded herself. Don’t forget that.

  But was he, really?

  “So, what are we playing?” he asked, holding up a deck of cards and a sack of pistachios. The corner of his mouth kicked up in a half-smile, and she felt her heart skip a beat.

  “Pistachios?”

  “Sure. Keeps the stakes low. Since I chose the stakes, you can choose the game.”

  Esha frowned. She wanted info, not pistachios. “Why do you care if they’re low? Scared I’ll make you play strip poker?”

  Warren’s gaze heated as his eyes traveled from her face down her body. Heat crept along her nerve endings, and she realized she’d invited the look that set her mind ablaze.

  “Is that really an option?” he asked.

  She swallowed. Was she ready to deal with a naked Warren? To play a game of chance that could end with him on top of her?

  Yes.

  Inwardly, she shook her head. No way was she going to let that happen. She’d thrown herself at him enough in the past, and all it had netted her was rejection and mean comments. Even if he was being nicer to her now, it didn’t negate the way he’d tricked her in the past or the fact that he wanted to kill Aurora.

  She was turning over a new leaf.

  “Pistachios it is.” She’d find a way to up the stakes later. And she’d keep her clothes on, damn it. “How about Texas Hold ’Em?”

  Warren’s grin widened, and he nodded as he walked toward the bed.

  “Hang on, I’m dying to get out of bed,” she said. If her traitorous body was going to keep up with her resolve, she couldn’t be anywhere near Warren and a bed. Gingerly, she rose and walked to the little sitting area under the windows.

  “How do you feel?” Warren asked as he rushed over to help her into a chair.

  She swatted his hands away. “Fine. A lot better, honestly.”

  Most of the pain had faded, leaving only muscle aches and exhaustion. She’d walk
ed some laps around the room today, just to prove she could, and even managed a short shower. The exercise had actually improved her strength some.

  She stretched her arms over her head, carefully working her sore muscles to see if she could loosen them up. Warren’s eyes followed her movements, his gaze hot and his jaw tight. Slowly, she lowered her arms, looking away at the last second. This was going to be hard.

  She reached for the bag of pistachios to dole out their lots and nodded at the deck. “You can deal this hand.”

  “Are you any good at this game?”

  “Not bad. I liked cards at school, though that was long before poker. Poker’s much better than what we played.” But she was a natural, considering that she could magically manipulate the cards in the deck. But she wouldn’t tell him that.

  “School?”

  “The North American Academy for Immortal Magics.” She said it in the tone that the headmaster had always used, official and staid.

  “I take it you dinna like it there.”

  “How do you figure?”

  “Did you no’ run away before you graduated?”

  “None of your business. How did you know that, anyway?”

  “Before we invited you to join the university, we did some research on you. Got to know your background, your leanings.”

  Meaning, did she lean rogue or with the university? “Hmm. Well then, I guess you know all about me. So why are you asking?”

  “Because I don’t know as much as I’d like to. And I’d like to hear the details from you.”

  Startled, she met his eyes. He looked almost as surprised as she was to have admitted to such a thing. Had Warren had a change of heart about her? Accepted that he was attracted to her, despite the fact that she was a soulceress?

  If the kiss the other night was any indication, then yes.

  She wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

  “You know what we need? A drink.” She nodded toward the door. “How about you go fetch us something? I’ll deal.”

  He looked down at the cards, obviously wondering if he could trust her to deal when he was out of the room. Like it mattered. But she just smiled in what she hoped was a winning fashion.

  “Don’t worry about those. I’ll play fair.” As fair as you’ve played with me.

  Her smile faltered only slightly when he met her eyes, but whatever he saw in her face had him nodding and rising to go find something to drink. She couldn’t help but follow him with her gaze. His stride was powerful, matched by his rugged build and suited to the masculine bedroom in which he’d placed her.

  Her heart clutched a little, reminding her of all the times she’d wished she had his undivided attention. Now that she had it, she wasn’t sure what to do with it.

  Quickly, she dealt a hand, not bothering to fuss with loading the deck. Playing a few honest rounds would allay any suspicions he might have. The cards had only been laid out on the table a moment before he returned with a dusty old bottle of whiskey and two tumblers.

  “A man after my own heart,” she said, eying the bottle with appreciation.

  “I thought you’d like this. Found it in Cadan’s stash in the basement. He makes his own.”

  She nodded, remembering hearing something about that. Cadan had one of the oldest and most famous distilleries in the country, from what she recalled. With his immortal life and exceptional memory, he had an advantage when it came to running a long-term business in which age acted as a sign of quality. Mytheans all had that going for them, if they chose to utilize it.

  Her eyes followed Warren’s big hands as he uncorked the bottle. Scars ran across the backs from when he’d still been mortal. He’d been a warrior, but what kind she wasn’t sure. His hands were gentle as he worked the cork free, and images of what they could do to her flitted across her mind.

  She tore her gaze away from his hands, only to meet his eyes. Her own darted away and she cursed herself silently. She needed to calm down. Somewhere between departing for Staffa and sitting here, she’d lost some of the shell she’d cultivated to protect herself.

  Now she was just a chick with a crush, and it was pathetic. She accepted the glass that Warren handed her and inhaled.

  “Thanks,” she said, then nodded at his cards and the pile of nuts she’d laid out for him.

  When he’d picked them up, she dealt the flop. The three cards stared up at her from the middle of the table, and she frowned at her shitty hand.

  “No’ what you’d hoped for?” Warren asked.

  “You never know, it could turn around.”

  It didn’t. After he’d swept the small pile of pistachios he’d won toward his side of the table, she handed over the cards. He dealt and they played several hands while the howling wind outside added atmosphere to the low hum of their conversation. She kept it superficial—gossip about the university—and with the dim light from the table lamps, it felt like they were in their own little world. It was nice to sit across from him and just play cards. Though tension was thick in the air and accentuated by covert glances, it felt good to spend time with him when she wasn’t yelling, having to act tough, or trying to seduce him.

  Lulled by the coziness of their surroundings and distracted by Warren’s warm presence, she didn’t bother to introduce more complex conversation that would get her the answers that she wanted. She didn’t even bother to stack the deck in her favor, and as a result, she lost three hands out of five. Not bad, considering that she was playing fair, but it reminded her that she’d suggested the game for a reason.

  With the warm hum of whiskey in her blood, Esha figured that it was time to up the ante with a question or two. She met his eyes over her hand of cards. “Why do you want to catch her so badly? Your commitment seems… personal.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re handling this one personally. In the ten years I’ve been with the university, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you go out on an assignment.”

  He shrugged, and she took it as an assent.

  “Why is it that you don’t? You’re relatively young to lead the Praesidium. Warriors your age would normally be raring to fight.” Hell, in their world, anyone who wasn’t bedridden liked the occasional scuffle.

  “Three hundred and eighty-four is young?”

  “Compared to Cadan and the rest.”

  He nodded. Most Mythean Guardians were older than he was. “I killed enough people in my mortal life.”

  “Who?” From the darkness in his voice, he wasn’t talking about just any casualty of war.

  “I’m done killing,” he said, ignoring her questions. “I doona want to anymore. I haven’t in over three hundred years.”

  “Not even rogues?”

  He shook his head. This battle-hardened warrior, covered in scars from his past life, didn’t even want to kill rogues? Killing rogues was a good thing. Mythean survival depended upon their living under the radar of mortals. Rogues were so selfish, or so crazy, that they didn’t care about revealing their presence. Some were Mytheans who lived on earth, others were demons escaped from one of the hells, but either way, consensus had it that they were best disposed of quickly if they refused or were incapable of mending their ways.

  Who had he killed in his past that had traumatized him to the point that he wouldn’t even kill rogues?

  “Anyway,” he said, “the Praesidium isn’t about killing. It’s about protecting.”

  “Those important to humanity, I know. But sometimes there’s fighting and killing. And you don’t want any part of it. Were you ever a Mythean Guardian, out on the front lines protecting those who hold our fate in their hands?”

  “That’s a romantic way to look at it. But no, I wasn’t.”

  “You were made the boss without ever serving with the troops?”

  He shrugged.

  “You must be a good leader.”

  “I read people’s strengths well, which is important when assigning Mythean Guardians to a case. I’d lived
at the university for about fifty years before I met Aerten, and she decided that I’d be a good candidate for the job when she couldn’t be on earth.”

  Esha had only met Aerten, the Celtic goddess of fate, once, when Warren had invited her to be a consultant for the Praesidium. Aerten had met with her to approve it. Esha had to agree that the goddess had an uncommon insight. If she thought Warren read people well, then he did.

  “So, about Aurora, then …”

  Warren handed her the deck of cards to deal and said nothing. She gave him a loaded look, not wanting to let him off the hook. Still, he said nothing, just nodded at the cards.

  “Fine. At least tell me why you couldn’t go into the howf.” When she’d asked if he’d wanted to come, he’d said he couldn’t, and with real regret in his voice, not that he didn’t want to.

  “No’ going to happen,” Warren said. There was no way he’d be telling her about his soul.

  Though the card game had been pleasant—hell, more than pleasant, sitting across from the soulceress with her gleaming golden eyes concentrated on the cards and her throaty voice filling the room—it would be a bad idea to share the real reason he was hunting Aurora.

  “Come on, I’ll just keep asking,” she said, and dealt the cards. “Or maybe I’ll ask around the university.”

  “The hell you will.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “I’m not above it. My life’s at risk in this search, and I want to know why it’s so important.”

  He stayed silent.

  “How about we play for it. If I win, you tell me. If you win, you can keep your secret.”

  Warren eyed the cards she’d laid out.

  “You know I won’t hesitate to ask around.”

  He could probably beat her if she played fair. There was no guarantee she wouldn’t manipulate the cards with her magic, but there was also no guarantee that she wouldn’t ask around at the university. Part of him even wanted to lose, if he was honest with himself. He’d never told another what had happened to him, had carried the burden himself.

  As he should.