The Necromancer's Betrayal

by Mimi Sebastian

  I drank almost half the bottle down in long, slow gulps. Events had taken a precarious dip since the demon council meeting, almost as if someone was purposely sabotaging me, which could well be the case. My own insecurities, the chagur, and losing Olive had me thinking that maybe Malthus was right about me not being ready. Was my power acting out without my consent?

  “What’s wrong?” Lysander asked.

  “What if I did it?” I asked with my lips pressed on the bottle opening, giving my voice an ominous muffled effect.

  “You’re letting the Olive incident mess with your head. What happened to me tonight was something else. Someone else. I sensed it, remember?”

  “You might have sensed a homeless person. They sometimes hang out in the abandoned warehouses.”

  He turned his head away, out of the moonlight and into the shadows. “No. Come on. I told you I sensed voodoo. You felt the weirdness. The malevolent energy.”

  I had. The whispers. The hair at my neck rose with the memory. My insecurity was getting the best of me. Someone else had been responsible for what had happened to Ly. But why attack him? Had the Big Bad recruited another disciple to replace Cael and was using him to fuck with us? I swung my legs off the lounger, setting them on the ground between us.

  “What?”

  “I traveled to the demon realm to attend a ridiculous hearing in front of the demon council. They didn’t want to accept that another demon was directing Cael, practically accusing me of the crimes. But now, after Olive and what happened tonight, what if the Big Bad is a demon council member and he’s targeting me, setting me up?”

  “But the scent I picked up was definitely not demon.”

  I shook my head and waved my hand. “No. But he or she could have conscripted another lackey, one who practices voodoo. It’s a different approach.”

  “So what’s the reason?”

  “I’m still picking up little bits and pieces, but more and more, I think the madness is linked to the history between demons and necromancers. I can’t shake the feeling that someone is using me to exact some kind of revenge.”

  “Why target the supes? Sure, vamps and demons love to take shots at each other and see what they can get away with, but witches and wolves?”

  “I don’t really know.” I sighed, frustrated with all the seemingly incongruent pieces. “The council also branded me with something called a chagur. If I use my use my power in a weird way, I’ll die unless I return to the demon realm.”

  He lifted off his chair and positioned his legs next to mine, his brows creased in concern. “Branded you?”

  I angled my shoulder and pulled up my sleeve to reveal the chagur. He lightly caressed the spot before trailing his finger down my arm, causing me to forget our conversation. He shook his head. “Maybe when this is over, you can excommunicate yourself from the demons. What did Ewan and Malthus say about this?” he asked softy.

  I shrugged. “I don’t know what’s going on with Malthus and the council. Ewan . . .” My voice trailed off.

  I sensed something flowing between us. Almost like sheer webs connecting us, ebbing and flowing, vibrating with emotion. “Did the blood exchange link us somehow?”

  “A bit. I can sense some of your moods. But it would take much more blood for a deeper connection to form. Did it taste all right?” His voice turned husky, and he inclined his head toward the water so I couldn’t see his eyes, but I caught a silver gleam before he turned away.

  “Disgusting,” I answered matter-of-factly.

  He turned back toward me, an almost pitiful hurt crossing his face.

  “No offense, but, ugh. It can’t taste that bad for you. I couldn’t fathom living off blood, much less blood that tasted like the unwashed bowels of the earth.”

  He chuckled. “Blood tastes very good. I guess it’s because we’re vampires. Your blood is—” he licked his lips—“sumptuous.” His eyes flashed a deep crimson.

  My toes and fingers tingled. Lysander was beautiful, with his sexy smile and the smolder in his gaze, equally as dangerous as Ewan. Both men attracted and scared me in a way I couldn’t define. Maybe it was simply that they weren’t men and were driven by savage, inhuman impulses not restrained by human civilities.

  I shivered. Could he sense that too? As if in response, his sultry gaze locked onto me, always an uncomfortable sensation with a vampire, especially one who’d admitted his desire to jump my bones.

  “Are you trying to thrall me?” I tried to drag my eyes from his, but couldn’t, didn’t want to.

  He smiled. So deadly and not at all subtle. “No. Why? Are you enthralled?” His voice had deepened. He twirled a strand of my hair between his fingers, his gaze still intent on mine. He slid his thumb down my cheek to my throat, and skimmed the rise of my breasts. “I’d like to thrall you with my touch and my mouth, but not with my power.”

  He leaned and touched his lips to mine, but didn’t insist, not yet. He circled one hand around my head, another around my waist, and scooted back on his chair, maneuvering me on top of him. He studied me for a few stuttered heartbeats, maybe wondering if I’d pull away, which would have been the wisest course of action. Go home. Alone.

  No.

  Not after the supposed voodoo attack, not after Ewan had shut me out, not after the demons had branded me, treated me like the enemy.

  Ly must have detected the shift in my mood, my acquiescence, because he tightened his arms and crushed me against his slim, but strong, hard body, until my face hovered a mere inch from his. I glided my hands up his arms, felt his muscles flex. Vampires maintained cold, calculated façades, but Lysander was hot, vibrant, and seemed as affected by me as I was by him. He trembled under my touch, and his hard shaft strained against the tight denim of his jeans.

  “You sure you want to do this?” he whispered against the spot just under my earlobe, sending a violent shiver across my nerve endings. “I’m counting on you to be the strong one because I can’t. I want you too much.”

  Tears stung my eyes, and I inched back. “Don’t. The past twenty-four hours drained my strength, and my inner compass is completely out of whack.” He wiped the single tear that dripped down my cheek. “You feel solid.” I ran my hand down his chest, still covered by a T-shirt. “Real. I’m not sure what’s real anymore.”

  And I need you to make me feel something besides uncertainty and fear. Later, I’d worry, blame it on the bond triggered by his blood, maybe on my own vulnerability, maybe on Ewan’s rejection. I’d rationalize it somehow, but I no longer had the strength to fight my desire for Lysander, or my need for oblivion.

  He circled his hands, slowly, achingly around my breasts until my nipples pebbled against my cotton shirt. He pinched them, and I arched my back and gasped. He licked at my neck, his hands still intent on my breasts, melting my nerve endings and sending aching heat to my core. He brought my head down to claim my mouth, opening it wide to his exploration. I licked his fangs, and a shudder ran down my back.

  “The demons won’t like this,” he mumbled, offering one last reprieve.

  “I’m already in the shithole with the demons. I don’t care.”

  He moved his hand down to my sex and squeezed through the denim, sending a rush of wetness to my panties. He blew out an agonized breath. “What about Ewan?”

  I didn’t answer, only snaked my hand under his shirt and glided my fingers over his nipples. He groaned.

  “What if Malthus was to free him, and he came back to you right now?”

  Unsure of how to answer that question, I deflected. “What about your friendship with him?”

  “He’ll want to kick my ass.” He glided his tongue up my neck. “But I want you so goddamn much, and I’m not denying myself for Ewan’s past ills. I want to taste you,” he said against my throbbing jugular, his voice tinged with a deep, primal to
ne that made my stomach quiver.

  He gathered me in his arms and carried me down the stairs to his cabin, sat me on the bed, and took off my clothes. He shed his shirt, giving me a few seconds to admire his carved physique before kneeling before me and spreading my legs. He ran his fingers along my slick folds. I shuddered, unable to find air to fill my lungs, and lay back on the bed. He slipped one finger into my hot, pulsing core while continuing to rub my clit and watched me with an intense smolder in his eyes. I moaned and threw my head back. This was real and raw. I reveled in the electric currents shooting through my body.

  He removed his hand and moved his head between my legs. I cried out when his fang scraped my swollen nub. He slipped a finger back inside me, finding and pressuring my G-spot until my mind shattered, and my body trembled in release. Lysander was a very old, very experienced vampire, something that was easy to forget in his casual manner, but there was nothing casual about the way he thrilled my senses.

  He stood and shifted over my molten body, fisted his hand in my hair and pulled back, licking my neck. I tensed.

  “Please, can I taste you? I promise no pain.” His voice had grown hoarse, his licks desperate.

  The last two banquets at my vein had hurt like hell, but right now, with him sucking on my neck, a desire to have him suck deeper, harder shuddered through me.

  “Yes,” I whispered.

  He growled and pierced my skin, and I screamed. Holy shit. My body convulsed with the electricity shooting through it. I orgasmed again, maybe twice. He held me tight against his chest, slowing his sips until a luscious intoxication replaced the frantic fire of seconds before. I’d never tried heroin, but from what I’d heard, the haze weighing my eyelids, the complete surrender of my muscles, the sheer euphoria, seemed to come close. He eased me back on the mattress. “Was that better?”

  I managed to flutter my eyelids open to see his utterly satisfied expression. I now understood the popularity of the vamp club. Potent addiction indeed. He watched my blood trickle down my neck, down my chest, slipping over the mound of my breast. I barely noticed, lost in the heat of his intense study. He straddled me and licked at the blood streaming over my belly, suckling my nipple, then continuing to my neck where he sealed the punctures. A swarm of emotion overwhelmed me, and I curled up while my body shook. Ly spooned me from behind, holding me until my body calmed.

  He nudged me around to face him. “Even though I’d like nothing more than to fuck you into oblivion, I don’t think we’re ready for that. And I don’t want anything looming over us when it does happen.”

  I snuggled against the hard silk of his chest. I wanted him, but I was relieved. Not that Ewan wouldn’t be completely floored when he found out, and he would, but I didn’t regret sharing this intimacy with Lysander. He deserved way more than feelings of shame. I placed my hand on his chest and traced the indentations of one pectoral muscle with my finger. “Are you sure? I hate not satisfying you.”

  He smiled and kissed my fingers, one by one. “You did satisfy me with your blood. Granted, I didn’t ejaculate, but I came in another way. Culinary orgasm.”

  He nipped my chin with his fangs, and an erotic shiver ripped down my spine. “Are you going to tell him?” he asked.

  “I won’t need to. He’ll know. He’ll see it in my eyes.” I pressed my face into his chest while he stroked my hair.

  “What will he see?” he asked finally.

  “I don’t know, but it won’t be regret.”

  I just hoped we survived the collision.

  Chapter Ten

  EWAN LEANED against the well-stocked bar in the demon lair study, brooding while I shuffled around the room, avoiding direct contact with the demon silently tracking me with his eyes. I’d dreaded this encounter for many a disastrous reason, hoped to put it off for a little while, but Malthus had called this late evening tête-a-tête with the vamps after Ly and I had reported last night’s attack.

  I’d carefully considered my strategy before arriving. I’d checked in with Kara and Greg earlier and both had reported nothing. No mangled dead bodies. No trace of Olive. Neither Malthus nor Ewan knew about Olive, and I wanted to keep it that way. Their involvement always forced me into some maddening corner. As well, I knew Malthus was hiding things from me, like why he’d agreed to the chagur. Could I really trust him?

  I studied every knickknack, painting, magazine, and fireplace brick with an exaggerated seriousness. The lights seemed bright, splashing the usually warm room with a cold harshness. I heard footsteps and turned to see Lysander arrive, and, like a fly drawn to the buzzing, blue, luminescent flytrap of doom, I gravitated toward him.

  That was all it took. Ewan crossed over to me and gripped my chin, forcing my head up. His gaze honed in on my neck, and his power abraded me. He released me and faltered back, his head moving between Lysander and me. His expression transformed into one of helpless horror, as if he was watching a car careening toward him, but was unable to escape the crash.

  Quick as a hit and run, anger replaced his shock. His gold eyes glowed iron hot. The anger seethed off him with every flex of muscle, and I stepped back. I opened my mouth to say something, but what? I hadn’t done anything wrong, dammit. Before the meeting, I’d told myself I wasn’t going to cower under his recriminations, especially when he was no paragon of virtue, himself.

  He stumbled to the bar, dazed, as if not quite sure what had actually hit him, or where it’d come from. He tossed ice in the glass, and each cube hit the sides of the heavy crystal with a loud clank. He poured until the whiskey sloshed over the sides, chucked the amber liquid down in one long gulp, then poured another.

  I directed my attention to Lysander, and it finally registered that he wasn’t dressed in his usual grunge manifesto. He still wore jeans and black workman’s boots, but his white silk shirt and black sports coat made him look too goddamn sexy. Both of them were too goddamn sexy.

  Ly’s gaze shifted carefully between Ewan and me, a gesture born from a practiced wariness. The last thing I wanted was for Lysander to feel threatened. For Ewan to hate his life even more. For me to once again be caught up in some fucking low-rate mid-afternoon soap opera. But I’d made my choices and now had to lie in the muck.

  Malthus stopped short at the entrance to the study, paused, observed the obvious clusterfuck stewing in the room, raised an imperial brow, then strode to his desk. He leaned against the polished oak and crossed his arms, his face impassive. Leave it to Malthus to keep his cool when Ewan was about to explode or implode. Either way, the result would be messy.

  “Dominic should arrive shortly. Ruby, you indicated you had something more to reveal about the attack,” Malthus said.

  I hesitated. I’d asked Lysander not to mention Olive, but understood he had no choice in reporting the attack. If someone was targeting vamps, they had a right to know and protect themselves. It just unearthed a nasty, rusted can of slimy worms that I’d hoped to leave buried forever, but the situation had escalated beyond my ability or desire to contain. Despite my distrust of Malthus, I needed him to run interference with the vamps. Dominic would use the attack to damn me. I suppose I was damned either way, by vampire or demon.

  “Ruby?” Malthus urged. I glanced at Ly, avoiding Ewan. Oh God, I dreaded him finding out I’d lied to him, but I’d had no choice. I needed Malthus. I’d even resolved not to indulge my unhealthy pleasure of pissing him off.

  I softened my expression and recounted the incident when Dominic’s lieutenant had ambushed me at my house, and I turned him into a zombie when he drank my blood. When I finished, I waited for the planned detonation, because Malthus never exploded spontaneously. Nothing, however, had prepared me for seeing an expression of worry cross his face. Maybe Ewan could furnish the fireworks I desperately sought to burn up the disquiet that had coated the study in a thick fog. I looked at Ewan and saw realization set in his chee
k muscles. I wondered if he’d be the first demon to get TMJ. I could see by his expression that he was replaying the night he’d discovered me outside the vamp club, finally understanding why Lysander was with me instead of him, and why I’d pushed him away with my deception.

  “I’m sorry I’m late. Did I miss anything of note?” Xavier stepped into the study, thankfully solid and wearing a ridiculously expensive business suit. In his human form, his profile was lean and elegant, framed by waves of charcoal-colored hair, as if he’d decided to adopt a look resembling Gary Oldman’s character, Sirius Black, in the Harry Potter movies. Even his voice, soft, yet in direct contrast to the steely resolve that shone in his gray eyes, was all Sirius.

  Lysander didn’t mince words in responding to Xavier’s presence. “Why is he here?”

  “I think, after what we’ve learned tonight, you’ve forfeited the right to any explanations from us,” Malthus said, a bit too tight-lipped.

  Ly tensed for a moment, then backed down. It was probably a wise choice, considering he was in a room full of demons. I tried to catch his eye, but he avoided my obvious attempt to garner his attention.

  “I guess I did miss something.” Xavier strode to the bar and poured a gin and tonic. “Marchios, you’re looking as surly as ever,” he said, sipping from his glass. “Is someone going to enlighten me, or are you all going to continue staring at each other like a bunch of hyenas squaring off over a dead carcass? It’s just Dominic, after all.”

  “Xavier, Ruby has demonstrated dominion over vampires,” Malthus said.

  Xavier shrugged and finished his drink. “Dominic is a diva. Yes, he will use this against us, attempt to broker an advantage, but the truth is, he’s scared, and that’s the way it should be.”