by Irina Argo
“I can’t do it,” she whispered.
“Yes. You can.” Tor trailed the feather up to her throat and then down the midline of her body to her core. Arianna exhaled sharply and squeezed her legs tight.
“Open,” he commanded.
His command slid up her spine, igniting her even more, and she parted her legs slightly, feeling them tremble. Tor slipped the feather between her legs, tracing her folds, and the feeling was so exquisite that she had to close her eyes and stop breathing, biting her lip to remind herself to think of her blood, of slowing her body down even as the pleasure drove her higher and higher. Her muscles spasmed so hard that Arianna thought she’d faint.
“Wider.” Tor’s voice was hoarse.
Her body was writhing, totally out of her control, her back arching high as she was gulping for air. The torture was too sweet, too intoxicating.
“If I do it,” she protested, “the dagger won’t be enough. It’s too much; I’ll have too much blood.”
“Keep your mind focused. Try to control yourself,” he soothed, his voice calm again.
Alright, that was it: now she was just annoyed. She opened her eyes and pushed herself up, leaning on her elbows. “How, dammit? What you’re asking is impossible. You have no idea what it’s like. I can’t focus”—she made air quotes around the word—“I can’t think at all. I’m just ... raw emotion.”
“Raw emotion is a luxury the Amiti Queen can’t afford, ever. This is far from the only thing you’ll have to control, but it’s important, so you may as well start here.” Tor moved the feather back to her throat and then up and around her ear. She resisted the urge to swat it away. “Amiti blood production is like our bloodlust: you control it or it controls you. Do you really want this to happen whenever you’re aroused, you having to wrestle for control of your body while vampires react to you like dogs around a bitch in heat? It’s not what you want, believe me.”
“Okay, fine. How do I do it?”
“Turn your awareness inward. Ignore everything else; focus only on your blood.” He moved around the bed to stand at her feet. Arianna knew what he was up to: he’d have her spread her legs again, wide open to his devouring eyes. And beyond arousing. How could she possibly focus on her blood?
He moved the feather back between her legs, slapping it against her flesh. She struggled not to look at him, not to feel the fluttering, impatient feather on her skin. The effort made her tremble, made her body flush with perspiration.
“Spread your legs wide, now.” It was an order.
She tried to pull herself back, to take control of her body instead of letting it run rampant, chasing the pleasure like a wild animal after its prey. She demanded that her legs obey her, not him, but they ignored her completely as if they were another organism, splaying wide, the pleasure so shocking that it felt like pain.
“I don’t see it,” he teased, prodding her with, the feather. “Show me what’s there. Put your fingers there and show me more.”
Shaking with lust, she did as he asked, moving both hands between her legs, sliding her fingers along her folds, and soon she’d forgotten everything but her body’s ecstasy, her hips lifting to catch the feather’s motions, encouraging its unbridled play with her clit.
Tor’s voice broke through her bliss. “I’m controlling your blood, Arianna, not you.”
Dammit, he was right. Gathering all her will, she began tracking her blood cells, feeling them multiplying in response to the feather’s touch like tide drawn by the moon. Anger rushed through her. How could she give him so much control over her, over her body, her blood? She wanted her powers back. Back off, she yelled to her blood cells, pushing Tor from her mind. Stop! Now!
To her surprise, they obeyed. And it wasn’t as hard as she’d expected; all she’d needed was a little anger and the desire to reclaim herself. Her pulse began slowing down, breathing returning to normal, body temperature falling.
“Good,” Tor said. “Now you’re ready for a real challenge.”
A real challenge?
Tor was talking about sex, wasn’t he? But his words reminded Arianna of the real game they were playing, how high the stakes were, and to her horror, she realized that she was losing. With his every move, every word, he was making it harder—impossible—for her to kill him.
Chapter 50
The next morning Tor left Arianna sleeping in his bed and called all available members of the pride to a meeting in his study. Ismen came, too, having earned the right to be involved in the pride’s decision making. Ismen and Istara were the only two Amiti that the pride had ever trusted.
When everybody had gotten settled, Tor got straight to business. “Any updates on Sim and Odji?” he asked Anock.
Anock shook his head. “No, sir. Everything is the same. You saw the latest pictures; there’s no other news.”
Periodically the Order posted new pictures of Simone and Odji on a public website to show that they were alive and well. Anock had tried to negotiate their exchange, but the pride didn’t have anybody valuable enough to offer in return, so the Order had refused. Of course, now there was Arianna, but Anock hadn’t even mentioned her. Tor guessed Anock knew better than to ask to exchange her for Simone and Odji, no matter how badly they wanted their pride members back.
“Has the Order questioned us about Arianna?”
“No. They don’t seem to know that she’s with us. Do you want me to tell them? I’m sure they’d love to exchange Simone and Odji for her.”
Okay, apparently Anock didn’t know better.
“The Order might agree to that exchange, but I do not. Please don’t make any more suggestions like that. I will not let Arianna go under any circumstances. In fact, there’s more to it, which is one of the reasons I’ve called you all here. I’m thinking about blood-bonding with her and I need your help in making sure that’s a wise decision.”
Anock arched his brows. “I understand, sir. You want to be one hundred percent sure of her loyalty before you take this step.” At Tor’s nod, he continued. “Then it’s crucial for us to know that Arianna is not trying to establish contact with the Order.”
“Exactly.” Tor nodded again. “Can you take care of it? I want to be sure she’s under my influence. I can’t seem to shake the feeling that she’s slipping away—or that I never completely had her in the first place. I can’t really read her.”
“She loves you, Tor. You’d have to be blind not to see it,” Theores interjected.
“Maybe. But what if love isn’t enough?”
“Come on, Tor. She’s an Amiti. They’re all about love. I mean, look at Istara? Amiti will do anything for love.”
“But Tor’s right.” Anock cut in and turned to Tor. “We need to validate her commitment to you. It’s too much of a risk otherwise. I have a plan, sir.”
“Go ahead. Tell us.” Tor loved Anock’s rationality; he could always rely on him.
“We need to give Arianna more freedom—show her we trust her—and then watch her closely. Of course, we’ll keep monitoring her email and other internet activity, but she probably knows how insecure those channels are and won’t use them. So we need to give her better opportunities to contact the Order, if that’s what she’s planning to do.”
“Agreed. What do you have in mind?”
“Let’s plan some travel through, say, Europe; we’ve seen Order activity there recently. We’ll encourage Arianna’s input about what places we visit and let her go where she wants when we’re in those places. If she has Amiti contacts or knows where to find them, she’ll make suggestions. Then we have Theores and Ismen accompany her when she goes out; no additional bodyguards, so she’s not too wary. The two of them give her as much privacy as they can without making her suspicious—they can use whatever excuses to do that—and my people watch her from a distance. Under those circumstances, if she wants to do anything, she’ll do it.”
“Good. Then we’ll start with Paris, my friend
s. Tomorrow.”
Please, Sekhmet, don’t let Arianna have any contacts. Leave the girl to me. I need her so badly. Don’t take her away from me.
“Now, Ismen,” Tor said, turning to the blond Amiti. “Great job on the yacht.”
Theores smiled. “You were perfect—even better than we expected.”
“Because it was the truth, you know. I didn’t need to put on an act; I just told her the truth.”
“She only knew one side of the story, the one Marcus told her,” added Tor. “At least she knows the whole story now, and she probably heard it with a more open mind coming from a fellow Amiti. I hope it’ll help her develop a much broader perception of the Order so she can reach her own conclusions.”
“You’ve really put a lot of effort into bringing the girl to our side, Tor. What if it was all in vain and Arianna still contacts the Order? What do we do then?” Leon was skeptical about Amiti—he’d lost three good friends when their blood-bonds had killed them—and even being mated to Ismen hadn’t changed that view.
The room grew quiet, all eyes settling on Tor. He read identical expressions in all of their faces: they were all thinking that sooner or later Arianna’s powers would be fully developed, and if she cooperated with the Order, it would mark the beginning of the end for vampires.
Tor let his gaze travel across the room, meeting each of theirs in turn, from one face to the next. This was his family, his pride, his loyal friends. They’d been with him for hundreds of years, supporting him in all his endeavors, all of his trials. He loved and respected them. His pride was an extension of himself. Could he even consider sacrificing them for the Amiti girl? Absolutely not.
“If she chooses to cooperate with the Order, she will become bloodstock and spend the rest of her life with the others, underground, in a cell where we can keep an eye on her.”
“What about the Gift of Ra, Tor?” Leon asked. Tor heard some murmurs of acknowledgment, as though others had been wondering, too, and were glad Leon had asked.
“As long as we have her downstairs, where nobody else can access her power, I’ll still be able to hold my own. Don’t you concur?”
They all nodded. Good; they knew that sometimes it was best to just agree with him. He hoped he’d prove worthy of that confidence.
Chapter 51
Nobody in the pride knew the real reason why Ismen loved sea salt baths so much. They probably assumed that she thought sea salt was what made her skin so soft and radiant. Whatever they thought was fine with her, as long as they never found out the real secret of the sea salt.
She took the container of sea salt out of her closet, adding some water and swirling the container to dissolve the salt, and then dipped a hand towel in the solution and wiped down the huge mirror in her bedroom. When that was done, she stepped back, picking up her Persian cat, Lovely, who’d been rubbing against Ismen’s ankles, and extended her senses, listening intently. She hadn’t sensed anyone in her wing of the pride’s residence, and decided that she was safe to do what she had planned without interruption.
Ismen took several long, even breaths and looked deeply into the mirror, preparing to use her Mirror Skill. It was another gift from Hathor, bestowed on all Amiti elders when they reached five hundred years of age, enabling them to communicate and teleport. Teleporting required two mirrors or other highly polished surfaces large enough to fit the user’s body; one mirror served as an entrance and the other as an exit. If another Amiti was positioned at the “exit” mirror, the two Amiti could tune in to each other’s energy and the traveler could use the other Amiti as an anchor to aim toward. If not, the traveler could project an image of the desired destination from their inner vision onto the mirror in front of them. Mirror communication followed the same principles, but was somewhat simpler and could be accomplished with even the smallest of mirrors.
Of course, the vampires were aware of the Mirror Skill and routinely took precautions to prevent unexpected guests. They commissioned sorcerers to create power seals, symbols that could be drawn indelibly onto mirrors and created barriers impenetrable by Amiti. The Amiti found a loophole, though: the seal could be removed from a mirror by washing it with a sea salt solution.
Ismen felt herself enter a light trance and aligned her own energies with those of her dearest friend, calling for her. Within a few moments, the mirror fogged up, and when it cleared, Ismen saw Desiree standing in a cozy wood-paneled bedroom, its tiny window covered by embroidered curtains.
Desiree lived in Siberia now. Ismen never could understand Desiree’s tendency to choose poverty and extreme climates when one word could propel her into the most luxurious villa imaginable and the status of an empress. But whatever; it was Desiree’s choice. So there Desiree stood, wearing not a satin negligee just as exquisite as Ismen’s, but flannel pajamas covered with daisies. It was cute and sad at the same time.
“What’s up? Why are you calling me at this ungodly hour?” Desiree asked, yawning.
“Sorry to wake you up, Desi, but I have something important to talk to you about. Mind if I come over?”
“Sure. Be my guest.” Desire waved her hand in invitation. “As usual, your timing isn’t great, but I still love you, you know. Let me just go splash some water on my face or something.” Without waiting for Ismen to reply, Desiree turned and stumbled away from the mirror.
Ismen stepped through the mirror, still holding Lovely in her arms. If she hadn’t felt the temperature drop, it would have felt exactly as if she’d stepped from one room to the next. She settled into a warm but remarkably comfortable chair to wait for her friend.
Ismen had known her cousin Desiree for centuries. They’d met in the twelfth century when Ismen, Leon, and Rune had gone to visit Ismen’s only living relative, her aunt Beatrice, Desiree’s mother. Desiree was in mourning: two of her three sons had been killed, and her mate and third son had abandoned her. Ismen supported Desiree in her grief, and they quickly developed a warm and loving relationship.
Using the Mirror Skill, they’d stayed in touch ever since, maintaining a close but utterly secret friendship for centuries. Desiree and Ismen had much in common: both loved and were blood-bonded to vampires, and since both refused to use the blood-bond to kill their mates, both were considered by Amiti society and the Order to be criminals who deserved to die.
There was one vast difference between their situations, of course. Ismen had chosen to live openly with her mates, among the Sekhmi, at the cost of her relationship to her people. Desiree, on the other hand, was able to live openly as an Amiti—to the extent it was possible for Amiti to do so—and enjoy her brother’s companionship, at the cost of having to hide her relationship and living in constant fear of being discovered.
Ismen couldn’t imagine what she would have done without Desiree; she was the only person who knew everything about Ismen, and she always listened without judging. And Ismen tried to return that same gift to Desiree.
Desiree also was a useful source of information, and Ismen sometimes asked for her help. Desiree loved her brother Oberon, and considered herself loyal to the Amiti people in general, but she’d hated the Order ever since one of its members had killed her sons. Ismen didn’t want to take advantage of her friend, and it was hard to find a middle ground where she felt that she was balancing the needs of her mates and her friend. She made a point of never asking for information that would put Oberon in danger, and over time, she’d found that if she kept her requests and questions to a minimum, Desiree would volunteer additional information as she saw fit.
“Okay, I’m back.” Wrapped in a robe and carrying a tray holding a teapot, cream and sugar, cups, and sweets, Desiree returned to the room. “Seriously, are you ever going to learn to think about time zones? Never mind; just go ahead. What do you need?” She poured tea for herself and Ismen, adding a little sugar and a lot of cream to Ismen’s, just the way she liked it.
“Our young Queen is with Tor now, and he intends to blood-
bond with her.” Ismen tangled her fingers through Lovely’s thick fur, taking her teacup with her free hand.
“I take it this is bad news.”
“Very bad. Arianna was imprisoned, kept as bloodstock for nearly a year. She’ll never forget that, no matter how kind and generous the pride is. The King adores her and she seems to love him, but I guarantee you, when the time comes, she’ll destroy him and every other vampire in a heartbeat. I can feel it. She’ll do whatever she thinks is necessary to protect the Amiti.”
“Then we need to do whatever it takes to prevent them from blood-bonding. It can’t ever happen. You can’t even imagine—”
“You don’t know the whole story.” Ismen interrupted her. “My mother-in-law consulted the Oracle.”
“And?”
“The Key will be turned.” Ismen dug her fingers deeper into the long, silky fur of her pet. Lovely squirmed and hopped to the floor. “We need to act, Desi. We can’t just sit back and wait until they destroy our loved ones.” She’d had enough loss. Like Desiree, she’d lost two children in the war, and she wouldn’t let her mates die, too.
“So what do you suggest?”
“We need to get the Queen out of the picture. I have a plan to keep her from blood-bonding with Tor, and with the Oracle saying that the Key will be turned, it seems even more urgent. We kill two birds with one stone: we stop the blood-bond, and if she’s out of commission, they won’t have the five Keepers they need to turn the Key. And as a bonus, she won’t be able to name new Keepers.”
“Are you saying we should kill her?”
“No. We keep her alive. I don’t know how it works, since the title is supposed to pass from mother to daughter and she doesn’t have a daughter, but if we kill her, what if the title passes to someone else? Better to keep Arianna alive but under control. And that seems to be the consensus around here, too.”
