Benjamin reached back, digging his fingers into Tzadkiel’s hip. “Don’t stop.”
It was the hunter who succumbed first, as Tzadkiel fisted him and demanded his release. Benjamin shouted and Tzadkiel angled his strokes, fucking the man until the aftershocks became too much and Benjamin pleaded for mercy of every kind. Too far gone to stop, he wound his hand in Benjamin’s hair and pulled his head back to expose his neck. When Tzadkiel bit him, the hunter cried out—a choked sound that brought Tzadkiel’s orgasm roaring to the fore. He raced toward it with mindless frenzy until his existence coalesced to a finite point. Bliss mushroomed outward, destroying him with the force of its blast. It was a perfect jewel of a moment that he wished he might capture and hold forever. He reached for it and, in doing so, shattered the delicate bubble.
Tumbling downward, he came back to reality. Eventually, he rolled off the still-languid hunter. Their bodies separated, but as he watched Benjamin in slumber, Tzadkiel couldn’t help feeling as if he’d relinquished some essential part of himself. He rose and tucked the blankets around Benjamin. He put his trousers on in the master bath and raked a hand through his sweat-slicked hair as he regarded himself in the mirror. His face, high with color, had lost its haunted look. The blood that hummed through his veins pumped magic he could feel. He was stronger than he’d been even before the hunters had taken him. So, why was it then, he felt as if he’d suddenly lost the will to fight?
On his way out of the master bedroom, he gazed back at Benjamin from the doorway. He’d rolled to his back and kicked off the covers. One leg sprawled so his foot hung off the side of the bed. Soft wuffles came from parted lips, prompting a ridiculous urge in Tzadkiel to return for a kiss. Shaking his head against the impulse, he closed the door, turned, and walked straight into Nyx.
The witch’s gaze slid from Tzadkiel to the now-closed bedroom door and back to Tzadkiel once more. One dark brow quirked beneath the fall of inky bangs, Nyx crossed slim arms over a boyish chest.
“You needn’t worry. He’s sleeping,” Tzadkiel offered, defensive, though he couldn’t think why.
Another beat of silence passed, before the witch came to a conclusion to which he wasn’t privy and said, “We need to talk.”
It was Tzadkiel’s turn at a dubious stare. “Oh?”
Nyx nodded, once.
“About?” he prompted when she failed to enlighten him.
“My mother, the Lady Morgana,” Nyx offered, heading downstairs. “And how we’re going to get you the information you need to prevent my father from destroying us all.”
Chapter 23
“Were you going to wake me up before or after you planned a war in my kitchen?” Benjamin asked from the doorway.
He’d been about to push through into the kitchen when he’d heard Tzadkiel’s quiet, flinty tones and then Nyx’s pixie-bright answer. Arrested, he’d paused with his hand on the swinging door long enough to get the gist of their conversation.
The vampire’s lips thinned at Benjamin’s appearance, but otherwise the man didn’t say a word. It was Nyx who spoke.
“I wanted to let you sleep, Benj.” Fingers clasped around a steaming cup of coffee, she regarded him worriedly. “You took a real beating last night.”
At the mention of his cuts and bruises, Benjamin’s muscles throbbed. Truth be told, he’d wanted to sleep for a few hours and wake up with someone for once. Instead, he’d jerked awake in the middle of a nightmare and found himself alone with the covers wrapped messily around his feet, his tangled hair smothering his face.
“Not you. Him.” Fully entering the kitchen, Benjamin jerked his head in Tzadkiel’s direction. “He’s the one with the penchant for skulking.”
Tzadkiel’s brows snapped up, but he didn’t comment.
Benjamin knew he sounded like a petulant brat, but he couldn’t help himself. Waking up alone had brought to mind every other one-night stand in a lifetime of one-night stands. The few guys he’d let bang him had always left before morning and never called again. At one time he would have said he’d preferred things that way. Now, inexplicably, he wanted something more.
Great. He had to go and develop an obvious clingy side with a man who wanted to kill him. It’s complicated wasn’t a social networking relationship status he particularly relished claiming; but if the shoe fit, he might as well kick himself in the ass with it.
Nyx looked between them. Realization widened her eyes, and she cleared her throat. “Um…Do you two need to be alone?”
Yanking the fridge open, Benjamin muttered, “If I’d wanted to be alone, I would have stayed in bed.”
“You know what I meant, Benj.” Nyx’s chair squeaked against the linoleum as she shifted her arm over the back to regard him. “For your information, Tzadkiel was just talking about his deal with my mother.”
Benjamin came up from behind the fridge door, orange juice jug in his hand. He frowned at Tzadkiel, wondering when the man would have had the opportunity to consult with Nyx’s mother, then remembered he’d been out of it for a while last night. He’d thought Tzadkiel had been by his side the entire time, but perhaps that had only been wishful thinking. Gazing at the orange juice container, he unscrewed the cap.
Nyx gave him the stink-eye as he raised the jug toward his mouth.
“What?”
Her brows rose.
Grumbling something about all the estrogen warping Nyx’s brain, he grabbed a glass and asked, “What deal with your mother?”
“The one where she said she owed me a favor in return for releasing her from the Morgan’s so-called care,” Tzadkiel answered.
“Oh. That deal.”
Mollified that nothing new had gone on while he’d been out of it, Benjamin leaned against the counter. He downed his glass of juice and wondered if he could sneak in some vodka. Probably it wouldn’t take much to get him drunk. He was still woozy from dehydration and lack of blood.
“Don’t even think about going into that liquor cabinet, Fuller,” Nyx said.
Barely resisting the urge to flash her his middle finger, Benjamin poured another glass of juice. Taking this one with him to the table, he sat. The vampire, who had been resting one boot on the rung of the empty chair, dropped his foot and adjusted his seat so the back leaned against the wall. Benjamin noted the distance between his and Tzadkiel’s chairs, and tried not to care.
“Do you agree, hunter?” Tzadkiel’s question rumbled through Benjamin’s awareness.
Benjamin breathed deep. “I’m sorry. What?”
“With what we were talking about while you were eavesdropping.” Tzadkiel’s tone was arch.
“I wasn’t listening that long,” Benjamin mumbled guiltily.
“We were talking about how we should go down to the Common and see how my father might be draining magic from the ley line before we decide whether to call in my mother’s favor.”
Benjamin dropped his hands, horrified. “Hell to the yes. Why is this even a question?”
“Because Tzadkiel is vulnerable there.”
Benjamin swallowed a scoff. The word vulnerable and vampire, particularly in relation to the one sitting in his kitchen, didn’t go together to his mind. “You didn’t seem at all weak when you were kicking my ass on your mora’s front doorstep, and we both know you’re even stronger now.”
Tzadkiel dipped his chin in acknowledgment. “I am glad I hid it well.”
Gods, if that fight—the only one he’d lost to a vampire as an adult—had been a display of weakness, then Benjamin seriously didn’t want to confront this man at his full strength. Except that it was going to come down to that, wasn’t it?
Fingering the ridges around his glass, Benjamin regarded Tzadkiel. “So what kind of vulnerability are we talking about here, exactly?”
Tzadkiel, chin tilted downward, raised his brows. “Why would I tell you that, hunter?”
Benjamin’s hand spasmed around his glass. Hurt and anger warred with common sense. Of course Tzadkiel wouldn’t tell him w
hat his powers and weaknesses were. But there were things Benjamin knew and could guess. Unable to stop himself, he held up one finger.
“One. You’re quick and strong. I deduced that from our swordfight, but I’m guessing you’re even more so now that you’ve had my blood.”
Tzadkiel sat back, arms folded over his torso, his expression closing off like he’d slammed a steel door in Benjamin’s face. A muscle worked dangerously in his jaw, a brief release that said Benjamin shouldn’t presume to know the man just because he’d fucked him.
“Two.” Never good at heeding a warning, spoken or otherwise, Benjamin continued. “You mentioned something before we left last night about not being able to easily sense your mora—about needing to make sure to meet them at the assigned time or place.”
The angled slope of Tzadkiel’s jaw flexed again. This time a flare of his nostrils accompanied the tic.
“So…” Benjamin leaned in farther, warming to his topic. “I’m guessing you’re in communication with them now. That you can give them orders remotely on some level, though perhaps nonverbal. And…that they can sense you too.” He tipped his chin toward the vampire. “Your aura is more focused now, which means you can funnel your energy rather than it flaring out all over the place.”
“You stopped counting.” Tzadkiel’s observation came deathly quiet.
Benjamin waved his hand in a never mind that gesture.
“You can cloak your aura effectively now, and without tiring I’ll bet. Which means you probably also have the ability to be invisible to your enemies. Perhaps you’re even able to cloak your mora when warranted.” Elbows sprawling on the table, Benjamin fell into reminiscence. “It’s how my family didn’t catch you all a long time ago. We couldn’t fucking see you.”
Tzadkiel’s fist came down on the table, making Nyx jump. “Stop now.”
Benjamin smiled, mocking. “Or what? I’m a dead man?”
Abruptly, silence crashed over Benjamin, muffling the outside world. Anything that didn’t include him and Tzadkiel receded as if torn from him on a riptide. Nyx, outside of the bubble where he and Tzadkiel existed, no longer seemed to notice their presence or apparent lack thereof.
“You wish to toy with me?” The vampire leaned in, fury making a craggy landscape of his normally serene countenance. “To know my abilities?”
Benjamin opened and closed his mouth. Somehow he found words to express what he’d been feeling since before he’d walked into the kitchen. “I didn’t want you to shut me out.”
Tzadkiel breathed deep through his nostrils. Gaze fierce, he said, “We. Are. Not. Friends.”
Recoiling, Benjamin felt heat race up his neck and over his face. He lifted his chin, and tried to ignore the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“I guess I have to believe that.” He swallowed hard, then, realizing he whispered, raised his voice. “You’re honor-bound in a way few people are. I respect that.” His voice cracked. “I respect you.”
But he didn’t respect himself, not anymore, if he ever had. He came from a long line of villains—people who had killed indiscriminately to achieve their own aims. At one time, Benjamin knew, his and Tzadkiel’s ancestors had been related. Twins, Pollux and Castor. One had been granted immortality through his parentage, as had his descendants, while his brother and his brother’s offspring had been doomed to mortality. Had greed and jealousy really been the real source of enmity—not the disaster with the keres at Troy—all these centuries?
“I’ll help you figure out what’s going on in the Common,” Benjamin said, sitting back. “But then you have to leave my house.”
“I told you—”
“No.” Benjamin held up a hand. “You’ll know where to find me when the time comes. You’ve had my blood, and I know it tells you things. You said so yourself. You don’t need to watch me every minute. Not anymore.”
He simply wasn’t strong enough to view himself reflected in the mirror of this man’s eyes any longer.
Tzadkiel’s nod was sharp. “Very well.”
Before Tzadkiel could drop whatever illusion held them suspended in the intimate bubble, Benjamin gripped the vampire’s knee and leaned in. “Just tell me one thing?”
The wing of a dark brow lifted in inquiry.
“It wasn’t just…fucking?” Benjamin swallowed down the bitterness of the word. “If we weren’t enemies…”
“But we are.”
“But if we weren’t,” Benjamin pressed, his fingers curling into the leather trousers.
A heartbeat passed, then another. Tzadkiel leaned in, his hand covering Benjamin’s in a light grip. Warmth puffed over Benjamin’s lips, sweet with the scent of bergamot. The vampire had been drinking tea.
“If we weren’t,” Tzadkiel confided, gaze darkening, “I would make you mine.”
The bubble that separated them seemed to pop, spraying the room with a diffusion of purple. Reality came crashing back in. Nyx chattered on, stirring her tea, then seemed to come to herself. She frowned, looking askance between Benjamin and Tzadkiel. The vampire had retreated so quickly that Benjamin hovered awkwardly, his hand in midair where Tzadkiel’s thigh had been only a moment before.
Benjamin sat back, a chill walking up his spine. He realized now exactly why Tzadkiel knew who would lose the final battle between them. The vampire was superior to most beings that walked the earth. Even the coven would have reason to be wary were the War King to get the jump on them. Benjamin, a mere human with a few tricks up his metaphorical sleeve, didn’t stand a chance.
“We should go to the Common before nightfall.” Tzadkiel’s face was a stolid mask that betrayed nothing of the intimacy he and Benjamin had shared moments before. “The coven will not expect us during daylight.”
Still too disoriented to argue, Benjamin only asked, “Is Akito asleep?”
Nyx’s gaze moved upward as if she might be able to see Akito in the guest room above. “I think so. Let’s let him sleep a while longer. Then we can brief him when we get back.”
Benjamin stood, as did Tzadkiel. Nyx preceded them out of the kitchen. An awkward beat passed. A million things Benjamin wanted to say, and not one of them found its way to his lips. The moment came and went, and Tzadkiel blinked, breaking the connection. Five minutes later, they walked out of the house together, side by side in silence, Nyx trailing her golden glow around them.
“Sunlight makes you tired,” Benjamin observed when Tzadkiel’s lids went to half-mast. He’d heard from his uncle that the creatures didn’t walk in the daylight, but the man had never explained why.
“Sunlight makes me tired,” the vampire agreed.
“Is it your only weakness now that you’ve had my blood?” What made Benjamin ask the question, he didn’t know.
Amazingly, Tzadkiel, staring straight ahead, answered. “No, I have one other.”
Benjamin frowned. “Which is?”
Tzadkiel’s lips thinned and silence descended. Benjamin didn’t really expect an answer. So, when the vampire spoke some minutes later, it took him a moment to parse the words and their meaning.
“You, hunter,” Tzadkiel said, not looking at him.
Benjamin’s attention snapped to the man whose long strides ate up the pavement with military vigor.
“My weakness is you.”
Chapter 24
Cold and bleak, the winter sun beat down on Tzadkiel with the power of a sledgehammer. Traffic sounds seemed to come from far way, and even the wind moved in slow motion. He pushed onward, attempting to not display his weakness to the witch and the hunter. Of course, Benjamin had noticed almost straightaway, though Tzadkiel kept his pace determinedly steady. They neared Boston Common, and the exhausted feeling intensified, until he felt as if the pavement sucked at his legs when they crossed at the intersection of Joy and Beacon.
The last time he’d entered the Common with Benjamin, Tzadkiel had found the exercise irksome but not impossible. Now, he stood at the top of the steps that led down to the Fr
og Pond area and stopped, unable to continue. It was as if someone had dropped a brick wall into his path. Fatigue washed over him in unrelenting waves. The effect was more profound than sunlight usually caused. Benjamin and Nyx reached the bottom of the steps before they noticed he hadn’t followed.
“I feel it too,” Nyx said, turning to him.
Sunlight sliced the air across the Common, its energy casting shimmering tendrils through Nyx’s own golden aura. The witch appeared one part sun goddess, one part powerful mage, staring up at him, with purple, layered skirts swaying around trim ankles. The image flickered, dreamlike, layering one visage over another as if Tzadkiel were seeing double.
Benjamin followed Nyx’s gaze and took in Tzadkiel standing at the top of the steps. “I can see you up there, but…” He faced the open, then turned again to Tzadkiel. “It’s as if your aura bounces against something and is stopped at the boundary of the Common.”
Two children with their parents traipsed down the steps and then raced each other to the playground. Tzadkiel’s mind said he should have been able to follow after them. His feet tried to act on his perceptions, but he smacked into the invisible boundary once more.
“Maybe if we try walking the boundary?” Nyx shielded dark eyes with one palm and looked up to Tzadkiel.
Benjamin climbed the steps first, joining him on the sidewalk. Elderflower’s honeyed notes assailed Tzadkiel as the hunter passed by the Common’s iron fence, and Tzadkiel realized he couldn’t sense anything but light and sound from the open expanse. It was as if the wind itself were trapped inside. Light, he knew, was the purview of the gods. No spell could contain it for long. The wind, however, was of Gaia, and she herself was the mother of magic. Only one thing could bind her forces—death.
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