Anchoring her, he pushed for one last moment. They came in a glorious pulsating blast of raw energy, arching her backward after several exquisite spasms, throwing her glowing head into a collision course with the bedpost. Ingrid was mercifully set adrift, the last thing she remembered hearing was Mack's voice saying, "Oh shit."
Ingrid became aware of a damp coolness on the back of her head. She opened her eyes only a slit, crying out from the intense glare of the light. Closing them again, she curled into a fetal ball on the bed. "Too bright," she croaked.
She heard Mack moving around the room, closing the shades and the curtains and then finally the door. "Try now." She peeked out, her eyes still slits. It seemed better, but still much brighter than it should have been. "Here." Mack handed her a pair of sunglasses, which were too big for her head, but at least made it possible for her to open her eyes fully.
"The light sensitivity seemed to lessen for me after a few minutes. How do you feel?"
"I think I'm okay." She patted her face and various parts of her body.
“There’s no lump where you hit your head. If you had one, it must have already healed.
Ingrid started to sit up, but Mack put a hand on her shoulder and pushed her back down. "Trust me; you don't want to do that yet. When I woke up, I got out of the bed too fast and spent the next ten minutes dry heaving in the bathroom."
Ingrid scrutinized Mack more closely, noticing that he was also wearing sunglasses. "Are you okay?"
"I think so. My nose is completely healed, much faster than normal. In fact, I feel amazing. I mean, some things have changed completely, but I haven't figured it all out yet."
"Changed?"
"My eyes."
"Are they injured?"
"No, I see really well. Better than before. The color has changed."
"To what?"
"Kind of a copper color, I guess."
"Let me see."
He sat down on the bed and took off the glasses. She gasped and clutched at his arm to steady herself. His lovely hazel eyes were now a shiny dark copper color, the golden flecks still there. "I can't believe this."
"Yeah. I don't know if it's permanent.”
"Fuck...did mine change too?" Ingrid whipped off the glasses.
He smiled. "Yeah. You're even more beautiful."
"Bring me a mirror." He came back into the room a minute later with a small shaving mirror, but he didn't hand it to her, even though she grabbed at it.
He could see that she was upset. "It's only your eye color. You can morph it to any color you want. Don't flip out."
She nodded, still biting her lip as she lifted the mirror. Her eyes were...incredible. The sea green had turned into an iridescent radiance with swirls of shimmering greens and blues. "Holy hells."
"Does anything hurt?" He sat on the bed beside her, taking her hand, bringing it to his mouth to kiss her palm. He'd shaved and dressed in cargo shorts and a tee shirt.
"I can't tell. Do you think I can sit up now?"
"Try."
She did, slowly, and waited. Fortunately, nothing spun around. "I’m good, I guess. Did you always have that scar?" She pointed at the hand she was still clutching.
"Yeah, only it used to be too faded to see clearly."
"Oh."
He had a strange expression as he stared at her. "I can see...it's weird, but I can see what happened to us. Or maybe it's that I know. We burned a new pathway through our bodies and into our brains, waking up something new. I feel more aware—more certain. I don't know how long this'll last, but I think when we exchanged energy, we did something more than have super sex.
Ingrid laughed, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. He offered her his hand and she smiled and stood slowly. "Ow."
"What hurts?"
"I'm sore."
"Where?"
"Where do you think?" She fisted her hand on her hip and gave him a look.
"Oh," he said a little sheepishly. "If it makes you feel any better, so am I."
"Actually it does." She walked slowly toward the bathroom, grumbling. "Freakin' piston on the Titanic." Ingrid heard him laugh as she shut the door.
He knocked. "I'll leave some clothes on the bed. Don't disappear, we have to talk."
"You really think I'd try to climb out the window? I'm naked and I can hardly walk." He was quiet. "I can hear you grinning."
"I swear, I'm not grinning."
Ingrid could so hear the laughter in his voice. "Liar. Super-sex my ass."
"Your ass is perfect. I'll make us something to eat."
"Good. And a side of aspirin."
He chuckled. "It was your idea."
He was lucky she was behind a locked door. Turning on the shower, she allowed herself a small smile of her own.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Mack had lied. He had been smiling. But what guy wouldn't have smiled, after being compared to a piston in a massive engine? C'mon.
He heated some of Anthony's pasta fagioli, sliced up half a loaf of semolina bread and took the butter and the grated cheese out of the fridge. Looking at the meager fare, he threw together a quick salad, returning to his room to pull a tee shirt and a pair of boxers out of a drawer to leave on the bed for Ingrid. Setting the bottle of aspirin on the kitchen table, he turned on the viewer, hoping to see if anything was on about last night's show.
Because all media in what was left of his country was controlled by an archdemon, a member of an anal-retentive race, the New York stations were limited to four. Channel One was the local news, weather and traffic station, which also had interviews with citizens expounding on the benefits of living in their lovely city. Channel Two was sports or live executions; Channel Three was entertainment, such as soap operas, reality shows and orgies. And Channel Four reported on the politics of their great nation, along with the political climate around the world.
Although an alpha werewolf was the current president of the country and a master vampire the current King of England, the real power rested in the hands, or talons, of the most ancient of species. The top rung was made up of the four archdemons who’d arrived one hundred and fifty years ago to murder millions of humans in a bloody coup. They’d divided the world into blocks of territory, each one of the four taking a section of the earth and calling it his or hers. Not every country or continent was claimed, the remainder of the planet being left to its own devices.
Today, Channel One and Two had nothing that interested Mack, but when he saw what was on the entertainment station, he decided to forego the holographic feature of the viewer, which ensured images remained on the flat screen and didn’t pop into his kitchen.
Elias, the top master vampire in NYC, and Giovanni, his Italian cohort, were being interviewed about last night's performance.
The interviewer was a blonde haired and blue-eyed witch named Cedar. Humans rarely worked on camera anymore and weren't welcomed into the higher supernatural circles. These two vamps would have been insulted if they'd been interviewed by a lesser species.
After the introductions, the witch smiled her plastic smile and crossed her long legs provocatively. "We heard through the grapevine that the new Ingrid Hudson performed for you and your friends, Elias. Could you give up some of the details?"
Elias' smile was lusty as he quickly checked out the witch, turning toward the camera, his dark eyes glittering with power. "Yes, we had that pleasure. She's quite a beauty, but her real talent lies in her ability to project. I don't believe I've ever felt sorry for a projection before, but when she began to scream as she burned, I was tempted to hose her down." He and Giovanni laughed together, their voices richly suggestive as they shared their private joke.
Giovanni spoke directly into the camera, his accent thick, but his words still clear. "I could smell her flesh burning. In fact…” he lifted his hand to sniff his knuckles seductively, "…I think I can still smell her blood."
Mack wanted to throw the beer he was holding through the screen. "That's my bloo
d, asshole." He took a long swig.
The interview continued. "Do you think you'll be booking another show in the near future?"
Elias answered. "Oh, yes. The Director has assured me we'll be able to book several in the next few months."
"Will you also be returning, Giovanni?"
"Si, if my friend and ally will be so kind as to invite me. I don't remember ever feeling so refreshed after a theta performance." He looked at the witch with hungry eyes. "I can't wait to share this with others, Cedar." Vampires shared by taking and giving blood, usually right before sex.
The witch, who was falling under his spell, took in a deep breath, her breasts rising and falling seductively. Both vampires noticed. When she spoke again, her voice had taken on a huskier tone. "I understand that you hosted the Hudson Thetas after the performance. What was that like?"
"They were all quite charming." Part of the deal with The Director was never to say anything specific about what might have happened with Ingrid or any of the others at one of the private events.
"Come on, Elias, something juicy must have gone on." She pouted.
“I assure you, nothing juicy. We invited them for dinner and drinks and they were kind enough to come."
"I’m sure they were very happy to come,” Cedar giggled suggestively. “I'd be happy to spin a few spells with Gene Hudson, myself. What's he like?"
"He's quite intelligent and amiable. Perhaps The Director could arrange an interview?”
Her mouth twisted into a frown. "I'm sure he could. But I don't think I can afford the price the Director would charge." She plastered on another phony smile. "Do you plan on extending another dinner invitation after the next performance?"
"Absolutely. In fact, we've already booked a room for next month."
"Where?"
"You are quite aware we can't tell you that." He leaned over and touched her knee. "You're
asking questions you shouldn't ask, wicked girl."
Cedar licked her lips, shifting in her seat.
Mack had to shut it down. It was turning into one of those reality soap operas where everyone starts ripping off their clothes and jumping each other. Since supernaturals took over the airwaves, nothing was banned, including graphic sex and live executions. The audience of a show like this would be glued to their screens, especially if Elias decided to take a little blood from one of Cedar’s large, yet tender breasts. Lately, Mack found himself mostly watching old movies or re-runs of old TV shows he found online.
Mack was startled when he heard Ingrid sigh behind him. He hadn't noticed her come into the room, and he wondered how long she'd been listening to the interview. He spun around, smiled, and opened his arms, hoping he'd been forgiven. She seemed pleased by his attempt to call a truce and walked straight into them, leaning her head into the hollow under his shoulder. He folded her against his body, taking in the scent of his soap and shampoo, finding it strangely comforting that she smelled of his personal products—another way of broadcasting to the world, this female is mine. When she snuggled closer, he squeezed more tightly, hoping to keep her close for as long as he could.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
In his arms, Ingrid was at peace. Here, she could allow herself to trust that she was safe. If The Director broke down the door to drag her away, she could pretend that Mack would be able to protect her. All her life, she'd worked to find a way to protect herself, and she’d continue to work toward that end, but it was heaven to let someone else shield her from a world full of sharp edges and dangerous pitfalls. Ingrid wrapped her arms around his waist, taking in his delicious scent.
This male was hers.
“I hope she didn't hear that interview.”
Ingrid wondered why he’d phrased his question in such a way, as if she wasn’t standing right next to him. "I heard the interview from the point where Elias said we'd be invited for dinner again. Don't tell me what else they said, I don't want to know."
He urged her away, his expression curious. "I didn't say that out loud."
Ingrid lifted an eyebrow. "Yes you did. I heard you."
He tilted his head and jerked it toward the table, surveying her with a strange expression. "Maybe we should eat."
Ingrid shrugged and sat on the end. The food smelled so great, she dug right in, feeling much better after her shower.
"Do you like the soup?"
"Delicious. Did you make it?"
"It's from Vinnie's."
"He's a genius."
Mack froze, swallowing down his soup and hoping not to choke on it. "I didn't say where it was from, at least not out loud."
"I'm not poking around in your head, I swear," she protested.
"I know. My inner shields are up."
Ingrid slammed her spoon back on her plate. "Oh, god. I heard you say your shields are up, but you didn't talk…I mean, your lips didn't move."
"Let me try something."
"Okay, what are you trying?" There was a pause. "Did you say something?"
"Yes, but this time, I toughened my shields the way I do around The Director."
"What did you say?"
"That you look better in my clothes than I do."
She smiled. "Say something again, with your shields weaker."
"You're so beautiful."
Ingrid stood, lightheaded with worry. "This isn't good. I'm going to start hearing what people are thinking. Do I really want to hear what Diane and Dave are thinking? Crap."
Mack eased her back into her chair with a hand on her arm. "Toughen up your shields and you can keep them out."
"I guess. Focus on me. Can you hear what I say?"
"Yes."
"We're freaks. They're gonna execute us for sure, now." Ingrid couldn't stop the tears glistening in her eyes. "It's my fault—me and my stupid experiment."
“Forget The Director.”
“Look who’s acting irresponsibly now.”
He reached across the table and covered her hand with his larger, calloused one, calming her instantly. "Ingrid, look at me.” She hesitated, but met his gaze. “The last few hours with you have been incredible. I've loved all the firsts and the super sex." He hesitated, easing her nerves with a sexy smile. "But it’s not only that. I'm finally getting to know who you are on the inside—cracking that mask you wear to protect yourself."
She pulled her hand away and lowered her gaze to the bowl, feeling embarrassed. "I don't know that girl anymore. She was too weak to survive.”
"She's lovely and stronger than I could ever be." He wiped away Ingrid’s single tear with his napkin. "You’re lovely. Especially those lips and that ass." He winked, hoping to bring her back.
Ingrid laughed, remembering everything she'd heard in his mind and his heart when they were looped. He thinks he might love me. "Are you still hungry?" she asked.
He took off the sunglasses and laid them on the table next to his beer. "Yes, but not for soup." He smiled his twisted smile, his copper eyes gleaming out an invitation.
"Good, because if I'm going to be retired because I'm a freak, then I want to spend more time with you...acting freaky." Ingrid stood, her borrowed tee shirt and boxers making a pile at her feet. "You game?"
It turned out that he was. Several times.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Mack watched her chest rise and fall with each peaceful breath, her lovely mouth curling up as she dreamed. He thought about the precious gift she'd given him this night. He didn't mean her body, although the hours they'd shared making love would be rerun through his brain thousands of times over the coming years. It was the gift of her spirit—her determination that they could be more than performing puppets—her certainty that this slavery could end—her truth. In a world of lies and fantasy, there was nothing fake about Ingrid.
And beyond all imagining, he found that he loved her. A week ago, Mack would have said that was impossible. Thetas didn't love; they weren't capable of deep feelings. They were empty vessels and so would never truly feel that
most exquisite and sometimes most painful of all human emotions.
But tonight, and for all the days to come, he would love her. She filled his heart with hope and fed his soul with the strength of her spirit. He would give his life for her, leaving everything behind to keep her safe.
She sighed and opened her eyes, then reached up to stroke along his cheek. He leaned into it, enjoying the gentle contact. "Will you do something for me?" She sounded half-asleep, as if she were still dreaming. "You'll think it's silly but it would make me very happy."
"Anything."
She smiled and met his gaze. "I want a name."
"Ingrid is your name," he said.
"Ingrid is a label. I want you to give me a name. I'll give you one, and we'll whisper them to each other when we curl up together every night."
"I don't know what kind of name…”
"You don't have to tell me now. We'll think about it. Pick a name that fits."
He laughed softly as he surveyed her exquisite, naked body stretched out next to his. "Salome?"
"Ha, ha." She narrowed her mischievous eyes and grabbed his hair, pulling him down closer. "I could dance the Dance of the Seven Veils for you. You'd have to grant me a wish."
"I'm already at your mercy, not that I don’t want to watch you dance, beautiful girl.”
"Will you grant me a wish now?" She scraped her nails down his chest, enjoying the way he shivered.
"Yes." His body had stirred again under her touch.
"Sass is dead and I don't have my charger. Can I plug it into yours? I need to call Gene."
Mack’s stomach clenched, but he kept his voice steady. "Sure. It's in the kitchen. I'll get us a couple of sodas."
"Thanks." She walked seductively into the kitchen, pulled on the tee shirt and boxers still in a pile on the floor, and fished around in her bag where she’d left it on the counter. Plugging her H-tab into the wall charger, she sat at the table while Mack pulled some cold sodas out of the refrigerator.
Playing with Passion Theta Series Book 1 Page 18
