by Laura Hall
The memory of his bare chest flashed in my mind and I forcefully countered the thought with one from the Colosseum: black eyes and fangs intent on biting me.
I stopped several feet from him and gazed into his eyes. A dangerous risk, but necessary. My dad had taught me that when you met someone who scared you, sometimes the only defense was a bluff. The Prime needed to know I wasn’t afraid of him. Or at the least, that my fear of him couldn’t control me.
His eyes remained neutral green, his expression aloof. I frowned at him. “Why am I immune to Samantha’s power but not yours?”
When Connor Thorne smiled fully, I wouldn’t be surprised to find out the world tilted a little on its axis. A dimple appeared in his left cheek and small, charming creases fanned from the corners of his eyes. I’ll admit, I was a little dumbstruck. And though I might wish to blame it on his vamp glamour, the truth was more primal. He was, quite simply, the most attractive man I’d ever seen.
“I’m somewhat unique,” he replied blithely.
I pulled together my scattered wits. “Is that why I can’t sense your aura?” The sucking void of his power, that I’d felt in my dad’s office in L.A., had been absent in our interactions since.
His smile softened. “No. You can’t sense it because I choose for you not to. Your sensitivity to auras and your ability to see magic are highly unusual qualities. Whether they’re linked to your Ascension or predate it remains to be seen. Regardless, your lack of sufficient defenses makes these abilities problematic in my presence.”
“I didn’t sense auras before Ascension,” I countered, then frowned. “Wait, are you saying your power is so great you’d fry my brain?”
All traces of humor vanished from his face and eyes. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.” He gestured to the doorway. “Come inside. We’ve kept our guest waiting long enough.”
I bit my tongue and walked past him, straight into a book lover’s dream. Every wall except the one boasting high, paned windows was covered in dark shelving. A combination of recessed and modern pendant lighting illumined hundreds of tightly packed books, richly woven rugs, distressed leather couches, and an eclectic assortment of cushioned chairs.
From a chair near the windows rose a slim, gray-haired woman. She was eighty if she was a day, and garbed in familiar white robes. Her face was heavily lined, but with the kind of wrinkles that bespoke a life well lived rather than too much time in the sun.
“The fifth Opal,” I said, mostly to myself.
Lively dark eyes scanned my face. “Fiona Sullivan,” she said in a clear voice. “You look just like your mother. I’m curious, were your eyes blue like hers before Ascension, or have they always been gray?”
The breath in my lungs stilled. My heartbeat drummed a staccato rhythm in my ears.
“What did you say?” I whispered.
The Prime touched my arm, I think maybe to comfort me, but I jerked away, hissing, “Don’t touch me.”
The Opal glanced curiously between us. Whatever she saw on the Prime’s face seemed to amuse her. The slight smile fell, however, when she looked at me again.
“I can see I’ve shocked you, which was not my intention. Will you sit and allow me to explain why I’m here?”
My muscles remained locked. “If it has anything to do with my mother, I’m not interested.”
She nodded. “I will not speak of Delilah.”
Delilah.
Gah, I hated that name.
The Opal settled back into her seat. I took the one opposite hers, while across the room, the Prime dropped onto one of the couches. He swung his legs onto the adjacent cushions and folded his arms behind his head, settling back to watch us with an avid gaze.
I returned the mage’s scrutiny with a glare, as mention of my mother turned me into a raging antagonist.
“You know me, but I don’t know you.”
My companion merely smiled. “My name is Alisande Salvator. Yes, I’m an Opal Mage, though I was one long before Ascension changed the world. Back then, I was called a witch.” She glanced briefly at the Prime. “I’d like to perceive your magic, if you’ll allow it.”
I shifted, the words pinging discordantly. “I don’t have any magic.”
“Ah,” she said, like it was a revelation. My scalp tingled unpleasantly. I blamed the pale corona of power crackling around her. “Perhaps magic isn’t the most accurate term. Your sensitivity to auras and magical resonance, then.”
Instinctively, I looked at the Prime. He was watching me, one eyebrow lifted, lightly mocking and blatantly challenging. His earlier words occupied the space between us: I will keep you safe.
Did I trust him? Not as far as I could throw him. But on the other hand, he hadn’t given me any reason to doubt his word. Yet.
“Okay.”
Alisande’s smile widened as she came to her feet. She was a tiny woman—even with me sitting, she was barely taller than me. Delicate hands lifted and I flinched.
“It won’t hurt,” she murmured.
Soft fingers came to rest on either side of my face. My vision tunneled and went dark.
8
I opened my eyes, assessed that I was alive and lying supine on a couch in the library, and closed them again.
“I’m getting sick of this.”
The Prime’s low chuckle sounded from across the room. “And I grow tired of carting your unconscious body to the nearest flat surface.”
I sighed and dropped a forearm over my face. “Is she gone?”
“Yes,” he said, much closer now. I peered from beneath my arm to see him standing over me. He frowned, opened his mouth to speak, then seemed to think better of it.
“What?” I pressed, lifting my arm.
“Before we discuss what she learned, I thought you should know I heard from Malcolm.”
I sat up so fast my head spun. “Did he find my dad?”
“Not yet, though he has a promising lead.”
“What is it?”
The Prime strode across the room to a small cabinet. “Would you like a brandy?”
I considered tossing a couch cushion at his back, and almost did as he threw his head back and laughed. The warm, infectious sound almost distracted me from his violation.
“Get out of my head!”
He faced me, his eyes still crinkled merrily at the corners. “Mo spréach, you throw your thoughts like you do lightning.”
Mo spréach.
I remembered him calling me that once before. It sounded Gaelic, but although my dad and Malcolm’s parents were Irish transplants to the U.S., the language had passed from the family generations ago.
No way in hell was I going to give the Prime the satisfaction of asking what it meant. From his tone, it was either an endearment or a demeaning moniker. Both options set my teeth on edge.
“Brandy?” he asked again, lifting a glass tumbler in my direction.
I nodded shortly, and moments later was presented with two fingers of liquor. He tossed back his own serving before settling at the far end of the couch. I lifted my glass and took a healthy swallow, the fiery elixir burning my throat and clearing my head.
“Does this mean Mal is coming to Seattle?”
The Prime nodded. “He’ll be here tomorrow afternoon.”
I took another sip of brandy, staring at his profile over the rim of my glass. “What do you think happened to my dad? I’m assuming it has something to do with the case he was working for you.”
“I would agree.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
He glanced at me, brows raised. “I don’t make a habit of sharing case details with laypersons. Nor do I think your father would approve of me sharing these particular details.”
I swallowed hard. “Tell me this much: do you think he’s dead?”
He was silent long enough that I knew the next words he spoke would be bullshit.
His lips curved wryly. “I’m damned either way with you, aren’t I?”
&nbs
p; I shook my head. “You don’t understand. My dad and Mal are the only family I have. The people who accepted and protected me the last fourteen years.” I rubbed the aching space over my heart. “I’m not an innocent, either, if you’re thinking to spare me horror. I grew up with a cop for a father. I’ve even helped on cases in recent years when he’s needed to track mages. I’m not asking for the gory details, Connor. Just give me something. Anything to hold onto.”
A small, weighted pause ensued. “So you do know my name.”
I flushed and quickly swallowed the last of the brandy, then set the glass on a side table. Standing, I narrowed my eyes on the side of his expressionless face. “Since I was unconscious for the last two days, I doubt I’ll be sleeping tonight. Can I borrow a book?”
His lashes dropped, shadowing his eyes. “Sit down.”
“No.”
He sighed. “A group of ciphers calling themselves the Liberati are capturing and torturing supernaturals. Experimenting on them. They’ve been extremely circumspect with their victims until recently, when a shifter escaped confinement and managed to share his story before dying from his wounds.”
I sat back down, my mind reeling. “Isn’t this FBI territory? How does my father come into this?”
“The FBI is investigating, but so am I. I asked for Frank’s help because of you.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I choked out.
He finally looked at me, gaze steady and unapologetic. “The Prime’s Office has been aware of you for a long time. Your first registration with Census, when you received a cipher classification, was a ruse. We’ve been watching you, waiting to see how your powers would manifest.”
I shook my head slowly. “I don’t understand.”
“Forgive my bluntness, but my goal is to use you. I need your skills to track the ciphers responsible for more than sixty suspected murders nationwide. You said it yourself: you’ve worked with your father tracking mages. My hope, in contacting Frank, was that he would enlist your help. I underestimated a parent’s drive to protect his child.” He sighed lightly. “Had you been more patient, all this would have been revealed tomorrow.”
“I’m not…” I knuckled my eyes. “You’re wrong. I didn’t sense anything at my dad’s office.”
“I know. Malcolm’s spells helped you manage your lightning, but they also dampened your ability to perceive magical resonance. Resonance is an echo of a person’s aura, like a fingerprint. The stronger the aura, the longer its resonance stays in a place and the more easily you can sense it. For example, have you ever entered a room after your uncle left it and felt like he was still there?” Interpreting my scowl of annoyance as confirmation, he continued, “What you sensed was Malcolm’s personal resonance. In time, you’ll learn how to differentiate between different species and people, just like a wolf can catalogue and track thousands of scents.”
The patient, measured tone of his voice made me want to scratch my eyes out. I said irritably, “Thanks for the refresher, but none of that is news to me. I’m telling you, there wasn’t any resonance at the office.”
“But there was,” he countered with insufferable calm. “Alchemy is magic. It’s merely a different kind, one you haven’t learned to perceive. Alchemists don’t harness power from within, as mages do, but use a catalyst to activate spells. In the last decade, the art, so to speak, has quickly advanced. Practicing cipher alchemists have discovered that the most effective catalyst is derived from the blood of supernaturals.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Why haven’t I heard anything about this? I don’t watch the news every day or anything, but this is pretty huge.”
“No comment.”
My breath expelled in a huff. “Figured you’d say that.” I tried another angle. “Didn’t both my uncle and Adam sense the alchemy at the office? If mages can sense it, what do you need me for?”
“For mages, alchemy is akin to a general sense of wrongness. There are no distinguishing features. So although they can recognize it, they can’t track it. You can. And you will.”
Anxiety tightened around my chest like a vise. The walls seemed to waver and move closer, igniting claustrophobia. I jerked to my feet and paced across the room.
“I thought it would be because of my lightning.”
“What would?” he asked, in a tone that said he already knew the answer.
“I always knew someone would find me. Abduct me.” My voice rose with every word, edged with hysteria. “To use me. Survival of the fittest, right? But I’m not a predator. Not like you. I never had a chance!”
“Fiona.”
I spun, jabbing a finger in his direction. “All your fancy words and ‘I’ll protect you’ bullshit can quit. I don’t want to hear anything else. I just want to go home!”
Every muscle in my body quivered like I’d just completed a fifty-yard dash. My chest heaved, my breath rasping in the sudden silence. The Prime sat completely still, his lips slightly parted, his pupils pinpricks amidst the muted green glow of his eyes.
Instinct screamed at me to run, but it warred with an equally potent, nearly magnetic compulsion to go to him. To fall at his feet. Obey him.
“Unbelievable. You’re mind-fucking me without even trying, aren’t you?”
He blinked, releasing a slow breath. “You need to leave,” he said in a low, chilling voice. “Go. Right now.”
I laughed shrilly. “Really? Should I bow, too? Or maybe curtsy? What does Samantha do when you order her around?”
I was quite possibly the stupidest person on the planet.
Cool fingers surrounded my throat in a deceptively gentle grip. I hadn’t seen him move. Not even a blur. I think my heart stopped for a few seconds before resuming its beat with a roar.
The Prime tilted my head back, angling my face to his. His eyes were still green—thank God—but I could clearly see fangs behind his lips. They looked decidedly sharp, the tips so fine they were almost invisible.
“Never, in more than a millennia, have I met a creature as irreverent as you,” he murmured silkily. His thumbs pressed deeply into either side of my throat, cutting off blood flow until my vision dimmed. “So fragile.” His fingers gentled, stroking lightly. “And yet so resilient. Alisande seems to think you’re worth the incredible risk I’m taking on you.”
“Not… worth it,” I wheezed.
The library door slammed open and I glimpsed Adam, white-eyed and ready to rock.
“Connor, what the fuck? Are you all right?”
The Prime ignored him, continuing his sensual torture on my throat, thumbs sliding up to my jaw and down to my collarbone in teasing, circular patterns. Letting me feel his strength, his dominance.
I cursed him even as I felt arousal surge, hot and heavy in my blood. His nostrils flared and—if I wasn’t hallucinating—his fangs extended further.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” I ground out. “I’ve had a fourteen-year drought.”
His lips twitched, involuntarily it seemed, then parted in a grin. A short chuckle escaped him, then another, until he was laughing uproariously. Stumbling backward, he collapsed on a nearby couch and covered his face with his hands. From the noises he was making, he’d just heard the best joke of his life.
Drunk on adrenaline and the sound of the Prime’s laughter, I glanced across the room at Adam. “I think I broke him.”
He stared at me for a long moment, some feeling I couldn’t name in his eyes. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was admiration.
“Maybe you should head to your room, Fiona.”
I nodded. “Excellent idea.”
I snagged a couple of books on my way out.
9
The morning dawned clear and bright, with birds chirping and breezes blowing. From a window in my pretty prison, I watched six large and beautiful wolves streak from the compound toward the forest. I envied them. Even hated them, a little.
I was in a mood.
Upon returning to my room the previous
night, I’d spent the better part of six excruciating hours twiddling my thumbs. I’d rearranged the furniture before the fireplace, thumbed through two extremely dry tomes on European history, and unpacked my meager belongings into a dresser. I’d even searched every pocket of my overnight bag twice, in case I missed something Mal had snuck in for me. A cell phone. A pack of gum. Even a deck of cards would have been welcome.
Sleep finally claimed me a few hours before dawn, only to abandon me at the first touch of light in the sky. After another marathon shower, I’d spent an inordinate amount of time staring at myself in the mirror.
You look just like your mother.
Maybe I did. I wouldn’t know, as she’d left just after my birth and my father hadn’t kept any pictures of her. At a young age, I’d been sworn to silence on the subject, though Mal had given me a few nuggets over the years.
She’d been beautiful and troubled. Charming and selfish. Emotionally volatile. Before her marriage to my father, Delilah Greer had been a self-professed bohemian, never staying in one city long. Mal had told me that when she’d been pregnant with me, she’d sometimes disappeared for days at a time.
But despite her varied and hurtful idiosyncrasies, my father had been nuts about her. When she’d left him with a newborn and no word, he’d been inconsolable. If it hadn’t been for Mal, and eventually me, he might have gone off the deep end.
Once, I’d come home from college on a surprise visit. When I’d let myself into the house, I’d found my dad drunk in his recliner. Misled by booze and darkness, he’d mistaken me for my long lost mother. My strong, proud father had cried out and fallen to his knees. The following day, it was understood we would never mention the incident.
Outside, leaves swirled across a courtyard of gray stone. The shadows of wolves darted inside the forest line.
I decided to go for a run.
Not giving myself time for second thoughts, I stuffed my feet in sneakers, grabbed the metal keycard from the dresser, and headed out the door. The hallway was silent and empty. As I waited for the elevator, I ignored the itch between my shoulder blades, as well as the impulse to glance behind me every few seconds.
