by Kathryn Moon
"What an incredible appetite she has," someone in the room murmured.
My eyes fell shut, letting my lovers take my sanity with their hands and mouths and cock, wondering if I could endlessly float in this place at the edge of ecstasy and oblivion.
Ezra was snoring, his cheek pillowed on my left breast, pushing it into an amusing smashed shape now that he was invisible in sleep, stretched out on top of me. Auguste rested on his side at my right, and Booker was stretched out on my left, blinking up at the canopy, his eyes clearer and more human than I'd ever seen before.
"You know I would never really give up any of you for just one, don't you?" I whispered to Auguste.
I hadn't been able to speak by the time we were done downstairs, lost in some mental haze, my whole body tingling and tender with awareness. My men had brought me down gently in the bath, feeding me fruit and chocolate until I realized I was full and sore and deliriously relaxed. But I hadn't been able to fall asleep when they'd put me to bed, my head spinning through days and days of sex and affection and trouble and confusion.
Auguste propped his head up on a hand, just visible by the firelight. "I do know that, yes. I should've prepared you better for tonight, hm?"
"Mm. I like the surprises, I think," I admitted with a smile. "But I was worried for a minute."
"Apologies. I'll be more careful to discuss things like this and then save the surprises for later. Although perhaps I am running out of wicked ideas by now," Auguste added with a grin, leaning forward just enough to tap his nose to mine briefly.
"You like to be jealous?" I asked.
"I like…the fire of possessiveness. But only because I know that I am safe with you," Auguste said softly, glancing across me to Booker, who was watching us. "If I thought you would say such a thing outside of the rush of pleasure, I wouldn't ask to hear it."
I nodded at that. "I like to watch you and Jonathon, and it is fun to feel that frustration of being on the outside, but only because I know you'd gladly both have me in the middle too."
"Exactly," Auguste said with a nod. "In the middle. On top. Below. And at my side for as long as you find yourself happy there."
Auguste shifted cautiously around to avoid bumping into Ezra as he leaned in and kissed me. He hadn't fed from me in the frenzy, but he'd said that what he'd gotten the night I'd woken him had been more than enough to last him. His mouth pressed softly to mine, over and over again as I sighed and softened.
"And if I find myself happy there forever?" I asked in a whisper.
"Then that is where you'll be," Auguste answered. "For now, sleep, mon coeur. I'll be with you until morning."
Chapter Twenty-Four
Invasions and Exits
I sat up with a start the next morning, my heart pounding, gasping for air. There had been a dream, or something like it—some knowledge of being studied in a way that had nothing to do with the events the night before—and as soon as my eyes opened, it all just…evaporated, only the symptoms of fear remaining.
Booker stood by the bedroom window, sun cascading over his bare chest. It was a proud pose for him, arms crossed behind his back, feet spread. I hadn't given much thought to Booker's posture before, aside from enjoying the sight of him, but this struck me as unfamiliar. I reached through the sheets around me, searching for Ezra, and came up empty just as Booker looked over his shoulder at me. The lovely clarity of his eyes from the night before was missing again, replaced with cool stone.
"Good morning, Booker," I said, smiling at my golem and reaching for him, wondering how easy it might be to draw out that living stare, rile him up to those tangled expressions he'd worn as I rode him.
He turned and walked smoothly toward the bed, a stiff, broad smile on his lips, almost as if he were mimicking Ezra or Auguste. But he settled on his knees at the edge of the mattress, leaning in and pushing me back down into the pillows, nuzzling into my throat as I laughed at the greeting.
"You're in a nice mood this morning," I sighed, arching beneath him to let the sheet slip down from my chest.
Booker pushed my knees apart with one hand, the other sliding up from my shoulder to cover my throat. I relaxed, even as my heart drummed, remembering the way he held me like this as he'd fingered me the first time, welcoming a repeat of the gentle grip.
And then he squeezed.
"You have no sense of self-preservation, do you, child?"
I froze in the bed, staring up at the milky eyes looking back at me, in a face so perfectly familiar. But that was not Booker's voice. I opened my mouth to scream, and the stone fingers tightened, shrinking the sounds to a squeak. I reached up for his wrist on my throat, but it was useless, my nails scratching and skidding over polished stone, leaving no impression, no evidence of my struggle. Booker's face just grinned, an eerily airy chuckle falling from that toothy expression.
"Golems are wonderful tools, empty vessels to be filled with a master's purpose. And here was this one, lost to its creator, simply existing…" the voice said, using Booker's handsome features in all the wrong ways.
I tried to kick, but it did more harm to my shin than to Booker's body and whatever was using him—
No, of course. I knew who had Booker.
"Birsha," I mouthed.
"Mmm, but you're not so stupid then," he said, head tilting, hips lowering to mine to pin me helplessly. "Banal, and yet exceptional. By all rights, I should find you as delightful as they all seem to, and yet…"
I glowered up into the blank stare, pulling the tiny little breaths the grip on my throat granted me, going limp beneath the body trapping me. Booker was a good tool for this man's cruelty. I couldn't fight against marble, couldn't do him any harm, and I'd only hurt myself trying. None of that hurt as fiercely as the stabbing sensation in my heart of my tormentor wearing my friend's features.
"…And yet I think I'd rather crush you than keep you."
My lips formed around the words, and Birsha used Booker's face to scowl, the grip easing just enough to let me speak.
"Because you don't really want anyone to be enjoying themselves," I hissed through my strangled throat. "You want them hurting and hating themselves and each other."
Birsha only laughed. "Not stupid at all, perhaps," he allowed. "But still not worth keeping."
"Booker won't let you hurt me," I squeezed out in a rush. "He's not an empty vessel at all."
Booker's fingers tightened, cutting off my speech, and Birsha laughed. "He's made of stone, child. There's no heart beating for you. No thoughts racing around the vision of your little face going red as I deny you air. He'll wake up as I leave, and he won't—"
Birsha stalled as I slid my hands up Booker's arms, trembling a little, spots appearing in my vision.
"—He won't even blink when he sees—"
I tiptoed my fingertips up Booker's throat to stroke over the marble cheekbones and the broad nose.
"—Sees your lifeless heap on the—"
I traced my touch around Booker's lips and Birsha's words stalled, grip faltering just enough for the world to return, a little brighter and painfully sharp. I sucked in what I could, the air burning in my lungs.
Booker's eyes were blue, a darker ring around the irises, and wide with horror.
"Hello, friend," I mouthed, petting his face.
His expression snarled, hauling me up with both hands around my neck, Birsha redoubling his efforts, squeezing so tight with Booker's grip, I thought I might actually snap and—
A great grinding bellow exploded from Booker's lips, an arm snapping around my back and hauling me to his chest, my own circling him limply. My mouth reached his throat, and I kissed the spot there, clinging to Booker as he vibrated with anger, fighting off Birsha's hold.
"Esther—"
"Push him out," I hissed, and Booker growled, stone grinding, arms tightening almost too fiercely.
The door to my bedroom opened, and Booker let out a long shuddering moan, his fingers finally loosening, as Jonathon droppe
d his bag and rushed for the bed.
"Esther?! My god, Booker, what are you doing? Let her go!"
I tightened my hold on Booker with a fresh gasp of air, squeezing myself around him, even as Jonathon tried to haul me away.
"Esther? Esther! Are you all right?! Christ, Booker—"
"No," I gasped out, snatching at one of Jonathon's hands tugging on me. "No, stop. Stop. I'm fine. Booker?"
Booker shuddered, but neither he nor I released one another, and Jonathon finally gave up the struggle, pressing himself to my back and lifting my hair to examine my neck.
"Esther, darling, what did he do?"
"Birsha," I rasped, kissing Booker's throat again for good measure. "Birsha got into Booker. But he pushed him out, didn't you?"
"Esther, please, let me look at you."
It was Booker who finally passed me to the other man, his brow tangled, and I snatched his hand in mine, refusing to surrender our connection in case Birsha tried to steal him away again.
Jonathon hissed as he turned me enough to look at my throat, touching spots gently and glaring past me at Booker.
"It wasn't his fault. He didn't do anything wrong," I said, squeezing Booker's fingers and wincing as Jonathon hit what would definitely become a bruise soon.
"Birsha could come back," Jonathon bit out.
"No," Booker said, sudden and rough. "He won't."
"All the same, I'm not leaving you alone with him until Magdalena has done something," Jonathon snapped. He sighed, staring at my throat and then glancing down at the rest of me. There were finger-shaped bruises on my hips too.
"Auguste," I said, tapping a finger against Jonathon's chin. "We had a fun night. I'm okay."
"You're bruised, you're going to have swelling. You need ice water and tea and—" Jonathon shuddered, his eyes squeezing tight for a moment before he shook himself. They were brilliantly green when they reopened. "Not now," he growled.
"Let him out," I said. Jonathon was right, my throat was hurting.
"He's too angry," Jonathon said.
"Let him out so he knows I'm safe."
Jonathon leapt out of the bed, his back tensing and bunching, growing as he marched for the attached room, a great snarl escaping. The door opened, and for a moment, I stiffened at the sight of no one, and then Mr. Tanner let out a roar from the other room and Ezra appeared, his eyes wide and flicking between the three of us.
"Shite, what did I miss, puisín?"
Mr. Tanner had me cuddled in the crook of his enormous legs at the center of the bed, wrapped in a robe I'd brought back with me from Auguste's. Ezra sat nearby without encroaching on Mr. Tanner's territory, watching me move the bundle of ice across my throat with a worried twinge on his brow.
Magdalena stood at the foot of the bed with Booker, a pair of multi-colored spectacles perched at the end of her nose, as she rubbed her temples with her fingertips. I wanted to make a joke about what trouble I was, but it was starting to hurt too much to speak and the wounded sound of my voice just agitated Mr. Tanner.
"In a sense, Birsha was right. Your connection with Booker has disrupted my control over him," Magdalena said, picking up the spectacles and turning them so she was staring out of the purple lense, the green pinched in her fingers. "This hasn't happened before. He’s… Well, the strand of magic that might've exerted my will onto him is now loose."
"But how did Birsha grab it?" Ezra asked.
"Dumb luck? A spy? I don't know," Magdalena said, sounding especially irritated by the idea. "Birsha assumed that left Booker, and thus you, entirely defenseless. He didn't consider that the force with which Booker liberated himself from me could also be used to resist him."
"How do we know Birsha won't grab hold again?" Mr. Tanner growled.
"You don't, unfortunately," Magdalena said with a sigh. "I think it would be best if I reattached the tether."
"No!" I started to scramble up, grunting as Mr. Tanner slapped a massive hand on my shoulder to hold me in place. "No, I don't want Booker tethered."
"You have to be safe," Booker said before anyone else got a chance to speak.
"But you deserve to have your free will! I don't want Booker to be someone's servant. Or to do their bidding just to keep me safe! Oh, stop! I will live," I snapped, twisting to glare at Mr. Tanner when he tried to bundle me back down into his lap. He just glared right back, and it was twice as ferocious as I could manage.
"Well there's an easy enough solution to that worry, darling," Magdalena said with a shrug. "I will tether him to you."
I whipped my stare back to her in the quiet that followed. She had turned the spectacles to the green lens, examining me with pursed lips.
"No," I said softly, although there was a strangely possessive part of me, buried deep in my chest, that squeezed greedily at the idea.
"Yes," Booker answered.
Magdalena only blinked. "It's already floating in your direction. And Booker's growing…sense of self won't allow him to be tied to me. I doubt it will accept anyone else."
"What about someone like Auguste?" Ezra asked, frowning.
This time, Booker and I were firm in our agreement. "No!"
My eyes widened at my own vehemence. I trusted Auguste absolutely, but…
But if Booker's will was going to belong to someone else, I did want it to be me. I would protect it, never abuse the trust he had in me. Magdalena's arms crossed over her chest, head cocking with a slant on her lips that made me wonder if she wasn't reading my mind.
"Just your expression," she said, and I tried to deliver a growl worthy of one of my gentlemen.
"It's a good idea, little one," Mr. Tanner rumbled, sliding his hand down my arm to pat my knee.
I twisted, smoothing my fingers over his, absently amused at the absurd difference in our sizes before glancing up to meet his gaze. There was a little ring of blue on the inside near his pupils, my doctor watching calmly from inside.
"Let me up. I want to speak with Booker," I said gently.
Mr. Tanner and Ezra both helped steady me as I wobbled my way off the bed, ignoring Magdalena to walk up to Booker. He'd been wearing a frown ever since he'd shaken Birsha out, and as soon as Mr. Tanner and Ezra had coaxed me off Booker, he'd kept his distance from me. I reached up between us, pressing my fingers over the worried folds on his forehead until they softened.
His eyes were just shy of human now, and his expressions came more readily, cheeks twitching with a smile the longer I touched him.
"Has to be you," he said, words quiet scratches of stone on stone.
"You wouldn't rather we search for a way to allow you to be your own master?" I asked him.
Booker's hands raised, hovering over my waist for a moment before landing lightly, still too afraid to touch me properly. But he stepped closer so I had to lean back to look up at him and shook his head, slow and deliberate.
"This is what I want. To care for you. You want that for me too," Booker said, smiling.
His own smile was so small and genuine, I wondered how it had taken me so long this morning to recognize he'd been meddled with. Booker was right—I did want to care for him. I trusted Auguste, the others too, but this was about more than his safety. It was his ability to make his own choices.
"What if I accidentally use my will when I'm…you know," I said, shrugging and blushing.
Ezra let out a soft chuckle behind me, and Booker lowered his head, firm lips against my ear. "It would be my pleasure."
I tried to pinch his chest for that answer, but of course, it was useless.
Magdalena cleared her throat behind us. "If it's any consolation, you will have to be focusing in order to influence Booker. While you're in the throes of passion is probably the least likely time for you to do anything of the sort accidentally."
"We can practice," Booker added in a scratchy whisper.
I shivered at the suggestion, glaring at him out of the corner of my eye, but I couldn't resist my rising smile.
"Very
well, yes. I'll take the tether," I said.
Booker kissed my temple, one hand moving down to cup my ass and the other reaching up to barely brush against the marks Birsha had left on my throat.
"Much as I hate to bring him into this, does anyone else think we ought to tell the sphinx?" Ezra chimed in from the back.
I tensed, and Magdalena released a weary sigh.
"Auguste too," Mr. Tanner said. "He'll want to know."
"Tonight then," Magdalena said with a nod. "They'll be informed, but it's Booker and Esther who make the choice. Now, unfortunately, I have even more unpleasant business to attend to."
Ezra caught my eye as Magdalena left the room, his lips pressed flat as I raised my eyebrows. Mary, I wondered. Had he told Magdalena of what we'd seen?
Ezra nodded once in answer, and a puff of breath escaped my lips.
Rooksgrave was turning topsy turvy.
"Will you let me heal those?" Amon asked, his hand reaching across the table to squeeze mine gently.
Jonathon sat up straighter, blinking at Amon. "Can you?"
Amon shrugged. "Not myself, but I have an oil of Heka which—"
"May I have some?"
Amon's eyes narrowed at Jonathon and then relaxed again as I answered his squeeze with one of my own.
"To study it. I'd only need a small amount," Jonathon clarified with an embarrassed half-smile.
"Then, yes. There is enough to spare, I think," Amon said.
Amon had taken the news of my attack with an entirely unexpected calm, only staring at my bruises and asking, "Birsha did this? I see."
"That'd be lovely, thank you," I said to Amon. We were having soup for lunch in my private sitting room. It was the easiest thing to swallow, but it still stung every time.
Amon sighed and pushed back from the table, patting his lap in invitation for me. I left my seat, straddling his thighs with my nightgown bunched on his lap. He looked down with a brief flare of interest, his tail swinging closer to coil around one calf and tickle my heel with the tufted end.
