Sunny - Mona Lisa Blossoming

"This way, milady," Winston said. He pushed open the heavy front door, carrying Halcyon inside. There was nothing to do but sheath my sword and follow them into the gloomy tower. Inside was even less inviting. The looming corridors seemed empty and windy. The grand stairway spiraled along the interior, reaching for its infinite pinnacle. Winston's footsteps echoed hauntingly in space rarely treaded by others. It was hollow and dark, a prison with only two lonely inmates trapped inside. Upon closer inspection, the interior was immaculate, spotless. Furnished in wood tones, accented with dark forest green and heavy gold, some might even call it stylish, if you liked that old gothic, monolithic look. The school of doom and gloom, not your typical Town and Country look. It was a man's abode. Not my cup of tea.

Via the windy stairway, Winston took Halcyon to a spacious bedroom on the second floor, and laid him gently on the bed. "I will awaken the High Lord," he said and left, moving with a curious silence and grace for one so tall and gangly.

I moved to Halcyon's side and smoothed his soft black hair back from his face. "I thought returning home would make you better, not worse."

Halcyon smiled. "The trip down did that, not being here."

"Ah, yes, the trip down. You shielded me. That's what drained you so much."

"You were in pain."

"I can take a little pain," I said softly.

"It was not a little."

"I can take a lot of pain, then."

"I could not," he said, eyes tenderly stroking my face. "I could not bear to see you in such pain."

"Oh, Halcyon." My fingers stroked his hair gently then moved down to cover the gaping wound slashing down his chest. It had started to bleed again, either from the rough landing or during the ride on Shadow's back. Dark red blood seeped out sullenly, wetting my hand, coating the pearly mole embedded in my palm, making it tingle, warm, come to life. Pain called my power forth and I let it pour out of me and seep into him. I moved my other hand down, swept both my hands across his chest, my palms strumming with energy as I moved them over his slashed chest.

Halcyon's eyes widened. "What are you doing?"

"My question as well." A dangerous voice came from the doorway.

I gasped and stepped back from Halcyon to stare at the High Lord of Hell. Standing framed in the doorway, he looked like the portrait I had seen once at High Court. Like the spitting image of his son. Or perhaps it was the other way around. The same long straight nose, narrow high cheekbones, full wide mouth. The same quiet elegance, trim, and slender build. But he was darker than Halcyon, bronze rather than golden, and wore unrelieved black: a black silk shirt, tailored black pants, black diamond cufflinks. The dusting of white hair in the portrait had become solid wings of silver flaring his temples while the rest of his hair remained dark.

The greatest difference, however, between father and son was in the eyes. The High Lord's eyes were the same dark brown color, like bittersweet chocolate. But it was the expression in them or, rather, the complete lack of expression in them that so differentiated them. They say that the eyes are the windows to your soul. These eyes were blank, empty. Completely neutral eyes that I had only seen once before. In the Queen Mother. Eyes that weighed and measured you and passed judgment. Eyes that did not care if you lived or died. It was more unsettling looking into those unemoting eyes than to stare into the hungry yellow eyes of a Hell hound. At least you knew what compelled that animal.

"Father," Halcyon said, his voice a weak whisper from the bed. "Mona Lisa. My friend."

"Your friend?" The High Lord arched a brow, an identical echoing gesture of his son's. "Your blood coats her hands," he observed, and silky menace coated his voice, thicker than the blood staining my palms.

I glanced down at my incriminating hands, at the guilty blood gleaming so darkly red against my white skin. "I was only easing his pain."

Halcyon nodded. "She brought me here."

"Winston said Shadow did."

Halcyon smiled. "Him, too."

"And he brought her here as well instead of ripping her apart and feasting on her tender blood and delicate body parts."

I shivered at the gruesome image those cool words conveyed. It took great effort not to fidget under that cold, cold stare.

"I claimed her as my mate," Halcyon said. "Shadow would not comprehend the meaning of friend."

The dark brow winged up again. "And he accepted her as such?"

"He smelled my scent upon her."

"I see."

I wondered if the High Lord did and felt a blush rising in my face.

"Call me Blaec." The High Lord flashed me a sudden white smile, wielding charm as effectively as did his son.

I blinked. "Blaec? What an unusual name."

"It means 'darkness. "

"Oh." I swallowed. "And yet your son is named for joy and happiness."

A fleeting shadow of memory and regret chased over the High Lord's face, then was gone. "A mother's wish for her son," he said quietly.

Procuring a pristine white handkerchief from an inner pocket, the High Lord offered it to me.

I gratefully wiped his son's blood from my hands. Not knowing what to do with it now that it was stained, I left it on the small bedside table.

Blaec's eyes swept over Halcyon's torn chest with almost cool detachment. But when it alighted on the bite mark, a ripple of dark power pulsed, thickening the air, filling the room. Making it suddenly hard for me to breathe.

"Who dared?" Blaec hissed, leaning down to catch the scent.

"Mona Louisa," Halcyon said.

"Does she still live?"

"Yes."

Something unspoken passed between the two of them. Lightly, Blaec ran his fingers over his son's neck, just above the skin. When those fingers lifted, I gasped. The marks were no more.

Blaec swept his hands slowly down Halcyon's chest, floating over the surface, healing the torn flesh. And it was healing so effortless, so unfelt. Always before, with Janelle, with myself, you could feel the power flowing from one to the other. But not so here. I stood only a foot away and did not sense anything. No pulse of power or strumming of energy. He just moved his hands and tissue was healed. And the complete absence of effort spoke more eloquently than words of the vast power he must wield in those hands. What one could heal, one could also destroy.

Even knowing this, when Blaec turned to me and pushed open the collar of my man's shirt to reveal my own jagged wound, I did not flinch or draw back. I just looked into those cool chocolate eyes with the knowledge of his power clear in my eyes as he lifted a hand and ran it over my torn shoulder. He did not touch my skin, but a feeling of tingling warmth, of heat, fell from the shadow of his hand and balmed my flesh.

"You have no fear." He removed his hand.

"There is nothing I could do should you decide to hurt or heal me," I said quietly.

Blaec's dark eyes glinted. "You'll do," he murmured. "Come."

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"Back to your people."

"You are taking me back to the portal?"

Blaec nodded. "I will await you at the front entrance."

Alone once more in the room, I looked down to find Halcyon's gaze warm upon me.

"You are well?" I asked.

"And will be even more so in a few days."

The sting of tears bit the backs of my eyes. "I am so sorry that you were injured this badly."

"Shhh," Halcyon crooned and grasped my hand. With gentle pressure he brought me down to him. Lifting his head, he met my lips for the first time, real, with his. Soft. A tender brushing. A sweet pressing of tender flesh to tender flesh. A searching, discovering. A knowing, now, of the shape of my mouth, the feel of his. A light stroke over the seam of my closed lips asking for entrance, for a greater knowing.