Eileen Wilks - Ritual Magic

“Oh, just ever so slightly, yeah. Rule, I don’t . . .” She made a small sound of surprise.

His thumbs had finally found the right spot. He dug in with his thumbs, then stroked up and out with both thumbs. Her head fell back involuntarily as at last, at last, she began to relax.

He might not be sure where the line lay between helping and interfering, but he had figured out a few things. First, he wasn’t his father, so no trickery. He had to be honest with her. Second, Lily wasn’t one of his men. He’d known that, but hadn’t followed that knowledge deep enough to reach real understanding.

It was all about control. With one of his men, he had both the right and the duty to assume control if theirs was endangered—and the ability to do so, through the mantle. This freedom to surrender control was a deep comfort for a lupus . . . unless that lupus was a Rho. A Rho was responsible, always, for his own control. Lily was neither lupus nor Rho, but she was responsible for her own control. No one could or should attempt to usurp that, no matter how much he loved her and how certain he was that she needed to let go. To let herself fall into tears or rage or whatever lay on the other side of the walls she’d put up.

Lily could not be touched by any mantle. She also couldn’t Change. The Change was one reason it was safe for him to shove one of his men over the edge. It was a release all by itself, but part of that release was shifting into a thoroughly physical self.

The body exists in the here and now. It’s the mind that spins anxiety from thoughts of otherwhere and otherwhen. Rule couldn’t give Lily the ease of the mantle or a wolf’s perspective, but he could make her body more compelling than her mind. He could offer her respite.

Wonder of wonders, she accepted it.

He rubbed and kneaded and she leaned into him, even making little sounds now and then—a low groan, a wordless mmm . Her muscles went lax and loose and warm beneath his hands. And if his body responded to that physical surrender, if the scent and feel of her filled him and stirred him, what of it? He was no randy adolescent. Desire could be enjoyed for itself. It didn’t have to be acted on.

He knew the moment her body responded with something more than ease. He knew it a second or two before she noticed—and stiffened. Not pushing him away, but not willing to feel what she did, either.

Still, she didn’t move away, didn’t so much as lift her head, leaving it tucked down. She muttered into his shirt, “I trust you’re feeling better now.”

That made him smile. “I am.” He felt much better now, with her limp and relaxed against him. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Thank you.”

She sighed and straightened. “You are so strange sometimes. Why did we come out in the hall for this? You could rub my neck in front of Benedict and Arjenie.”

“I could, but if we’d stayed in there, you wouldn’t have stopped thinking.” She would have been too aware of Benedict and his fear, which would have made her think about Nettie, which would set her to thinking furiously about her investigation . . . where she had some control. Or thought she did.

Lily’s mouth twitched in a grimace that might have been agreement. “Well, my little hedonistic interlude is over. But, Rule . . .”

“Yes?”

She smiled faintly and stretched up and kissed him lightly on the mouth. “You’re welcome.”

WHENthey went back into the plush little lounge, Benedict was pacing. Arjenie stood out of his path, watching him with worried eyes. Rule took one look at his brother and inhaled sharply. What he smelled told him more than simply watching the leashed ferocity of Benedict’s movements.

Benedict’s control was flawless, but it was not endless. “Benedict.”

Benedict kept moving without a word or a glance.

Rule pulled on the Nokolai mantle. “Benedict.”

This time Rule’s brother stopped and looked at him. His face was blank, all expression smoothed out. His eyes were wild. Wolf eyes.

“I give you a choice.” Only once had Rule felt the need to pull mantle on his older brother—when Benedict had been magically shoved into fuerta, a berserker state. He pulled just as hard this time. “Change now, and await news as a wolf, or go run.”

For a brief moment Benedict looked at him with the eyes of a wolf—keen, sharp, and thinking. But not thinking as a man does. Then relief shivered through those dark eyes. He lowered his head, acknowledging Rule’s authority. And Changed.

Humans weren’t able to see the Change fully. Perhaps you had to hear moonsong in order to see the way it threaded itself through a man, reaching out to grasp Earth so that together the two could fold him up through a place that was not here, yet was eternally present. For a second, the song of the moon reverberated through Rule, so clear, so pure . . .

Then a large black wolf stood atop Benedict’s clothes.

“I guess you didn’t want to risk missing the surgeon when he gets here,” Arjenie said briskly, stepping up to thread her fingers through Benedict’s ruff. “Is this better?” she asked her mate. Benedict nodded once.

“He probably also didn’t want to split our guards,” Rule said. He inhaled thoughtfully. Good. Benedict wasn’t easy, far from it, but he was better.

Arjenie looked at Rule. “He was okay, then suddenly he wasn’t.”

“He pushed himself too far. The problem with having excellent control is that we grow accustomed to it always being sufficient. We can confuse what we think should be true with what is.” Plus, Rule suspected that Benedict, whose mate bond with Arjenie was still new, had relied on it to shore up his control more than he should have. Rule pulled on the mantle again. Not hard, but enough to reassure his brother: If you can’t do what you know is necessary, I will make you. “Benedict, your duty now is to wait. I prefer you do so in this form. Scott will let us know when the surgeon approaches so you can Change to a less threatening form.”

Benedict nodded again, heaved a windy sigh, and lay down.

“I hope Scott can let us know in time for Benedict to pull on his pants after he Changes,” Lily said. “Dr. Sengupta might be rattled by a naked Benedict.”

“A lot of people would be,” Arjenie agreed. She’d folded herself to sit on the floor beside Benedict and was rubbing behind his ear.

Rule used his phone to let Scott know that they wanted a few moments’ warning of the surgeon’s arrival. Scott knew what the man looked like; he’d looked him up on Facebook earlier and confirmed it with the helpful Mr. Reddings. Rule put up his phone and repressed a sigh.

Respite was, by definition, temporary. Lily was pouring herself another cup of coffee, though caffeine was the last thing she needed. She looked like she needed the run Benedict hadn’t chosen. “Did you decide not to check on the ER doctor now?” he asked.

“Yes. I guess. I don’t know.” She ran a hand through her hair. Her other hand clutched the coffee cup as if it were a security blanket, but she didn’t drink. “I should trust Jack, I guess. Spells aren’t as precise as Gifts, so it’s possible he’d miss some tiny little trace, but that’s unlikely to be an issue. We have reason to think the contagion doesn’t transfer partially.”

“What reason?” Arjenie asked.

Lily’s gaze flicked to her. “While I was doing the trial-and-error thing, Karonski pulled the CSI team farther away from the body. He thought the contagion must have spread, seeing that it had reached Crown, who wasn’t that close to the body. Once we were pretty sure Crown could be treated, Karonski sent me to see how much it had spread. Turned out it hadn’t. It took awhile to confirm that. I had to cover a lot of ground barefoot, but in the end, I didn’t find any trace of it.”