Linda Robertson - Wicked Circle

I let my head rest against the glass, appreciating the way the coldness of it balanced my frozen stomach.

“Your current solitary status means you lack affiliation to a coven. That forces WEC to pigeonhole you into a role that reflects the disaffected segment of their kind. That already has given the Elders much to worry about—and they’re so old they sleep little as it is, meaning they have vast amounts of time to plot and plan. Their designs would only worsen if they thought you were marked by the Excelsior.”

I crossed my arms and moped.

“When the news of dear John’s confirmation as the Domn Lup breaks, your lover will be included on, as you delightfully put it, the shit-list.”

“Have we hit the worst-case scenario yet?” I was being sarcastic. Sadly, Menessos had an answer.

“The worst-case scenario,” he said, “is if WEC, VEIN, or the Zvonul discover the sorsanimus spell that binds the three of us. We did it to keep you from being Bindspoken by the witches, but it strengthens us all. If detected, it will appear that we’re preparing a coup d’état.”

“Are we?”

Menessos was silent.

“If they think we’re prepping for a power grab, they’ll just kill us all outright. Won’t they?”

“They will have to assume the three of us are sharing what confidential information we know about our respective groups. Further, they will assume that we will use the growth of our individual powers to our mutual benefit. We could all be targeted for execution, as you suggest. Or . . .” He made a visual sweep of the perimeter before answering. “They might act with more cunning. Each group has the potential to send operatives to test our loyalties to each other. Just one could pit us against each other. Dividing us would not only end the union but it would also offer that group an advantage via the information they learn in doing so.”

Could Menessos or Johnny be played by outside forces?

Could I?

Wonderful. His adherence to the Machiavellian vampire stereotype was making my head hurt. I rubbed my forehead as if that might deflect the spinning-out-of-control sensation.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Congratulations. You’ve just made me paranoid of everyone.”

He leaned forward. “I am sorry, Persephone. I truly am. That paranoia is the only thing that will keep us united and safe.”

When he said my name a wave of warmth poured over me like a magical embrace. It emboldened me enough to ask, “How can we be united and safe if you flee?”

The vampire studied the world beyond the car window. “I do not want VEIN to know I am the original progenitor of the vampires. If that information is exhumed, it cannot be reburied.”

He’d told me this before. A little more than two weeks ago. Goddess, it seems like so long ago. I’d wanted him to tell VEIN the truth so they would rally to his aid against the fairies, but he’d refused. He had been willing to die to keep that secret. And he had.

I was not insensitive to the fact that he had given the most precious thing he’d had—his very life—to maintain his anonymity, or that losing it now would render his sacrifice pointless in hindsight.

“You did the right thing, for the right reason,” I said. That mantra had bitten me in the ass a few times, but it was still, overall, a good policy.

Menessos plucked at his pant leg. “If the world learns it has someone to blame, I will become the target of every extremist group with a grudge against vampires and every vengeful person who has ever suffered because of my children’s thirst.”

“You’re not alone in the I-Dislike-My-Exposed-Destiny Category,” I snapped. “Everyone either knows or suspects I’m the Lustrata. They also seem to know more about it than I do, and have heavy expectations of me. Johnny’s not in such a different position either.”

He stilled, but said nothing more.

“How can that possibly scare you so much?” I asked.

He laughed, but there was an offended note to it. “If VEIN learned my secret, they would seize me and demand explanations. It could derail everything. My attention must remain fixed upon this purpose. The only thing I fear is not being able to finish this , Persephone, with you and John. I fear the repercussions that would befall any two of us, should the other one falter or . . . be slain.”

I couldn’t deny his devotion to this destiny of ours. “We must endure risks, but we all know the consequences of not following through get higher every day.”

“Exactly,” he whispered. “I can’t risk not following through on what we must do because I’m distracted by the other.”

“But you can’t leave!” I swallowed as if I could reclaim those revealing words. Hurriedly I added, “We’re all dealing with things happening that we didn’t want to happen. That’s part of the price we have to pay.” I stared at the steering wheel because I couldn’t meet his gaze after what I’d blurted. “I didn’t want Xerxadrea, Aquula, Ross, or Maxine to die. Not even Samson D. Kline. But they all did.”

After the slightest hesitation, Menessos asked, “Do I not make your list of noble dead? I died for you, too.”

He was right. And he repeated his dying every sunrise. It was my turn to shamefully examine the dark world beyond the car.

“Does the fact that I sit here talking to you now diminish my sacrifice?”

We were all surrendering things we didn’t want to forfeit, but I still felt like an ass. “It shouldn’t.”

“But it does.”

I whispered, “I didn’t have to grieve for you, Menessos.”

He shivered when his name was spoken, and I wondered if he was experiencing something similar to what I felt when he said my name. “Menessos.” I said it slower, tasting the syllables on my tongue, on my lips.

He arched his back, took a deep breath, held it for a second, then sighed it away. Panting, openmouthed, he looked directly at me, displaying a sexual hunger my body reacted to—places low in my abdomen tightened.

Between the seats, I offered him my hand. “You came back. You come back every night.”

“If I didn’t, would you have wept for me?”

“I did weep.”

Menessos wrapped both of his hands around mine. He rubbed little circles with his thumbs. “You’ve been away for so long.”

I twisted my wrist upward. Menessos bore two of my hexes, making him the equivalent of my Offerling. He needed to partake of my blood occasionally, and it had been over a week. “Go on,” I said. “Drink.”

As Johnny strode from his car, fall air gusted behind him. Stray leaves scuttled across the asphalt as if daring him to try to catch them.

Part of him wished the wind could carry him away from everything and everyone he’d ever known, to hide from this enormous destiny, burying it in lyrics and melodies like he had before. But the bigger part of him knew that wasn’t an option anymore.

It wasn’t an option for Menessos, either. Seeing the vamp hiding from his troubles made Johnny’s blood boil. It wasn’t like Menessos was the Excelsior or anything. If Johnny had to accept being the Domn Lup, the vamp could damn well accept the responsibilities and consequences of being a Quarterlord.

Johnny wasn’t going to feel guilty over lashing out either. The vamp was being a wuss and he deserved it.

Presently, that vamp was alone with his girlfriend.

Johnny thrust the thought away. He trusted Persephone. She was Menessos’s master. She’d even eliminated the in signum amoris he had put on them.

He had to admit he was disappointed by the loss of the connection to Seph the spell had given him. And she’d undone it without asking if he’d wanted it gone.