Linda Robertson - Fatal Circle

“Here, surrounded by those I master, I am stronger. Oh, Persephone . . .” There was an edge to his tone, a sharp reminder, yet he spoke my name rapturously. “I know what you are feeling, for I have felt it. I have fed upon it. And now, I nourish you with it.”

His fingers stroked my neck, and the barrier between us was no more. I smelled hot cinnamon and I melted against him. His touch molded me against him, his lips brushed my cheek. “Taste the power I give you.”

The first time Menessos kissed me—in the circle when we’d saved Theo—his kiss had been as fragile as the edge of a toasted marshmallow. Not this time. His mouth covered mine forcefully, his arms surrounded me. My rebellious body took over, encouraging him. Lips parting, I welcomed his tongue. His embrace tightened. My hips pressed into him.

He ended the kiss and whispered, “I must.” His mouth lowered onto my neck, and time slowed.

The vampire’s lips found the thudding pulse of my vein. I felt the needle tips of his teeth, pressing. My skin broke—the shafts of his fangs pushed deeper. I felt each millimeter of him entering me as definitively as sexual penetration. It hurt like losing my virginity had hurt. It was painful and yet it was perfect.

With his tongue pressed at my new openings, he sucked, tugging the skin of my neck gently into his mouth. My hips pressed harder against his groin and my body answered his demand. I bled for him and I felt . . . potent .

Mine!

He was mine. Mine to command. Mine to protect. Mine to have if I wanted. Sustained by my energy, Menessos was mine to feed as well.

I awoke to a night sky with twinkling stars in it over my head.

“Holy shit!” The sound of Johnny’s astonished voice came a second before the dull thump of the heavy door shutting.

Does everyone but me have that door’s damned combination?

Realizing I was on the bed, I sat up in a rush. I was alone. My clothes were still on. Good . Feeling my neck, I touched a bandage. The bastard bandaged me?

Scooting to the edge, I kicked the sheer curtains aside. My feet hit the floor and I stood—

Dizziness made me immediately sit again. I called out, “Back here.” The heavy curtains had been shut, separating the two spaces, and the fire burned low in the hearth.

“Lemme figure out how to lock up,” he answered. “A lot of vamps out there.”

“How many?”

A glass of orange juice sat on the bedside table. Eagerly, I downed half of it to the chunking sound of metal defenses engaging. We were supposed to take advantage of our aloneness. I gulped more, to the beat of Johnny’s approaching footfalls. C’mon, juice, kick in.

“Probably thirty vamps, fifty or sixty Beholders.”

More than there had been earlier. Or more than I had seen then, anyway. Or Johnny could smell them in unseen places like Menessos had smelled the waerewolves at the restaurant.

The thick curtain parted and light from the other room glowed behind him. It suited the sunny demeanor he was exuding. “At the main doors, I was convinced this whole place was a dump, and then I’m led to this ritzy little abode, with the hottest woman I’ve ever seen waiting for me in the bedroom.”

He entered the room and the curtain fell shut behind him, plunging us back into the dark like an eclipse. I immediately preferred this; the darkness seemed to energize me. “Wow.” He pointed at the dome. “The stars are out.”

I snorted in amusement.

“Bet that cost him.”

“Bet it didn’t affect his bank accounts a bit. How was the interview?”

“Cool! It’s this NRRRadio station. They run it out of a house in Westlake, and it’s got this professional-yet-laid-back atmosphere. Web-based setup; the site has a window with a live studio Webcam in one corner and a chat room in another. People posted questions for us. The DJ, Syrinx, was awesome. Let us kinda take over the flow of things once we were used to everything.”

As if the DJ’d had any choice.

Johnny clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “This is all very romantic, stars, cozy fireplace, and all. Very romantic, indeed, if you ask me—which you didn’t.” Stopping before me, he reached out to my chin and lifted. “All this place needs is a little music. Guess we’ll have to make our own.” He bent and kissed me softly. My lips felt bruised, but I didn’t want him to think I was holding back. When it ended, Johnny straightened and licked his lips. “Mmmm, orange ju—”

By the light of fake stars, he detected the bandage.

Instantly the sunny demeanor frosted over. He didn’t need an explanation. Tension flared, then doubled, tripled. He moved away. “Don’t.” I caught his arm, felt the bones resetting under my grip. Anger was giving him power to change. I held on. “Don’t.”

He stopped. Voice quavering and low, on the edge of a growl, he said, “Give me one good reason.”

“I’m the master—”

“Not of me!”

With an irritated shove I released his arm.

He didn’t move; my attempt to push him away must’ve struck a nerve. He didn’t leave.

“Let me finish?” He didn’t object; perhaps he’d realized I was explaining, not commanding. “Being a master comes with certain responsibilities.”

Johnny lurched away, giving me his back. He was breathing hard. “Fuck!” he shouted into the air.

“You know how the protrepticus feeds on my aural energy?” An almost imperceptible nod indicated I had at least some of his attention. “It’s with me constantly, but I use it so seldom I don’t really notice the drain.” I drank the last of the juice and set the glass on the table. “This isn’t so different. Think about it. I’ve been drawing on his energy. I just didn’t realize it. Many times. When I ran in the field, when I sparred with you, when I confronted the fairies. Maybe more. I hexed him over three weeks ago, Johnny. He was due . . . a . . . a recharge. And aural energy alone wouldn’t satisfy him.”

Johnny watched me. Seething. The fire glow behind him gave an orange edge to all the black he wore. He could have been a living ember. Even the dark blue of his eyes seemed to reflect some of the burning color. The breath he drew in made me think he was about to rage, but when he spoke, his voice was even. “How often will he get his due?”

“I will keep it to a minimum. Believe me.”

“I believe you. But I’m wondering why you don’t sound even a little distressed or pissed off about it.”

He was right. I didn’t. I was indifferent because, on some level, I had to have known this was inevitable. Right? “Wouldn’t do me any good to be pissed off. Anger won’t change this. It is what it is.”

After deliberating with himself, he came and sat beside me on the bed. He was still too rigid, but as he opened and closed his hands they were normal, not furred and clawed. “Red, do you want this?”

It had to be difficult for him to accept, as Nana would say, “another tom slinking around the cathouse.” I had to give him kudos for not totally going Neanderthal on me.

I remembered Sammi and Cammi Harding, the bank heiresses who’d been escorting him backstage after Lycanthropia’s Rock Hall showcase. One of them had kissed him. Seeing it had hurt me. Deeply. If our roles were reversed right now, I wasn’t sure my reaction wouldn’t be Neanderthalish. How very unfair for someone so concerned with justice and balance to be.

I wondered if, when he officially ascended as Domn Lup, it would change him. Anyone would be permanently affected by such authority, the weight of unpleasant decisions and alliances. I guess we were both learning to accept these things that neither of us could change.