Linda Robertson - Vicious Circle

“But I want those.”

“Why?”

“To lighten your load.”

“You’re not a servant.”

He stilled, searching my face slowly, making one big counterclockwise circuit, taking in everything. His hands, big and warm, touched either side of my neck. His thumbs rubbed along my jaw. It was nice, sensual, and if he had applied any pressure, it would have been dangerously close to strangling. But he just touched me and let me feel how warm and gentle he was. Cedar and sage filled the air.

Johnny put his lips against mine. Warm and soft and quivering deep down with adrenaline.

While the kiss was still chaste, he pulled away. “I will serve the Lustrata in all things.” He flashed a one-sided smile before walking away with the grocery bags that had been in my hands. I stood there beside the trunk for a minute, dumbfounded. I hadn’t registered when he had removed his hands from my neck or when he had taken the bags from me.

In all things echoed in my mind. Happy and thrilled and irritated all at once, I grabbed more bags from the trunk. In the garage, Ares was in his cage barking like mad. “Just a minute, boy,” I said. “I’ll let you out in a second.” I headed for the light falling from the open door. Johnny slipped past me to get the remaining bags, and I set the ones I’d brought in on the table beside the others. I put my coat on the back of a chair and began sorting through the bags. “Nana! Beverley! We’re back.”

Over my head, the floor creaked.

I found the milk and carried it to the refrigerator. But what I saw when I opened the door made the gallon jug slip from my grasp. Fear stilled me rigid, unable to move. A scream clawed at my throat like that of a caged animal desperate for freedom, but my throat had closed. My mind grappled for understanding.

As soon as I fully recognized what I was looking at, my throat opened. Air was sucked into my waiting lungs, and I screamed.

In an instant, Johnny was there, staring at the silver platter in my refrigerator where the head of Samson D. Kline sat, eyes open wide—as was his mouth, tongue thick and pushed to one side.

Johnny kicked the door shut, and I collapsed into his arms.

The squeak of a step brought me out of the shock. “Nana!” I pushed past Johnny, but he caught me again and restrained me. “No. I’ve got to go.” I pushed against him.

“No.” He sniffed. “It’s not Demeter.”

The footsteps came louder, nearing the bottom and no longer trying to hide anything. A shadow cast by light upstairs shone across my door, and I knew who it was before I saw him. I could feel it like heat inside my spine. “No,” I said.

Menessos came into view. “Yes.”

“Where are Nana and Beverley?”

He walked toward us, grinning wickedly.

“Bastard!” I tried to get around Johnny, and though I had nothing compared to wære strength, I had desperate strength and I was almost loose. “If you’ve done anything to them, anything at all, I’ll—”

Menessos laughed, cutting me off.

I wasn’t finished. “You made a blood oath on my porch! Does that kind of thing expire in twenty-four hours?”

“It expires when the one the oath was made to fails to keep her part of the deal!”

“I gave Samson the stake!”

Menessos stopped about six feet away. Far enough that a single lunge would avail me nothing. Even if I had a weapon, it’d take two steps to reach him and he only needed the advance notice of one—if that—to move out of the way. “Where is it?” His words were soft, but the intensity underneath added a tremulous note to them. If he wanted me to think he was about to lose control, he’d succeeded.

“Where’s what?”

Johnny jerked me back. “She doesn’t know.”

I went still. My stomach felt like I’d just gulped down a twenty-four-ounce Slurpee. Over my shoulder, I asked, “I don’t know what?”

Johnny maneuvered me behind him. “I did it,” he said.

Panic rising, I demanded, “Did what? What did you do?”

“I exchanged Vivian’s stake for a fake.”

“How?”

“You were busy, Red. I found a similar stick, carved it a little, rolled it in a layer of thick mud I made. I thought it would work. I thought you should have the real one to protect yourself with, since you’d ruined your protection by inviting him in.”

“Oh, Johnny!” He’d done this, and now Nana and Beverley—

“Samson was supposed to destroy it and report the deed done. Nobody would have known!”

Menessos made a derisive sound. “A splendid plan…for a mongrel like you. Did you come up with that all by yourself?”

Johnny launched himself forward, ready to fight. In a blur, Menessos shot forward, hit Johnny once in the face, and pushed him so hard that Johnny backpedaled to keep from falling. He growled and snarled, and I heard the popping of bones. Looking down, I saw his hand darkening, changing. Claws sprouted from his fingertips.

My mouth fell open. Johnny could transform at will?

“I seriously suggest you quell the notion that your bestial form will fare any better.” Menessos laughed condescendingly. “And while you’re at it, perhaps you should consider the obvious: she carries my mark. For her to even be near the stake will cause her pain.”

It all suddenly made sense: the beholder on the motorcycle asking about the pain, and the ache I’d felt since waking after he’d stained me. “That was the ache I felt all morning?”

“Surely.”

“That’s why you marked me! To make sure I wouldn’t be able to keep it even if I wanted to!”

The vampire smiled in a refined, self-assured, and highly exasperating way. His face was made for that sort of expression. “In truth, that was not the reason, but merely a convenient side effect.”

“You bastard!”

“My parentage is no concern of yours, my dear. Now, mongrel”—he gestured toward the door—“go fetch the stake while I”—his focus shifted to me—“…entertain the lady.”

Of course, he made “entertainment” sound about as much fun as riding a splintered broom, naked, in a hurricane.

Resolutely, Johnny said, “No.”

“Then the old woman and the girl will die.”

“Johnny,” I said, teeth clenched.

Johnny turned to me; his eye was already swelling where Menessos had hit him. One of his eyebrow rings had been torn out, and blood ran down his face. “Red—”

“Just do it,” I said. If anything happened to Nana and Beverley because of him—I wouldn’t let myself think about that.

He studied me, then without another word backed toward the door. For each step he took away from me, Menessos took one closer to me. Johnny paused at the garage door; his hands had returned to normal. Ares was still out there, barking wildly from his cage.

Menessos slipped behind me, hands gripping my shoulders, and his lips came close to my ear. “I see from the glimmer in his mongrel glare that your doggie is contemplating something irresponsible. See, Persephone, the dog-like way his nose wrinkles and he bares his teeth and snarls? I wouldn’t be surprised if, next, excess saliva began dripping from his uncouth jowls. Of course this show of reverting to his baser instincts substantiates my theory. I will repeat myself, lest you forget, puppy: the lady is my hostage. Your actions will dictate how this unfolds. Do you understand me, whelp?”

“Yeah,” Johnny answered, looking at me.

With a gentle touch, Menessos turned my face toward him. “I will witness—at long last—the destruction of Vivian’s stake. And you, Persephone, will be with me, at my side, as I triumph.”

Johnny started forward. “If you hurt her—”

“You’ll find it much harder to finish the task with a broken leg, but I promise you, that’s what I’ll do to you next.” When Johnny didn’t move or speak, Menessos added, “Fetch the stake, boy.”