Cecy Robson - A Cursed Embrace

My face flushed slightly at the thought and hoped the heat from the flames would hide my embarrassment. Emme had offered to heal my marks, but I needed proof of my time with Aric. It made our moment real and not simply one of the steamy dreams I’d had.

Misha stood upon seeing us and gave me a wink, strands of his long blond mane falling against the strong angles of his face and clean-shaven jaw. Vampires believed themselves gods who walked among mortals. If that were true, Misha was Ares—to be feared—all the while carrying the masculine beauty of Adonis. Tonight he dressed in all black. A black suit outlined the muscles of his tall, strapping form, an opened black silk shirt buttoned below his collarbone, and black shoes that cost a month’s mortgage. I smiled. It was good to see his body completely regenerated after the torture he’d suffered at the hands of his enemies.

He greeted Emme and Taran with kisses to their cheeks. Emme blushed, of course. Taran kissed back. I wondered how our boys would take that. The wolves’ dislike of vampires bordered on hate—Aric and Misha especially loathed each other. And while I remained sure each side had its reasons, I couldn’t condemn an entire race based on the actions of a few rotten apples.

“I told you to wear something sexy,” Edith Anne hissed under her breath. “You look like a dork.”

No matter how annoying the apples were.

Misha’s gray eyes flickered despite his back facing the flames. “Edith, is this any way to treat our most honored guests?”

Misha’s light Russian accent held no hint of anger. Yet his vampire mojo surged enough to lighten Taran’s eye color from blue to crystal. Edith and Maria cowered back, bowing as they retreated into the house. Edith’s voice shook. “My deepest apology, Master.”

My tigress itched to protrude my claws, alert in the presence of a dangerous predator. I calmed her by reminding her how Misha had guarded Emme, and how his family had shielded us from harm under his command. I wasn’t naive. And I sure as hell wasn’t stupid. With an estate full of vampires at his disposal and the amount of power coursing through his veins, Misha could kill us. But he wouldn’t. I’d caught glimpses of his pain, witnessed his heartbreak—a side I’m sure he’d preferred hidden. Yet it was that same side that won me over and allowed me to trust him not to harm us.

Shayna grinned when Misha kissed her and casually returned her small box of toothpicks into the pocket of her slacks. She’d sensed Misha assert himself and whipped out her favorite weapons. My lack of aggression eased her tension. Perhaps Koda’s animosity hadn’t turned her against the vampires. Yet.

Shayna punched him in the arm. “How’s it going, dude?”

“Rather well, my dear.” He reached into the inside of his suit as the breeze swept his long hair behind his shoulders. “I saw these and I thought of you.” Misha retrieved two long Asian hairpins and held them out for my perky sister to see.

The gleam to Shayna’s smile returned. “Cool.” She lifted them from his palm and stimulated her ability to thicken and manipulate metal. A trickle of light sparked from her belly-button ring as she transferred the element into the delicate pieces of hair jewelry, turning them into small, deadly daggers. She stepped back from Misha and tossed them a few times in the air, getting a feel for their weight. “A girl can’t have enough weapons these days, you know?”

Misha’s smile faded as Shayna returned the hair jewelry to their original shape and tucked them into the base of her ponytail. “No, it is best to be safe.” He regarded me then. “Which is why I am not pleased to hear you are to assist the . . . weres in their latest quest.”

It probably took Misha every effort not to say “mongrels” or “mutts” or some other inappropriate word to describe our wolves. I crossed my arms. “And how did you hear about that?”

Misha flashed me his famously wicked smile. “I have my ways, kitten. Shall we?”

I shook my head. Misha’s wealth went a long way. It wouldn’t have surprised me if his family greased the palms of weres in exchange for what could be interpreted as harmless information.

Misha stepped aside, revealing the elegant table setting. White linen covered the large round table while black silk napkins folded into ravens lay over the delicate china etched in silver. The staff appeared to pull out chairs for my sisters. Misha held out my chair himself. He leaned forward and paused, his lips close to my ear. “I see that mindless beast has finally come to his wits and shown you some affection.”

My cheeks heated. “Misha, I’m not going to discuss Aric with you.” Gee, this conversation sounded familiar. “And don’t call him names.”

Taran laughed. “You’d better get your groove on, Misha. Otherwise that wolf is going to steal my sister from under your thumb.”

“Nonsense.” Misha’s wickedness returned with a vengeance. “Celia may enjoy what I can do with my thumb.”

Just when I thought my face couldn’t get any hotter. “Stop it. Both of you.”

Taran danced her brows at me. “Aw, come on, Ceel. After years of dateless nights, you deserve a little attention.”

I would have slapped Taran upside the head if I didn’t think my blow would kill her. “There’s nothing between Misha and me.”

“That is only because you won’t allow it.” Misha leaned back in his seat, those gray predator eyes of his sharpening as they zeroed in on my neck. “However, we do have some time before the main course. Ladies, would you mind starting without us?”

My jaw tightened. “Yes, they would. And cut it out.”

Misha laughed. He flicked his napkin in the air. His and ours took off like the blackbirds they’d been shaped to resemble. Emme jumped as they circled above us and landed in our laps, unraveling and resuming their cloth forms.

“Damn,” Taran muttered. “I wish I could pull that shit off.” She didn’t just mean the flock-of-birds act. Taran often griped about the strength of her power being mostly limited to fire, lightning, and light. She possessed a rare gift—hell, we all did—but she wanted to do more. Witches couldn’t command fire to the extent or ease that she could, but their magic opened up possibilities Taran only dreamed of possessing. While my sister wasn’t power hungry—far from it—it almost seemed she craved something more spectacular.

Taran lifted the napkin again and placed it back on her lap after scrutinizing it closely. I poked at mine, half expecting it to peck. “You’re getting better at harnessing Tahoe’s power, Misha.”

“I find it easier now that my soul has returned.” He cocked his head. “Is there something you wish to discuss with me, my love?”

I frowned. “So Tahoe’s magic allows you to read minds now?”

Misha pulled my wrist toward him and touched the underside of my forearm. “No. But there are advantages to passing you my call .”

Misha had transferred the mystical equivalent of his phone number onto my arm. Should the superscary bad guys come knocking down my door, all I had to do was think his name and he would come to my aid. Apparently my arm also possessed reverse speed dial—it was how I’d found him when he’d been close to death.

I pulled my arm back. Misha hadn’t hurt me, but I didn’t want to do anything that might lead him on. And allowing his touch might tempt him in ways I only desired for Aric. “I didn’t call you today. How did you know something happened?”

The servers brought the first course, some sort of fondue thingy set on fire. Taran lifted the flames with her hands and blew them out with a kiss. Fire flat-out scared me, especially after almost being roasted alive. Taran beheld it like an old friend. The rest of us leaned back so the staff could extinguish our plates with silver covers. My sisters dug right in, dipping the chunks of bread into the thick, creamy liquid.