Нора Робертс - Blood Magick

“I won’t be forgetting it, not a word.”

She smiled. “Best to write it down in any case. A weapon forged—it must have worked then.”

“The poison’s black and thick as pitch.”

“We have to seal it, keep it in the dark, and charm the bottle to hold it.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“No, no, we conjured it together, and there’s something to that, I think. So we should do the rest together as well. I’m altogether fine, Fin, I promise you.”

She set the tea aside, got to her feet to prove her words. “It should be done quickly. I wouldn’t want the poison to turn and have to go through the whole business again.”

He kept an eye on her until he was fully satisfied.

After they sealed the spell, she took two squat bottles, both opaque and black, from the cabinet under her work counter.

“Two?”

“We made enough, as I thought it wise to have a second. If something should happen to the first—before or during—we’ll have another.”

“Smart and, as always, practical.” When she started to get out a funnel, he shook his head. “I don’t think this is something we do that way. I understand, again, your practicality, but I think, for this, we stay with power.”

“You may be right. One for you, then, one for me. It should be quickly done, then stopped tight, again sealed.” She touched one of the bottles. “Yours.” Then the other. “Mine.” And walked back to stand with him by the cauldron. “Pot to bottle, leaving no trace on the air, no drop on the floor.”

She linked one hand with his, held the other out, as he did. Two thin streams of oily black rose out of the cauldron, arched toward the bottles, slid greasily in. When the stream ended, they floated the stoppers up, in.

“Out of light, sealed tight, open only for the right.”

Relieved, Branna flashed white fire into the cauldron to burn any trace left behind. “Better safe,” she said as she moved to take the bottles, store them deep in a cupboard where she kept the jars of ingredients used, and the poison already prepared for Cabhan. “Though I’ll destroy the cauldron. It shouldn’t be used again. A pity, as it’s served me well.” Then she charmed the door of the cupboard. “It will only open for one of our circle.”

She went to another cupboard, took out a pale green bottle basketed in silver filigree, then chose two wineglasses.

“And what’s this?”

“It’s a wine I made myself, and put by here for a special occasion—not knowing what that might be. It seems it’s this. We’ve done what we must, and I’ll tell you true, Fin, I wasn’t sure we would or could. Each time I thought I was certain of it, we’d fail. But today?”

She poured the pale gold wine in both glasses, offered him one. “Today we haven’t failed. So . . .”

Understanding, he touched his glass to hers. “We’ll drink to today.” He sipped, angled his head. “Well now, here’s yet another talent, for this is brilliant. Both light and bold at once. It tastes of stars.”

“You could say I added a few. It is good,” she agreed. “We’ve earned good this day. And as I recall, you’ve earned a biscuit.”

“Half a dozen was the offer,” he remembered, “but now I think we’ve both earned something more than biscuits.” He swung an arm around her waist. “You’d best hold on to your wine,” he warned, and took her flying.

• • •

IT MADE HER GIDDY, THE SURPRISE AND SPEED OF IT. MADE her hunger as his mouth took hers on the flight. She let out a gasping laugh when she found herself sprawled under him on a huge bed draped with filmy white curtains.

“So this is what we’ve earned?”

“More than.”

“I’ve lost my wine.”

“Not at all.” He gestured so she looked over, saw a table holding the glasses. And saw both bed and table floated on a deep blue sea.

“Now who’s practical? But where are we? Ah, it’s so warm. It’s wonderful.”

“The South Seas, far away from all but us, and circled so not even the fish might see.”

“The South Seas, on a floating bed. There’s a bit of madness in you.”

“When it comes to you. An hour or two with you, Branna, in our own window into paradise. Where we’re warm and safe, and you’re naked.” And so she was in a fingersnap. Before she could laugh again, he slid his hands up and over her breasts. “By the gods, I love having you naked and under me. We’ve done what we must,” he reminded her. “Now we take what we want.”

His mouth came down on hers, hot and possessive, to send the need sizzling through her like a lit fuse. She answered, not with surrender, but equal fire and force.

The magicks merged still pulsed through them, bright and fierce, so each opened to it, and each other.

The crazed rush of his lips over her skin, brewed a storm of lust. The urgency of her seeking hands whipped the storm into a whirlwind. They tumbled over the bed as it rocked over the wide, rolling sea while inside them waves of need rose and broke only to rise again, an endless tide.

If this was his madness, she’d take it willingly, and flood him with her own. Love, beyond reason, simply swamped her. And here, in this window of alone he’d given them, she could ride on it. Here, where there was only the truest of magicks, she could offer it back to him.

Her body quaked, her heart trembled. So much to feel, so much to want. When a cry of pleasure broke from her, it carried across the blue into forever.

To have her, completely, where no one could touch them. To give her the fantasy she so rarely took for herself, and to know she reached for, took, accepted all he felt for her, would ever feel for her. That alone filled him with more than all the powers, all the magicks, all the mysteries.

No words needed. All she felt lived in her eyes, all he felt mirrored back to him from hers.

When he filled her, it was a torrent of pleasure and love and lust. When she closed tight, so tight around him, it was unity.

They drove each other hard and fast, in a world only theirs with the deep blue sea rocking beneath them. She lay with him, lulled by the quiet lap of water against the bed, the warmth of the sun, the scent of the sea. And the feel of him against her, hot, slick skin to skin.

“Why this place,” she asked him, “of all the places?”

“It seemed beyond all we have and know together. We have the green and the wet in us, and wouldn’t cast it out. But this? The warm and the blue? A bit of the fanciful for someone who rarely gifts herself with it. And all gods know, Branna, the winter’s been cold and hard.”

“It has. But at the end of it, we’ll have more than spring. We’ll have duty done, and the light and breath that comes from it. When it’s done . . .”

He lifted his head, looked into her eyes. “Ask.”

“Bring me back here again, for both of us, when what’s done is done. And before you go wherever you must. Bring me back.”

“I will. You’ll want to go home now.”

“No. No, let’s stay awhile.” She shifted, sat up, and reached for the glasses. “We’ll finish our wine and enjoy the sun and the water. Let’s take the fancy of this a little longer. For there’ll be little time or chance for it once we return.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder, sipped the starry wine, and watched the sea that spread to the far horizon.

18

WHEN THE SIX OF THEM MANAGED TO COME TOGETHER, Branna opted for a quietly celebrational meal of rack of lamb, roasted butternut squash, and peas with butter and mint.

“Sure I didn’t expect such a fuss,” Connor said as he took charge of carving the chops from the rack. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“It’s the first time we’ve sat down, the six of us, in near to a week,” Branna pointed out. “We’ve all talked here and there, and we all know what’s been done and where we are. The brew’s curing well. I checked it only this afternoon.” She took a dollop of the squash for her plate, passed the bowl. “Connor and I made a second bottle of the poison needed for Cabhan, so like the demon’s brew, we’ll have that in case something goes amiss.”