"Fatal Circle" - читать интересную книгу автора (Robertson Linda)CHAPTER EIGHTN Our bond, I’d learned, afforded him a measure of automatic compassion from me, and it was difficult to suppress. This, however, was base instinct responding in knee-jerk reaction to his call. It was up to me to stay mentally alert to his manipulation. Not just to keep my head lest I panic as I had in the cellar, but I realized that if I gave in to the passion he kindled, my regret would be fierce. The heat within me began to cool. Features wilting with rejection, Menessos slipped his attention to the side. His fingers gently combed into the hair at my temple. The strands fell free of his touch. I shivered. “The Beholders will continue to work in shifts throughout the day.” He sauntered away from me. “My people will work around the clock. All will be completed in the hall in two days’ time. We will have the ceremony Friday.” His matter-of-fact shift reminded me that, like it or not, I was going to be here for several days at the very least. “May I take you to dinner? There are many fine restaurants in the vicinity.” “I ate with Nana and Beverley.” “A diminutive portion.” “What makes you think that?” His lip twitched. “Think? I know this to be true. I am very attuned to your body.” Twenty minutes later, we were outside and I pointed to the restaurant next door—the upper half of an old, finned Cadillac sat atop an out-of-place attempt at a formal entry. A neon sign graced the lintel. “There?” “Decidedly not.” “Not good?” “I wouldn’t know. But the manager emphatically communicated his dislike of our kind. I therefore forbid my people from visiting those premises. He will find his registers lacking for his misjudgment.” “Okay. Where, then?” I buttoned my blazer. Waiting for him to answer, I took in the crisp lines of his suit. He’d changed out of the one he’d worn when he slept in the hay in my cellar. All of his suits were cut to complement him as only the best garments can, but tonight there was something especially masculine about him. He wore no tie and his linen shirt was neither tucked nor fully buttoned. I appraised his self-assured gait, and the competent way he scanned both sidewalks ahead of us and behind, gauging every facet of our environment. No matter how docile he seemed, underneath he was a predator. No matter how modern he seemed, underneath he was ancient. He’d lived “What was the moment you realized nothing would ever be the same?” I had to ask. He stopped under the House of Blues marquee and considered. “Many times I felt despair at what I had become, but always Una and Ninurta were there to comfort me, as I was there for them.” Until then, he’d spoken while gazing sincerely at me, but there his words faltered and his focus fell past me—and not as an indication of lying. I sensed his heartache rising to the surface. “We grieved,” he said. “Like a child’s song sung in rounds, it was the same melodious grief, overlapping at different intervals, but always together. We’d loved together, and we’d been cursed together. We were strong together. For a time it seemed it would always be so. My day of reckoning came when Ninurta took his own life.” “Ninurta?” “He bore the curse of the moon.” “He killed himself?” I touched Menessos’s arm. “I’m so sorry.” “Una and I tended his body, bore him to the tomb.” He sucked in a lungful of cool night air. I waited; he was staring up Euclid but was lost in memory. The Lake Erie breeze, though light, packed enough chill that I could see my breath in the air. Still fixated on something up the road, he answered, “Guilt enveloped Una in a continuous embrace. Our curses had spread before we learned how to control ourselves through magic and sorcery. She was certain the world would be destroyed by our spawn. For her, I killed vampires and waeres alike, trying to correct our mistake. But the bloodshed could not purchase her peace. I tried to kiss away her nightmares, but my arms could not offer any comfort that was as constant as her regret.” He checked the roadway in a sweeping glance that brought him to face me. “Una’s dark hair turned silver. I knew she would age and die and finally be free of her shame. I was glad for her. But I had to watch her die and bury her alone. And I have been alone ever since.” I felt a deep sympathy for what he had endured. “But you aren’t alone.” His elbow pushed out for me. “Take my arm, Persephone, and we will go forth.” “Hmmm?” “A local slogan.” He smiled. “Go fourth-with-a-U—for an area on Fourth Street, where there are many restaurants. It is past the season for eating out of doors, but it remains a destination for the locals.” I allowed him to lead me. My concentration circled around his story, without awareness of where we were going. As we strolled down a road blocked from traffic, however, my thoughts returned to the here and now. He guided me past the various venues, including a comedy club. Then he ushered me down a quaint brick alley. Multicolored party lights zigzagged over our heads. A bench sat under the next building’s fire escape, from which hung a sign that read: Z#211;CALO, MEXICAN GRILL amp; TEQUILER#205;A. The hostess showed us through the brightly colored space to a table next to a beautiful iron railing, placed the menus for us, and left. We sat. There were gorgeous brassy lanterns hanging all around. A curved stairwell led down to more seating and the kitchen. It was lovely. Opening the menu, I fixated on the ornate lettering, seeing the page like art. My mind couldn’t focus on the words. Forcing my mind to the words on the menu, I scolded my sullen self for having girlishly pathetic worries like being “forever changed by the experience.” Menessos couldn’t go back to things as they were, either. I wondered if he had wanted to. “Are you all right, Persephone?” “Yes. Why?” “You’re practically glaring at your menu.” “Such talk will keep.” “But we have to make plans.” “Planning is best done on a full stomach—yours isn’t—and to be effective, it must be done in secret.” I laid the menu down and looked at him questioningly. The waitress took my posturing as a sign and came for my hurried order of diet cola and chile relleno. The light from a neon sign at the bar glossed the vampire’s walnut-colored hair with a reddish glow. His beard balanced his face, his square jaw, and afforded him a hint of history, as if he belonged in the armor-clad times of the past. But his times were much farther back. As he scanned the bar, the neon light cast its red sheen on his beard, too: it seemed soaked with blood. “Waerewolf bartender,” he whispered. “Another in the kitchen downstairs. Do you not smell them?” I sniffed. “Now that you mention it . . .” I’d dismissed the scent as that of two-by-fours from the theater, but this was quite different. It lay low, underlying the smell of savory food. Something not “Ahhh. You need to take heed of these things, Persephone.” “So I don’t say something they shouldn’t know.” “Correct.” “Do you really think they’d listen? That they’d tell anyone?” “Are you willing to take the chance?” The waitress set the diet cola in front of me. “Chile relleno’s coming right up.” I waited until she had gone. “You’ve molded patience into an art, of course. There’s no sense of time running out for you, is there?” “No.” “Childhood seems timeless, but hours of play pass in minutes. Bedtimes sneak up on you. Is that how it is for you?” “Moderately. I suppose that childhood is as good an analogy as another. Children live gloriously seeking the next challenge, hunger incessantly, and growing old isn’t a concern.” I laughed quietly. “Becoming an adult means becoming accustomed to the scheduling of events. Rising to a new challenge that could define one’s life becomes a wearying negative. Personal growth takes its place behind maintaining the money flow that feeds the schedule.” The fingers of one hand rippled a bored staccato on the table. “Being wealthy is a better analogy. Wealth alleviates the concern for basic survival and creates the environment for growth.” The waitress returned with my plate. The deep green poblano chilies were stuffed with asparagus, zucchini, tomato, and strips of peppers. It smelled scrumptious. “Why do you choose not to eat meat?” I stabbed my fork into the food. “As any starving college student can tell you, meat’s expensive. Cans of protein-rich beans aren’t. Just kind of happened, I guess.” “With your ties to Johnny, that will probably change.” Over the last few weeks the meat Johnny had prepared in my home had smelled delicious and I had more than once almost given in and eaten some. “What ties?” “You’ve bonded with him, too,” he said curtly. I stopped with the fork halfway to my mouth. “How to explain this without using your “Yet?” I put the fork down. “Eat.” “Explain.” “In private, I will. We will have our privacy sooner if you do things my way.” When we left the restaurant, it was not quite ten P.M. but it felt much later. Johnny wouldn’t get here for another hour or more, so I strolled slowly. “The days are getting so short,” I said. The sun had set today at six-twenty-three. “This season permits a longer life for vampires.” That made the cold somehow more fitting, forcing people safely inside, but I didn’t say that aloud. We made our way into the theater using the same path as before, but this time we passed fewer cardboard boxes. Now there were nearly forty vampires and Beholders working about the room. The hammering ceased when Menessos and I entered. They stared at us as we crossed to the stage. We’d been gone about an hour, enough time for them to have set in another quarter of that gleaming black floor. The underarea of the stage was blocked halfway across, too, and apparently Seven had had time to tell everyone the master was running around with the brave new Erus Veneficus. At least he hadn’t held my hand and led me through the theater. I’d walked by myself like a big girl. Atop the stairs, Menessos tapped in numbers for the lock—hmm, I needed to know the code myself—and opened the heavy door for me. With the exception of the empty space on the wall for a painting, everything from the design board Seven had shown me was now set up and arranged. My suitcase and toiletries bag rested at the foot of the big black bed beside Johnny’s duffel. They’d even started a fire. “They did all of that out there—and this—in an hour?” I dropped my blazer on a chair and went to warm myself near the flames. “It was merely moving and placing furniture, Persephone. You must have somewhere to rest tonight.” Even as he spoke, the work resumed in the theater beyond. The hammering echoed as if several dozen carpenters on meth were out there. Menessos shut my door, and the noise was immediately silenced. I studied the three different locking mechanisms on it. Bolts at the top and bottom of the door, another at mid-level—in addition to the automatic electronic lock, of course. Very industrial. “Now, about my knowledge of the fey that could assist you . . .” “How about we start with Johnny?” I wanted to know about the ties Menessos mentioned at the restaurant. His voice lowered. “How about we start with Though my back was turned to the fire, warmth slithered across my aura; it was an invitation duplicated in his smoldering eyes. I drew my shields around me. “Why do you bounce back and forth between humanizing yourself to the point of making me feel sorry for you, and then play Mr. Dangerous Sex-Starved Vampire?” Amused, he said, “I am not sex starved.” “It’s annoying and it’ll get old, fast, if you keep it up.” The heat abated, but was still present. “My apologies, Persephone.” Standing at the end of the granite countertop, he reached into a decorative azure blue bowl and lifted one of the crackled glass orbs. Even as he inspected it, twisting his wrist, I could feel it as if his fingers were flicking over my aura. “Do you not like having your flesh kindled?” I recognized and resisted this, strengthening my shields even more, but my body still responded to it. “Wasn’t that made clear with the word ‘annoying’?” The breathlessness of my voice pissed me off. So did he. “The birth of a master is a I retreated. He stopped six feet from me. “Persephone, this is what it means to be the master of a vampire.” “No wonder vampires struggle to rise through the ranks,” I muttered. “It is quite pleasurable, isn’t it? Erotic.” It reminded me of working with the ley line. At first touch, the power of the ley scalded, but as the touch lingered it became euphoric. Addictive. “What perks do you get from it?” No breathlessness in my voice. Only anger. “Because you are mortal, I hear your heart begin to pound. I watch your cheeks flush with warm, fresh blood as desire overwhelms you.” Suddenly he was right behind me, as close as he could be without touching me. My aura snapped tight around me, shielding me while his power rubbed against that intangible defense and created a metaphysical friction that stole my breath again. “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 . . . 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. |
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