Between the Waters (Symphony of Light) (3 page)

“It means you are much stronger than I thought. Of course, you’ll need practice.”

I shrugged on my coat. Screw the underwear.
Wiping down my legs, the residue splintered and flaked to the ground like small snowflakes. “Great. I can be Clarence. You know, one Clarence is more than enough.”

“You can do something I cannot. I wonder what else you can do.”

“Hell. No. We are done with your experiments.” I leaned back, wiggled my bottom into my jeans and eyed my car. Another ten feet. Fuck!

“You are strong enough to bring me back after all.”

On my hands and knees, I came to a halt. Why I looked up when he pissed me off was beyond me. It wasn’t as if he could hear me any better. “What? There was a possibility I wouldn’t be able to do it? When were you planning to tell me you might be stuck forever?” Five more feet. Never gonna make it.

“Everything is equally possible and impossible, Light. I hadn’t planned to tell you.”

“Oh, save your philosophical bullshit. I’m not in the mood.” My hand slapped hard against the door of my black Pontiac Solstice, and I pulled myself up, leaning against the car, still trying to catch my breath.

“I didn’t think it was possible, but I love you even more.”

“Funny, I didn’t think…that I’d want to strangle you any more than the night I ran naked through the street while being chased by that beast of a dog. But again, you’ve outdone yourself, my love.”

“Light, necessity is the mother of invention.”

I groaned at the pain and his words and opened the car door, falling into the seat. I grabbed each leg and pulled them inside one at a time. The smell of the leather soothed, familiar. I took a deep breath. “Nice quote. Who said it?”

“I did.”

I slumped against the steering wheel, trying to muster the strength to drive. “No, I mean originally.”

“That’s what I meant. Many attribute it to an old English proverb, but it was in a speech I gave in Greece, around 400 BC.”

Immortals. Bah! “Is there anything you haven’t done? I mean you’re essentially a vampire with your fangs, you’re immortal, you can summon wings, use magic like a wizard, and escort the dead. How does anyone compete with that?”

“They don’t.”

My groan of frustration surprised even me. I turned the key. The engine roared to life. “Why Clarence?” I cranked up the heat and rubbed my hands together, trying to generate warmth from friction. Finally, I slumped back in the seat and rested my hand on the gearshift.

“Why not?”

I had no energy for his games.
Enigmatic pain the ass.

“I heard that.”

“Good. Now shut up and let me drive.” My teeth chattered.

“Would you like me to warm you up? I could—”

“God help you…” I grabbed the rearview mirror and stared into it. Glaring at myself, knowing he’d see my reflection, I focused my anger. Goo had crystallized in my hair, and faint bruises formed under my skin. “If you say one more word, I will pull over and hack my own head off just to stop your incessant bullshit. Then who will you annoy? Huh?”

I reached up and moved a strand of hair, and they all moved. My hair was so hard an eighties girl would’ve been envious. “And Cyril, if I have to shave my head because of this, I’m not bringing you back. Do you hear me? Never. Coming. Back.”

He laughed.
“Did I ever tell you that your feistiness makes me hard? If I were there I’d—”

“Don’t push me.”

Chapter Two

The Plan

With my last ounce of energy, I pressed the brake and shifted the car into park. I slumped against the steering wheel, not able to lift my arm to the door handle. As I let my eyes drift shut, the door flew open and I hit the ground—headfirst. Fuck.

“Bloody hell!” Even hazy from head trauma and the aftermath of my contorting form, I recognized Overton’s voice.

A moment later, he lifted my body and rushed me into the house. He took the stairs in bounds and placed me gently in a plush gray chair. He knelt and tried to brush the hair from my eyes, but his fingers caught in the petrified mess.

“Ouch!” I flung my head back to discourage his actions but only succeeded in causing more pain. “Son of a bitch.”

“Hold still, Linden. Let me.” With his other hand he untangled his digits from the crystalline blob that was once my hair, then cupped my face with both hands. “Love, I don’t know what happened to you, but it seems we have a lot to talk about. First things first, are you hurt?” He locked his gaze with mine, searching for something. His eyes were beautiful—steel-gray with icy flecks of blue. The intensity made me look away.

“Nothing life threatening. I’m just very sore and exhausted, that’s all.” Best not to mention the penis-growing incident.

He raised his hand as if to stroke my hair, but seemed to think better of it. “I’ll…ahh…run you a bath. Stay right here.” With a pat of my knee, he stood and turned. After searching the cabinets, he took several bottles and placed them beside the cauldron-like tub. He turned on and tested the water, then walked to me.

“I need to get you out of those clothes.” He dropped to one knee, his eyes darting from my jacket to my pants and back again.

“Seems to be the theme this evening. Thanks for the offer, but I have a headache.” I tried to laugh, but the sound that emerged seemed more like a groan.

“Love, I won’t deny that my body thinks of you night and day, but at this very moment, you’re well… Let’s say it’s easier to control.”

“I should be insulted.” My voice was gravelly and rough.

“If you looked in a mirror you wouldn’t be. I am absolutely certain you would agree.” He reached for the zipper on my jacket. A couple of tugs. “It’s stuck. Just raise your arms.”

I did as he asked, but it took tremendous effort. When he rose and slipped it over my head, leaning in closer, his satin chestnut hair brushed my shoulder. My nipples rubbed against the fabric of his pale gray shirt. Once my head was free, the scent of him filled my nostrils. Overton had been my security blanket since Cyril’s departure. Every night he wrapped me in his arms while I slept, always the perfect gentleman.

On one knee again, his hands reached the buttons on my jeans but paused on a deep breath. His gaze trailed from my stomach, to my breasts, and finally up to meet my eyes. “You are so beautiful. Even covered in this…” Keeping one hand on my jeans, he picked a crystalline fragment from the swell of my breast and flung it to the floor. He returned his fingers as if to pick another piece but instead stroked the exposed skin in small circles, his sight focused on his ministrations.

Seemingly lost in thought, he traced the outline of my breast, back and forth. His breathing audible. My nipples stood firm, begging for his touch. Even in my haggard state, my body still pulsed with need that left one conclusion. I was as drawn to him, no, all six members of Cyril’s supernatural family, as much as they were damned to want me. This was one time my stubbornness would come in handy.

Overton was the opposite of Cyril. He was gentle, respectful, cautious in everything he did. And his convictions, from a time when one third of him was a priest, made him the safest choice to spend time with. There would be no stepping over the line with Overton, and that made the entire situation far less complicated.

His finger drifted between my breasts, and he paused. A long sigh and he lowered his hand to my pants and helped me ease them off. Once I was naked, he scooped me up, carried me to the tub, and then lowered me and his sleeves into the water.

“Oh, bugger.” He flung the excess water into the tub and unbuttoned the cuffs.

I reached over and undid the buttons on the front of his shirt. He shrugged it from his shoulders and then picked a natural sponge from the caddy. He dipped it in the water, squeezed it, and drizzled droplets across my collarbone.

He took a deep breath. “Love, I am happy to take in your loveliness all night. You haven’t any idea how much it pleases me, but I really need to know what happened. We thought you were going to see Clarence.”

“I had a change of plans…but you could say I…saw Clarence.”

He raised one dark eyebrow. He let the sponge touch me and with his hand splashed water onto my neck. “Linden, you look like someone beat the daylights out of you, and there is only one way you get that substance in the places you have it. Which one were you with?”

“What?” I sat up.

He dropped the sponge in the water and crossed his arms across his muscled chest.

“Which one? I forgive you, but it would crush Cyril if he were here. If you were so desperate you could have had any of us.”

Was he really accusing me of sleeping with one of the others—the other creations that bitch of a goddess made to amuse herself? The men who tortured and killed Cyril? Who did he think I was?

“What? I didn’t sleep with anyone! Does it look like I was out having a good time?”

He gasped. “Oh, dear God, did one of them assault you?” He moved to wrap his arms around me.

I waved my hand and splashed him in the face with a large wave of water.

He groaned and wiped the streams with his forearm. “That was uncalled for.”

I had no patience for his accusations. “You’re right. It was. You could have asked me what happened instead of making assumptions.”

Drips from his matted hair fell to the ground. He sat back on his heels. “I’m sorry, love. What happened?”

“It’s Cyril.” His high and mighty would not be pleased with me telling Overton, but I was tired of the guilt.

“I don’t understand.”

“I can hear him. He’s not really…dead. He’s trapped but training me to save him.”

“Oh, Linden! Praise God. That is wonderful news.”

I hated to crush the smile that lit his face. “Don’t be too happy. I don’t know if I can get him back.”

“You can. I have faith in you. But where did the residue come from?”

“It was tonight’s lesson.”

“Ahhh…” The frown returned. “When were you planning on telling me?”

I leaned toward him, folded my arms on the side of the tub, and rested my head on my arms. “I wasn’t. I didn’t want to give you false hope. Please, understand it’s a long shot. And my communications with Cyril keep growing shorter.”

He placed his hand on my arm. “It’s all right. Is he speaking with you now?” He rested his forehead against mine.

“No. Our connection comes and goes. He can only maintain it for short periods.” I closed my eyes.

He sighed.

I placed my palm on the back of his head, holding him to me. “Overton…I’ll do everything I can to get him back. I’ll try for as long as I live.”

He cupped the back of my head. “I know you will.”

“I won’t ever stop trying to free you too. If I can’t get Cyril back, it will be the least I can do. I don’t want you to be a prisoner chained to me with no future.”

He let his hand fall, and he straightened. His body rigid, eyes stern.

“What?” I sat back on the tub, and the water sloshed over the side.

He looked at the floor and spoke softly, “What makes you think I want to be free?”

“How could you not?”

“For nearly six hundred years, I’ve felt nothing. I feel things for you, real or not. I don’t want to go back. So you can stop.” He folded his arms.

“But it’s not just about you. What about Rhys? What about Sinclair? What about—”

“I think I’ll leave you to your bath.” He made his way to the door.

“Overton! Come back.”

His only response was the click of the lock.

“Son of a bitch.” I slumped back into the bath, splashing more water on to the floor, and draped my arm over my eyes. The day could not end soon enough.

Chapter Three

Sweet

If Overton comforted me that night, I didn’t notice. I slept like the dead. The red-curtained wall that hid a panoramic view of the city seemed like miles from the bed adorned in white luxurious linens. It was best I learned to shake off the aches since somehow I knew it wouldn’t be the last time I would have to endure transforming.

I threw back the covers and scooted to the edge of the bed only to be reminded of my irritation from the night before. The nightgown. The white Edwardian sleepwear was placed neatly at the foot of my bed and greeted me when I returned from the healing soak, but it could only mean one thing. All along I assumed Cyril was behind the nightgowns as another way to control me, but with all of my clothes in the closet and Cyril gone, it left only one common denominator—Overton. How much more did he have his fingers in?

Starving and dehydrated, I sought out the kitchen. The chatter from the men who gathered for breakfast met my ears just before I descended the spiral staircase that ended next to the stone hearth that housed an old-fashioned kettle. The decor may have been reminiscent of a turn-of-the-century kitchen straight from Italy, but the similarities ended there. The state of the art appliances and smooth granite were made with the finest modern skills.

Rhys met me at the bottom of the stairs as Sinclair retreated. Sinclair refused to be in the same room with me for long, which was fine since his glare became stifling after any length of time. He had the hardest time dealing with the fact that when Cyril attempted to bind me to him, he inadvertently bound us all. Since the men, being composed of three souls of three different men within one body, held together by essence o’ Cyril, and with magic being literal in its application, his spell did not distinguish between him and his stray parts.

It wasn’t a field day for me either. A side effect of the bond forced me to witness their dreams. Every night, I lived out one of their fantasies, where I played the leading role. And with Cyril gone there was no physical relief in sight.

Thankfully, Rhys was not the subject of last night’s showing; it was Sinclair, which even further explained his quick departure. With the things he made me do in his mind, he was right to run. Before it was all over, I was going to kick his ass. Twisted bastard.