Between the Waters (Symphony of Light) (4 page)

Rhys pulled me into a fierce bear hug.

“Oww…” He often forgot his strength, and even though I felt better, I had lasting repercussions—much like a fall down the stairs. I suspected it would take days to recover. I hoped it would get easier for when it became necessary again.

“Oh, sweet Linden. I am so sorry.” His Spanish accent thick.

“Nice to see you wearing pants. Not that I don’t appreciate your assets.” I winked, pointed to his blue jeans, and noted he was still shirtless. The man was like a piece of art. He was fun and never took himself or anyone else too seriously. Next to Overton, I felt most secure around him.

“Sí. Overton is a bastard for the rules. I keep telling him, you only look like a delicate flower. I’ve seen Cyril in action. Handling that man is no small feat.” He released me and moved to the cupboard to pull forth a box of Special K.

“You can say that again. You know, I’m fully capable of caring for myself.” I grabbed and pulled the box from his hand.

He released, but turned to gather two bowls and two spoons. “I understand, but maybe I want to help.”

“It won’t get you laid.”

He laughed, set the bowls and spoons on the counter, then grabbed my hand and kissed it. “You wound me.”

“I felt your intentions when you hugged me.”

“The damn thing has a mind of its own.” His eyes drifted to his crotch.

“Sure.” I raised an eyebrow, but then smiled. “Where’s Overton?”

“He said he had to head out. He didn’t say where. What are your plans for the day?”

I stifled a yawn. “I was thinking of stopping over at the hall and saying hello to Clarence.”

“Didn’t you see him last night?” With the cereal and milk poured and served, Rhys took a seat at the nook.

Shit. So Overton kept it a secret. “It’s a long story. By the way, am I ever going to get to meet Moreaux?”

“Why do you want to? He’s a curmudgeon. Not your type at all.”

“I’m not looking to date him. Since he’s staying in the house and it’s been weeks since he got here, it would be nice. I’ve seen Mary lurking but…”

He shifted in his seats and lowered his voice. “Lurking is a good word for it. She lived with us for nearly fifteen years, and after staying only a few months with Moreaux she doesn’t acknowledge us.”

“Rhys, she’s deaf and has no tongue. Cut her a break.”

“No. She and I used to have a good time winding up Sinclair and Dominic. Now she ignores me. That French asshole brainwashed her or something. I have no idea what Cyril was thinking when he made Moreaux.”

“He thought he was saving a friend.”

“If you say so, sweetness.” He kissed my forehead. “You needn’t worry either. Overton isn’t letting him stay here. He hasn’t been here since the night he arrived. You’ll be safe. But you better hurry before Overton gets back. He might force you to wear a crash helmet. He’s a little over protective. Oh, you might want to see if Lance wants to join you on the ride. He was sitting pretty close to Clarence on the sofa the other night, and I’m almost certain Clarence grabbed his ass when he left yesterday.”

“Oh my. That was fast.”

“Yes, but don’t let Overton know you’re taking Lance. Knowing that you are alone in the car with Michael’s former slave would send him over the edge. In all of Cyril’s years, Michael was the only one to best him.”

“He didn’t best him. Cyril sacrificed himself. Don’t give that asshole any credit. Aren’t you worried about my alone time with Lance?”

“Nah. You killed Michael. All my money is on you.”

“You don’t gamble much, do you?”

“More than you know. Eat your cereal, sweet stuff. You’re going to need your strength for battle practice later.”

“Battle practice?”

“Yes, sweet cheeks. Six o’clock sharp.” He winked heading toward the door. He paused and looked back over his shoulder at me. “And bring Cyril’s sword.”

“Sword? I might use it on you.”

“I so hope you try. I might have to restrain you.” He shot me a seductive glance before disappearing through the doorway.

I refused to dignify him any further with comment. Eat cereal. Find Lance. Make sure Clarence hasn’t fucked up the symphony. That was the plan.

Chapter Four

Surrogate

Going to the Symphony Hall was a big step. I hadn’t been there since I had become a murderer—first Michael, then my aunt. Granted, self-defense, even the protection of others could be argued, but regardless, blood was on my hands, or crystalline dust, as in Michael’s case. But worst of all, I wasn’t sure if I could keep from envisioning Cyril’s supine lifeless body lying on the stage. The image haunted me even though I still had a connection to him. Or at least I thought so; I had been questioning my sanity from the first moment we met.

With my tote bag in hand, my black heels and standard black and gray business suit, I planned to walk in like the boss I once was. My skirt was a little loose since eating had been difficult. I had always been a stress eater, but since being blessed or cursed, depending how you look at it, with Michael’s abilities, I didn’t quite know who I was anymore.

The long hallway echoed back each step as I made my way to Cyril’s garage. A squeaking door interrupted. I paused, not quite turning the corner, and watched Mary, the former housekeeper of the mansion, close the door to Cyril’s study with care. What business did she have in there?

Determined to find out, I picked up my pace. Just as I was about reach the door, Sinclair barreled down the corridor, fresh from a workout. His gray gym pants hung low around his narrow hips, his black hair slick from sweat, and his chest glistened, highlighting each muscle. Just as I opened my mouth to say hi, breath evacuated my lungs in a fierce huff as he pinned me against the wall.

His iPod and my bag, along with its contents, scattered across the smooth marble floor. His hands held my face in place as he ground his erection into the juncture between my legs. He panted and his scent was musky from perspiration.

He placed his lips to my ear. “You owe me.” His voice was deep, rough.

I swallowed hard. I remembered his dream from the night before. So vivid. He had me trussed up like a turkey on Thanksgiving, naked and displayed on the kitchen counter. Even though that scenario would never appeal to me, it was his dream, so my reactions were at his command. When he wanted me to feel pleasure, I did. When it called for pain, the stinging radiated. Of course in the end no matter the setting, no matter the play, I woke up aroused every morning, but had to maintain ultimate restraint. It gave me serious respect for Overton’s dedication to celibacy for more than six hundred years. I was barely managing weeks with all the sexual tension in the house. Perhaps being supernatural required a curse, a counterbalance, and this was mine.

“Owe you? I saw what you did to me last night.”

“That’s just my point. I wouldn’t have had to have that dream if it weren’t for you.” A drop of sweat dripped from his chin ran down my collarbone and slithered between my breasts.

“You didn’t dream before me?”

“Of course I dreamed. But I had no trouble living out my fantasies. Do you know how long it takes to train a proper submissive? Years. Eighteen in this case. Margarette is the owner of Chez Philippe. She is the head chef too. Commanding in her kitchen. But once a month, I show up and we see just how many health codes we can violate.”

“What? You don’t wash your hands before handling the lettuce?”

He ground his cock hard against me.

“No. You remember what I did to you? How I teased your sopping pussy with the basting brush until you begged me to fuck you?” He rubbed against me harder. “Remember that? I do. That is exactly what I had planned for Margarette last night, only after I had her bound, stripped naked, and ready for me…” He growled. “I couldn’t fuck her. It’s all your fault.”

“It isn’t my problem you can’t get it up.”

He nipped my neck with his teeth. It was a warning. “I had no problems before Cyril brought you home. So you either need to go away or give me what you owe me.”

I gulped.

He pressed his body even tighter against mine and shoved his hand down the front of my skirt and into my underwear. “Because if you stay here…this is mine.”

I closed my eyes, trying to think of a way out of the situation. I changed my sight, as Cyril taught me, to look for a nearby magic source, but nothing could be found. I knew he’d only push it so far. The bond would keep him from harming me, but where that line was drawn remained a mystery.

My mouthed moved to form my plea, but nothing escaped, as we were both knocked to the floor.

I steadied myself resting back on my palms, watching Overton pin Sinclair to the hallway floor. His hands around his throat.

“You will never touch her again! Do you hear me?” Overton’s command bounced off the marble and traveled the length of the corridor.

Sinclair grabbed Overton’s forearms and tried to dislodge him, but failed. “Fuck you, Stanton.”

Overton did not yell, but just like Cyril, he spoke with menace lacing every word. “I am much older than you. There is no contest between us. You will lose. She is not yours. You will never touch her again.”

“Well, she ain’t yours either.”

“You’re right. All of Cyril’s rules still apply. If you want to see if they are still enforced, try me. I’m not kidding you. You were punished before for not obeying the rule of free will. Go ahead, test those waters, and you’ll think what Cyril did to you was a picnic. Do you understand me?”

Overton the badass. Who knew?

Sinclair huffed.

Overton rose and stared down at Sinclair, arms crossed. No offer of help. “Now get the fuck out of here.”

Sinclair glared at me for a moment, picked up his iPod, adjusted his pants, and jogged down the hall.

After he was out of sight, Overton rushed to me. “Are you all right?”

I nodded my head. It was a lot to take in—alpha Overton, my body’s response to Sinclair, and his confession. “I’m fine.”

“You were just assaulted. You are not fine.” He cupped my face.

“You know what? You’re right. I’m not fine. Don’t you see? This is why I have to undo the bond. I have to break it. You’re all prisoners in your own bodies because of me.”

“You didn’t cast the spell. Cyril did.” He rubbed his thumbs in soft strokes across my cheek.

Part of me felt like crying. But I refused to be a victim of my circumstances.

“But this is why I need to break it.”

He looked down, refusing to meet my gaze, and sighed.

“What? What is it?”

“I could take you away. Just the two of us. Distance might solve the problem. They can go back to the way things were.”

“What about Cyril? What about the sightings? Dominic said he thinks the recent attacks are related to Michael’s demise. I can’t run away with you and forget that I may have damned the world by killing him. My responsibility is to Cyril. I have to get him back. Besides, what about you? At some point this is all going to get to you. You’re convicted, but you’re still partially human. How long can you stand it?”

“Don’t worry about me.” He met my gaze and smiled.

“I’m not. I’m worried about me. I love Cyril, but being subjected to all of your dreams, I’m always on edge. Everything I feel is so much more intense now. I’m mostly human, so I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to hold out.”

His eyes dilated, and he ran his hand down my neck. “You’ll be fine. I’ll protect you, even from yourself.”

“I don’t think you can. The spell has to be broken.”

“What if you’re successful? You get Cyril back. How much of what you love about him was the spell?” He stared into my eyes, searching.

“I loved him before he bound us. I have to trust he felt the same.”

He gave a pained smile. “OK.” He stood up and extended a hand, pulling me to my feet. He placed a soft kiss on my cheek. “Be safe. Lance already got a ride with Dominic.” He shot me a look peppered with smug satisfaction.

I couldn’t get away with anything.

“But tell Clarence that he and Lance are more than welcome to attend the movie night this week. You too.” He raised my hand to his lips and kissed the back of it.

“Zombies again?”

“Of course.” He stooped to gather all of the loose items, placing them in my bag, and handed it to me.

I looped the bag over my shoulder and tossed it across my back. “I’ll pass. A little too close to reality after what we saw down by the river the other night.”

“Ahh, yes. After Cyril killed Ruroc, things started to change.”

That’s why Cyril hadn’t wanted me to kill Michael. He believed that all of them were somehow interwoven into the fabric of this world, and with each death something broke down. Since Michael’s demise, sightings of the little nasties had multiplied.

“The men aren’t exactly sad,” he said. “They live for a battle, and it’s a great way to burn off some frustration. But mankind will pay the price. It’s impossible for the six of us to contain them all.” Thoresen and the others had been following the news and traveling to places with the most activity, but it was a short-term solution. “We need to get Cyril back. We don’t know how much his absence here is fueling this.”

“And break the spell.”

Disappointment was evident in his furrowed brow and pursed lips. He nodded and walked away. Left with nothing but the sound of Overton’s footsteps, I took a moment to scan my mind for Cyril’s presence. He’d be able to see this interaction in my memories once he made the connection next time. Every time he contacted me, I wondered if it would be the last.

Refocusing, I remembered Mary. Cyril’s study was a wealth of information. I had avoided it to this point, but Sinclair’s episode helped to push the grief aside. Plus, why was she snooping?

I took a deep breath and opened the door.

The room was pitch black, not even a silhouette. I felt the wall for the light switch and gasped. The room in front of me was huge, windowless, and filled with books, baubles, and sculptures. In the center of the room stood a huge statue of an exquisite nude woman. Her long flowing hair drifted below her bottom, but the bronze made the color indistinguishable.