Blood Enchantment (64 page)

Lisbeth

Seeing someone who looks as I do is so strange. She moves her body in the same way and uses the same mannerisms.

I have stared at my reflection more times than I can count, but nothing compares to seeing skin and bone, blood and will encapsulated in a moving, talking, thinking being who is your mirror image.

I release Greta, feeling her soft feminine body slide away, infinitely grateful for the honed athletic body I possess. I wince slightly as I shift my weight, and only the black American is the wiser. His brows come together, noting my mysterious discomfort.

I imagine he attributes my stiffness to our prior fight, where his fists were insufficient to conquer me.

Cock and tongue do a better job.

If a man brings his physicality to the equation, I will always be the victor. But in sex, he might win. Tor has.

I spin in a slow circle, noting the exits, windows, and the stance of the men. Greta has been long dismissed as a threat. Now is the time for me to play the sister.

I cup Greta's face. “I am sorry.”

Her beautiful face, so personifying Norway in its smooth, high-boned, and aquiline arrangement of features. Her platinum hair and clear-blue eyes draw together in a frown of confusion.

“What-what could you possibly be sorry for?”

I shake my head, aiming for demure and finding the pain of my sex helps that along nicely. I bite my lip, eyes cast downward. “I could have reached out. Sought you. But I was too frightened.”

Greta grasps my hands; hers are like ice.

Sometimes extremities are a tell. Greta seems as though she has awoken from a shock.

I flick a calculating glance of at Paco.

My little Spanish dog must have barked about me to Greta. Most recently.
I allow my attention to return to Greta.

“Why would Father separate us? Why would he tell me you had died?” Her lip quivers.

I give her a gentle smile, though shaking her is what I really want to do.

There will be time later for all the plans I have for Greta.

“He said he must choose. When I was old enough to understand, he conveyed that his prominent financial status was too risky a threat of exposure, and his two children would be in danger.” I glue my eyes to hers. “That there were those who would use one child against the other. He had me trained to protect myself. And his plan was when I came of age, he would reintroduce us.”

Greta pulls back, looking numb.

I lean closer. “He thought that we could be sisters again. My role would be protector, and yours would be to run the company.”

“The school,” Greta gasps, realization swarming the clear blue of her eyes, making them murky with understanding.

I nod. Now she finally understands the sacrifices involved. And if she does not, she soon will. “He groomed us like protégés.” I add unnecessarily.

Her eyes search mine, and I push false warmth into my usually cold gaze. Her face confirms how my efforts soften the words of my carefully contrived story.

“My boarding school—”

I shrug. “I am the mercenary. You are the scholar.”

“I have nothing of consequence,” Greta says, casting a nervous glance at Paco.

Ah, the Spaniard does not know that Greta's wealth hasn't bought her into Club Alpha.

I viciously suppress a smirk. I'm well aware of the soulmate fantasy for billionaires.

Ridiculous.

I'm not privy to
how
Greta came to have a slot in the game. It is apparent that Paco does not know her lack of wealth.
How attractive would Greta be if he knew that she was not wealthy
?

Yet.

Suddenly her love or supposed attraction could be attributed to her want of Castillo's wealth.

Tor orchestrated the timing here. His sources were enough to manufacture the seemingly coincidental events. If it were up to Tor, Greta would have already been dead two years before.

But he spared her for me, for now.

“But why?” Greta asks.

I suppress an eye roll. She is nauseatingly naïve. Her innocence grates on my nerves.

Of course, it may be because I never had any innocence of my own.

Tor met me through unconventional means before I was of age then raped me into compliance—and eventual alliance.

When he was through shaping me like clay into the creation of his
making, I was the mercenary soldier Father longed for, though I belonged to Tor. I feel as though I always have.

I remember Greta's question, giving a half-smile of apparent lack of understanding. “I do not know. I think, in his way, he meant to keep us safe. Keep the line of his blood strong, the company's heart beating when he was no longer here.”

Paco interrupts, “I think it's time to talk about falsifying your death to this doctor.” His eyes find mine, and I keep my face impassive.

Greta looks at Paco, as well, her eyes soft. I realize that Tor has not fully captured her heart. Why? He commands everything with an iron fist of manipulation. Something has been said.

By whom?

My eyes narrow on Castillo. Tor dismissed him too easily. But this Mexican coffee mogul has fashioned his wealth into an un-mined diamond.

It is not because his intellect is deficient.

I shift my gaze to the American. He behaves like a rough baboon. But beneath his harsh and boisterous exterior is a sharp mind. His gaze doesn't leave mine. Tallinn is not stupid, either.

He must die first.

I nod. “Yes, you've told Greta about the narco?”

Tor is dealing with that complication. It must be part of this Club Alpha interference. Still, I can't complain outright; Club Alpha offered camouflage and validity to our appearance. The involvement of the fantasy “game” is what has Castillo and Greta in a state of constant question about what is false and what is real.

Greta's staring at me. I understand why.

I surveyed her on film, in grainy cinematic life, before seeing her in the flesh.

She has never laid eyes on me.

Of course I would be a novel sight.

Look away, dear sister, for I will be the last sight that fills your vision when you take your final breaths.

*

Paco

Tallinn's eyes shift my way, and I ignore him. I know what he is telling me with his gaze.

He does not like Lisbeth.

I should be happy that the woman who is a player in Club Alpha, and the survivor of an unmentionable crime, has found a long-lost relation.

But Zaire Sebastian made a great many things clear. Among them was the idea that nothing is what it seems.

Lisbeth Wesbestad is layered.

Greta is not. And if she is, they are all layers that I want to explore.

Lisbeth is deadly.

Maybe that is why the narco want her dead? Has she insulted the wrong set of ears?

“I know where the doctor is,” Tallinn says.

“Can we pay this doctor off?” I ask Tallinn.

Tallinn nods. “He's a real piece of work, but the narco probably didn't grease his palm the way you could. They wanted you out of Mexico; they want her”—he stabs a finger in Lisbeth's direction—“dead.”

Greta makes a low noise of distress, and I go to stand next to her. “I can't. I just met her. You guys are talking about her
dying
.”

I take Greta in my arms. Without shoes, she’s so tiny that she fits against my chin perfectly. My eyes meet Lisbeth's over her shoulder.

Her gaze is perfectly blank. But her eyes hold the tightness of injury. I can identify the subtleties of hidden pain anywhere, on anyone.

I have suffered many injuries in my time. No one gets to my level of self-defense without experiencing pain. I feel the frown on my face. We could not have hurt her too badly. Yet Lisbeth does not move with the grace she did hours ago. She moves as though wounded. Her gaze falls from mine as if she's too nervous to hold it. I know that is not the case.

This woman is nervous for nothing.

I lean back, framing Greta's face in my hands. Her skin is too pale, and splotchy patches of pink dot her cheeks.

She is unwell.

The news has been a shock.

The horrible event Tallinn revealed has scarred her. Reliving it again in front of two men she doesn't know worsens it.

Greta just met a sister she presumed lost.

Now she knows that without a payoff to a crooked doctor, Lisbeth faces death.

What Greta must be made to understand is that her death will not happen while I take breath.

I softly stroke Greta's bottom lip with my finger.

“Let me do this for Lisbeth.”

“For me,” Greta says with a lilt, pressing her lips against my finger.

I nod. “What is wealth without wisdom?” I ask.

*

“Stay, Greta.”

Her eyes fill with tears, and I silently curse. There is no good solution.

I have engineered a net of safety within the parameters I'm able.

Greta's head dips, and Lisbeth's hand falls on her shoulder. “Paco's right. I am the one they're after, the one they know about. I will accompany Paco and Tallinn. He can pay this doctor. The narco will be satisfied that I no longer exist.”

“It will simplify things,” I say, glancing at Tallinn, and he nods, gathering our things. My eyes return to Greta's.

Tears gather like liquid aquamarine in the corners of her eyes. They shimmer but do not fall.

For too many years, I've tied the man that I am to civility. Tallinn has taught me things with our training that I didn't know I was capable of physically. What he couldn't have known was that a man cannot change the shell without also altering the creature that lies within.

Like a caterpillar becoming a butterfly, I endeavor for beauty, but danger and stealth are the weapons inside the armor of my soul.

“I'm not some child that needs to hide from danger, Paco.”

Greta doesn't pout.

Lisbeth squeezes her shoulder. “I'll be back, and we can talk until the wee hours of the morning. But let me resolve this. If this one thing can be put behind us, we're free of that cloud of disaster.”

Greta stares at Lisbeth. “You won't get hurt?”

Lisbeth smiles, offering the first natural expression since our acquaintance. It makes all others prior to this one suspect.

I frown. I can't put my finger on the source of my discontent.

“Let's go, Paco,” Tallinn says, throwing a gear pack my way.

I deftly catch it with one hand then shrug it on between my shoulder blades.

Where we're going, we'll blend.

Greta doesn't ask for reassurance. I turn back and look at her regardless, then grasp the back of her nape and pull her against me.

“Do not leave the room—for anyone.”

I said words that should offend, but Greta merely nods at my barely veiled command.

I fight the whisper inside my head that says the same word over and over.

Mine.

Greta

Call me.

I swipe
send
with a thumb, and my text pings off into the ether.

My hand is still pressed against the closed door Tallinn, Lisbeth, and Paco just exited.

I lean my forehead against the warm wood surface.

Gia's going to poo her pants when she gets wind of the last twenty-four hours of my life.

I can't even make sense of it all, and it's
mine
.

A sigh of exhaustion slides out of my spent body. Carrying my cell, I pad to the luxurious bathroom.

The quartz is cold beneath my stockinged feet. I curl my toes, and the chill of the stone leeches up my legs. With a shiver, I cross the sterile grayish flooring and turn on the hot water tap. Perched along the rolled porcelain rim of a tub so large, I see it could definitely hold two.

I think of Paco.

Instantly an image of Tor floats over Paco's, and I feel heat flush my cheeks in a mixture of shame and uncertainty.

My fingertips swirl in the heated water.
I finally
want
a man.

Tor is the safe choice. He's a known commodity: client, a friend of the family, and a gentleman. And even though I sank into a trigger the size of the Grand Canyon while in his presence, it's not the first time that's happened. It probably won't be the last.

I test the temperature of the rising water. I spot a large bottle of fragrant bath crystals then glide to the double, low-slung vanity. I lift the glass lid, dip a small ladle into the jar, heft out two heaping spoonfuls, and pass the spoon through the spray of hot water.

I float away, a prisoner of my own mind, as I watch the scented water mingle like hot smoked ice.

My exhale is soft inside the quiet of the bathroom, with only the tub basin filling for background.

Tor will court me.
Paco acts as though I'm already his responsibility after a coincidental elevator ride and a meeting with a sister I thought long dead.

The night sky fills my mind—black and limitless. I think of the passionate moment on a chilly, star-filled terrace.

I shudder, feeling as though a goose just walked over my grave.

I'm beyond happy to know Lisbeth is alive.

So why does my chest get unpleasantly tight when I think of her? I should be having thoughts of all the questions and closeness her existence could mean for my future. A sister lost, now found?
Maybe I'm just off because of everything weird that's going on right now.

Everything will be better once I can talk to Gia. She can help me make sense of the events that are piling up.

I turn the blast of hot water to a trickle, turning on the cold tap. Frigid water joins the scalding water. Steam rises, and I douse my finger as I drown in my speculations.

Disrobing, I toe the water and hiss at the heat before sinking my foot to the ankle. With a resolute shrug, I fold my lean body into the bath and give a shaky exhale as the too-hot water rises past all my most sensitive parts, especially the one I avoid both in the mental
and
the physical.

Was it only hours ago that I gave Tor
yes
as my answer?

But my body wants Paco
. Just thinking about the man makes me hot in one place, and one place only. That place has been frozen in stasis for two excruciating years. Now it thaws—because of Paco.

I bite my lip, glancing at my silent cell. Smoothing my hands down my sides, I split my legs.

I don't want to think about Paco and Lisbeth visiting a corrupt doctor who's going to validate her phony death to faraway drug lords.

I'm not dwelling on what my relationship might be with Lisbeth.

I don't want to think about Tor's face when I said yes to his question of courting. It'd been the s
afe
response.

Instead, my fingers find my most intimate part, and I think of Paco, his tenderness, and the animal that lurks behind his emerald eyes.

I tentatively spread my labia, and a little pant escapes me. I plant my feet at the edge of the tub's rim, and the cooler air of the bathroom kisses the tops of my feet.

Bringing my hips up, I feed my mound to the top of the water, allowing the hot water to cup my ass and the colder air to breathe over my clit.

I'm suspended, my body at the surface. My finger finds the sensitive bundle of nerves hidden and so long untouched, damaged and used from before.

I lift the tiny hood, and the air snakes between my clit and my finger. I begin to slowly swirl my finger against myself. I moan from the pure tactile sensation of pleasure, the freedom to have a moment of sexual gratification that wasn't torn from me.

My hips buck as my tempo increases. The water undulates with the tempo of the slight rise and fall of my hips.

Ragged, urgent breaths fall on my ears, and I realize with a kind of delayed surprise that they are my own.

Water slops over the rim.

Heat suffuses my body as I rise toward the crest of a powerful wave of my pleasure.

I insert a finger to the knuckle.

My tight walls squeeze around my finger in a single, powerful pulse that seems to pull the digit deeper, and I whimper, pumping once.

The wave of my orgasm crashes over me, hitting the shores of my mind and exploding the guilty thoughts of everything into oblivion.

I think of nothing.

My core pounds out its pulses at my attempts of self-titillation.

But it is Paco's face I fantasize about.

It was his finger, and not my own, that entered my willing body.

It's Paco I think of, not Tor, as my body settles and my heartbeat finally returns to a sane rhythm.

*

My smartphone rings as I’m wrapping my hair in a towel.

I tighten the sash around my waist, feeling more relaxed and free than I ever have.

Well, not true. The freest I've felt since
then
.

I scoop the cell up off the back of the tub.

I frown at the water droplets littering the glass surface.

Dammit
,
got carried away.

I swipe with a smile, my parts feeling better for having some attention. And I feel better for having the bravery to allow myself to revel in sensations I've been too scared to explore again.

“Hey,” I say.

“Greta,” Gia says, and I hear the smile in her voice. “I rate a call instead of a hasty text?”

I grin. “Yes.”

“Everything okay?” she asks.

I hear the care inside the question, the concern underneath what should almost be part of a typical greeting.

“It is, but there's something I need to tell you.”

“Shoot.”

I tell her everything.

I omit the sex I had with myself. It's too delicious and private to share. Anything that makes me feel that happy and good is positive. Even I know that.

Gia's silence is long. I open my mouth to ask her if she's still there.

“I am liking everything less and less. I'm thinking I need to fly to Norway.”

Oh.
“No! I can't be a baby, Gia. You've given me the tools. Now I need to use them. I can't have you traveling
internationally
because you're worried. You sponsored me for Club Alpha. Now it's time to let it play out.”

“Okay,” she says slowly, “I'll give you that. Your voice, your words, they all agree with how I think you're progressing. It's the men that have me on edge—and your sister. That is the strangest revelation I've ever heard. So unexpected. It makes me feel uneasy. And that's not how I should be feeling presently.”

My brows come together. “Maybe I put a spin on it all because it's such a fucking shock. I mean, Father told me Lisbeth was dead. I
knew
I had a twin, but I've always been told she died when we were babies. Then this chick shows up. And she's
me
, right? But not.”

Goosebumps break out over my bare legs and arms as I recall our surreal first meeting just a couple of hours ago.

I nibble on my lip
. Were they able to pay off the doctor?
I wonder suddenly.

Gia shatters my thoughts. “Definitely. And if Club Alpha wasn't in the mix, I'd book you a flight right
now
.”

I give a tiny laugh. “It
is
crazy sounding.”

“Crazy—and you know how much I loathe that word—”

I snicker.

“Doesn't even cover it,” Gia finishes, ignoring my humor. “But when Club Alpha is added to the equation—and Paco admits he's a player—I think you're safe to explore this path, where it might lead you. But I don't like the sister.”

I don't stifle my snort. “God, Gia. It's my
sister
!”

Her silence is deafening. “And she didn't just reach out to you beforehand
why
? I mean, what was holding her back?”

“I'm not sure,” I admit. Disquiet tingles along my spine, raising the fine hairs of my body. I can't let my worry over what Paco's trying to accomplish make my nerves raw. Not after finally tasting a little bit of calm. Letting go of the hardest part of that knot of anxiety has been hard-won.

“I'd find out.”

I'll ask Lisbeth when she returns.
If
she returns.

Someone knocks at the door of the suite. My mind hits on Paco immediately. But I realize he probably didn't get all his nefarious stuff out of the way this soon.

I'll feel better once he, Tallinn, and especially Lisbeth return safe and sound with good news.

I won't entertain an alternative outcome.

I remember the essence of Paco's words when his large hand gripped my neck.
Don't leave your room for anything. For anyone.

I should have felt threatened by Paco's words, the implied command behind each syllable, and his touch.

Instead, I felt safe.

“Hang on,” I tell Gia.

I stride to the door, the ties of my expensive, in-suite robe fluttering behind me as I walk. I tilt my head to the side, and close an eye, searching the peephole for whoever's on the other side. Guilt swamps me as Tor fills the distorted view through the
convex circle of glass.

I still throb from what I did while thinking of Paco.

Now Tor stands outside the door, a small smile etching his lips.

Damn.
My hands fist, and I hesitate.

I consider Paco's words, his insinuation about Tor, and my half-dressed state.

The hell with it
. I won't be rude to the one person Father entrusted with my protection. I can't live in fear forever.

I'm not sure what Tor is to me yet, but he just might be a guardian angel. How can I say no to the role he might have in my life?

Pushing the lever down, I pull the door open. He leans against the jamb, taking in my flushed cheeks and damp hair tucked inside a plush cream towel, Lastly, his eyes travel to the lack of exposed cleavage in my tight robe.

My hands knot at the lapel, and I give a tight smile. “Hey, Tor.”

“Greta.”

His eyes skate around my room, warm chocolate irises against skin barely within Caucasian norms. His intense gaze dives back to me. “Alone?” he asks.

“No,” I say coyly, swinging the door wider with a smile. “
You're
here now.”

Tor passes through the threshold, and I softly shut the door behind us.
I made the right decision.

Paco and Lisbeth will be busy, and I can figure whatever this is out with him, like Gia said.

Oh my God!

Gia.

I race over to my cell and slam it against my ear, heart thumping.

“Greta?” Tor's voice rumbles in the background.

He sounds close. I hold up a finger.

“Gia!” I say breathlessly.

“Okay, now that's just discourteous, Greta.” I envision her folding her arms. “I know when I'm second fiddle,” she huffs, but I can tell she's playing with me a little.

“I'm
so
sorry, Tor was at the door…”

Pain erupts as my head is flung into the door jamb of the bathroom. My palm slaps outward, hitting the wall, and my body swivels like a marionette on a wire.

I fall against the wall, both palms flat against the textured surface of the plaster. Warm liquid trickles down my temple, clouding my vision.

Tor looms over me.

I blink stupidly at him.

Gia is screaming from my dropped cell.