Master of the Opera, Act 4: Dark Interlude (5 page)

It came free with a scream. From her, from the bear, from the earth itself.

She fell, plummeting through darkness, trying to remember the name to call. Glittering discs of gold and silver fell around her, nicking her skin, drawing blood. She fell into the arms of the bear and he sank his claws into her. Crying out in ecstasy, she threw back her head, giving him her throat.

He took it and her blood flowed free, sinking into the earth, pulling the maimed bodies with it, drawing them under. In their place an unnaturally lush green lawn grew. Among the endless sameness of grass, stalks of another plant grew here and there. She lay in the bear’s embrace while the crops grew up around them, luxurious, reaching for the sun. The stalks grew tall, their leaves spread and waxed, offering their shade. Through the patchwork green, buds burst into full sunflower bloom, turning their faces to their namesake shining above.

In the blessed depths of the shadows, she smiled.

H
ally didn’t ask what she’d seen. Which was good, because Christy didn’t think she could put it into words. The redhead picked up her stones and scuffed away the circle, moving in the reverse of what she’d done before. They walked back down the path in silence, Christy turning over what she’d seen and felt, still under the spell of it all.

She knew without doubt that somehow, somewhere, she hadn’t dreamed that. It had been real. No innocent maiden, her ancestress, some ancient echo of herself, had given herself to save the Master from ultimate destruction. Whether the tribe’s god or totem spirit, he’d survived, but weak and crippled. Scarred.

And somehow, whatever she’d done, the magic of blood and love had fixed a piece of him forever in this realm.

A young boy—yelling at the top of his lungs, face covered in melted ice cream—barreled up the path and between them, forcing them apart. Hally watched him go, her eyebrows raised. “Guess you were right.”

“Eh.” Christy shrugged. “It’s good for there to be life here.”

“Look who’s less grumpy now.”

“What does it mean, when an animal is white?”

“In most mythologies, it means that it’s a spirit form.”

“Like the white stag in the Arthurian tales.”

“Exactly.”

They got back to Hally’s car, the sun sinking low, and she pulled back out to the highway. “Where to?” Hally asked in a chipper tone.

“Would you drop me off at the opera house?”

“Thought so.”

 

Though it was late on a Saturday, people were there working—mainly the props and scenery crews—putting in extra hours. With dress rehearsals kicking into gear in the next week, it suddenly seemed as if a mountain of work loomed. Nobody was surprised to see Christy and, likewise, nobody paid much attention when she tossed off a wave and headed down the spiral staircase.

“Just popping in for a minute!” she called out to one of the props guys, just in case. That way they wouldn’t look for her if she went “missing,” especially without her car in the lot.

She simmered with anticipation—and a kind of joy, she realized. The same surge of deep vitality she’d felt lying in the bear’s embrace in the shade of the sunflowers. This, then, was what trusting your gut truly meant. Even what Roman believed in when he said people “just knew.” It went beyond thought, she understood now. Beyond words.

She knew.

And trusted.

She hadn’t even brought the flashlight because she didn’t need it—for light or for self-defense. The shadows grew deeper. Round and round she rattled down the spiral stairs, the lower-level air chilly on her bare arms and legs, the rubber soles of her sneakers squeaking on the metal steps.

In her haste her foot slipped, skidded, and flew off the edge. Her stomach plummeted, the gasping terror of the fall flooding her.

The hard jerk of her shoulder flashed sharp pain as her grip on the rail yanked her back, her butt slamming against the steps, knocking the breath from her lungs.

“Shit,” she gasped. Not so invincible, after all. “Pay better attention, Christy, would you?”

“Yes.” The golden voice rolled up from below. “Have a care. You’re counted as precious by others.”

She peered down through the stairwell grate but couldn’t make him out. “Master?”

“Who else?”

“Sometimes I’m not sure if all the voices I hear are yours.”

“Understandable.”

“Is it?” She pulled herself up, strained shoulder protesting, and descended the last few spirals. “Do you hear them, too?”

“Of course.”

“Who are they?”

“Come with me and see. They wait to meet you.” A shadow separated itself from the darkness. He removed his hat with a sweep, to bow to her. In the bare light filtering from above, his half mask concealed his face and his white-blond hair gleamed.

A small silence fell between them.

“Have you come to me?”

It felt like the moment the proposal should have been. The question asked as a formality because both hearts already knew the answer.

“Yes.”

“Then come.”

He opened his arms and she hurtled herself into his embrace. She pressed herself to him, drinking in his scent, man and more. The vibrant energy that infused him streamed through her and she wanted him, so deeply she thought she would weep from need. She raised her face to his and his mouth descended on her, feeding on her lips in turn, like a starving creature.

He murmured, deep in his throat, a sound of wordless longing. One strong arm held her tightly against him while a gloved hand splayed over her jaw and cheekbone, as if testing the reality of her presence.

“I want to be with you,” she told him between kisses, “in every way imaginable.”

“You know how it must be. There are rules.”

“Yes.” She remembered offering her throat to the bear—the fierce and extraordinary surrender and ecstasy of the moment. “I’m yours.”

In truth, she always had been. She saw that now.

He drew a length of silk from his pocket, presented it over his upturned palms. “Do you surrender yourself to me?”

Offering herself in sacrifice to the bear. Blood without death. Ecstasy and pain. Her blood surged with her pounding heart, nerves burning bright and arousal flooding her senses.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

A wave rolled through her. She turned up her face, offering her throat to the beast.

“Yes, Master.”

He bound her wrists together and she watched from a curious remove, already feeling that meditative sense of giving herself over to the forces of the world. Of all the worlds, whatever and wherever they might be. The place she truly existed. Her breath rose and fell with aroused intensity, the full sides of her breasts swelling against her inner arms.

When he blindfolded her, it became another level of yielding.

He led her along by her tied wrists, never faltering, her unfailing guide. Trusting him was no longer a conscious exercise. He would make sure of her footing and her way. She smelled water, and the always cool air of the lower levels grew damp on her cheeks, with a more penetrating chill. She shivered and he paused, then wrapped his cloak around her, cozily warm from his body heat, his musky scent filling her nose.

“Step into the boat.” It was the first time he’d spoken since she’d called him Master.

Boat?

But she followed his lead still, finding her footing in the small boat that rocked on water so still it made no sound. He helped her to sit and she folded her bound hands in her lap, while he tucked the cloak around her. They moved, gliding, and the sound of oars dipping in and out of the water added to the surreal feeling.

“How is there a lake here?”

In answer, he sang a song she’d never heard, of deep waters that ran under the mountains of time. She floated, on the water, on the music, on the surging desire that made her thoughts melt away.

All she really wanted was for him to touch her again.

But she had cast herself into his power as surely as she’d stepped into this boat that carried her across an unknown underground lake. If she struggled against it now, she’d surely drown. No, the key was to ride along, not to fight it.

She felt strangely serene, giving up the need to fight everything.

Calm and free.

The hypnotic dipping of the oars ceased and the boat ground lightly against a dock. The air seemed warmer here, nearly balmy, as if they’d crossed into another world.

Then the Master was beside her, slipping strong arms under her knees and lifting her against his muscular chest. He stepped up onto the dock, his boots thunking on the wood, then set her on her feet.

“Warm enough now?” His breath feathered across her cheek. She nodded, and he pulled the now stultifying cloak from her. Then he removed the blindfold. “Look.”

She gasped at the beauty of it. The dock fed onto a boardwalk and all along it white pillar candles lit the way. They glimmered off the black mirrored lake water and ascended in tiers up stairs and winding walkways that ran through archways of black-leaved trees. The candlelit paths traced a route up a hillside to a series of towering stones set in a circle. Torches ringed them. The place glimmered with magic and clarity.

“Fairyland,” she said on a breath, then felt silly.

The Master wrapped his arms around her and laid a cheek against hers.

“Welcome home.”

Where has The Master taken Christy? Who are the shadow people writhing in ecstasy within a circle of candles? And once Carla wakes from her coma, real-world danger creeps closer to Christy as she spirals further out of control . . .

 

In
Master of the Opera Act 5: A Haunting Duet
, Christy’s loyalties are further tested. Download it March 6, 2014!

Jeffe Kennedy
is an award-winning author with a writing career that spans decades. Her fantasy BDSM romance,
Petals and Thorns
, originally published under the pen name Jennifer Paris, has won several reader awards.
Sapphire
, the first book in the
Facets of Passion
series, has placed first in multiple romance contests, and the follow-up,
Platinum
, is climbing the charts. Her most recent works include three fiction series: the fantasy romance novels of
A Covenant of Thorns
, the contemporary BDSM novellas of the
Facets of Passion
, and the postapocalyptic vampire erotica of
Blood Currency.
She is currently working on
Master of the Opera
and
The Twelve Kingdoms
, a fantasy trilogy. Jeffe lives in Santa Fe, with two Maine coon cats, a border collie, plentiful free-range lizards, and a doctor of Oriental medicine. Jeffe can be found online at her website, JeffeKennedy.com, or every Sunday at the popular Word Whores blog.

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First Electronic Edition: February 2014

ISBN: 978-1-6018-3159-0