Playing with Passion Theta Series Book 1 (47 page)

Mack propped himself on his elbow, so
he could see her expression more clearly. "After the poet or the
musician?"

"He was a Welsh hero of
the sea. Some say he was a
god
." Mack laughed and Ingrid
pouted, thinking he wasn't a fan of the name she’d chosen. "You
said you like the sea."

"I do. It's the god thing that made me
laugh."

"You fuck like a god," she said
huskily.

That left him speechless for a moment,
but he recovered quickly, whispering, "How many gods have you
fucked?"

"Well, Thor was pretty hot, but…” He
started to tickle her. “Wait…wait! I confess. You're the only one."
Ingrid smiled at him, sending out her love with every breath that
passed her lips.

He traced her cheek and lips with
light fingertips. "Celeste." He whispered her name with reverence.
"I love you."

"I love you, Dylan. Only you.
Forever."

"I think I can die now," he teased,
closing his eyes and relaxing beside her on the bed.

Snuggling against him as closely as
possible, she said, "You'd better not, 'cause I'll find your ghost
and make him listen to me complain for all eternity."

Mack and Ingrid laughed and kissed
again, both of them understanding that this was the true beginning
of their life together and that however long it lasted, making it
to this moment was worth everything they'd lived through
before.

CHAPTER
FORTY-TWO

She'd said yes. Twice. The ceremony
would be for everyone else. He was already hers. But it would have
to wait.

They joined the others for breakfast.
Someone had made coffee, bacon, eggs and toast, so the two lovers
sat and forced themselves to eat, filling up with the protein
they'd need later. Nothing tasted the way it should have, but
sharing the meal together was a comforting ritual, something he and
Celeste needed to get them through the rest of the day.

It was so easy for him to leave the
Ingrid label behind and think of her as Celeste, a pet name he’d
kept close to his heart for several days.

Gene overheard Dylan calling her by
her new name and came over, looking curious. They explained and he
grinned. "No shit? Great choices.”

“I couldn’t bear to be called Ingrid
for one moment longer.”

“Let’s face it; you’ve never been an
Ingrid.” Gene and Dylan exchanged grins.

“I was accused of that very thing by
multiple PM’s.” She added another grin of her own.

“Never again.” Dylan kissed the edge
of her mouth, licking away a morsel of scrambled egg that had tried
to make a home beside those perfect lips. He would guard those lips
with his life, even against her breakfast.

Gene winked at his former partner,
striding away to another group of folding chairs and viewer trays,
huddling with Alan and Tom who were already making plans regarding
the tech set-up. Dylan was pleased to see that Gene was in good
form, bursting with energy after their reboot yesterday
afternoon.

“Where do you think we should set up?”
Alan asked.

“For now, we can use a corner of my
fifth floor loft.”

“Isn’t that going to infringe on your
privacy?” Alan teased. They were close friends.

“Do you see any females knocking down
my door? The two beautiful ladies who live here are taken, and the
one who can’t decide what she wants would rather slit my throat
than spend time with me.”

“You’re kidding, right? Liz has had
the hots for you, since she was fifteen,” Tom said. “She tried to
hide it from everyone, but I used to see her reading articles about
you on her tab. She might say she hates troupers, but she’s had a
crush on Gene Hudson since you first joined the troupe.”

“Yeah, well the reality never lives up
to the fantasy, does it?”

“She’s overwhelmed by your
magnificence,” Alan said with a wry smile.

“You
ready
?” Dylan asked Celeste.

“Ready for
what
?” Gene asked.

“Zone him
out
.” She rolled her eyes.

“Sorry. I
forgot
.” One of the things they’d worked
on yesterday was focusing their mental banter to include only two
minds, blocking the third. They could add in any others as needed,
but sometimes privacy was a must—like today.

“I’m as ready as I can
force myself to be,”
she
answered
,
shuddering
.

“I’ll be there.”
He rubbed her back, trying to offer what little
comfort he could.

“I’m not frightened for
myself. I don’t know if I can do it. I mean, I know I’m
capable—it’s just…”

“I understand.”

Staci and Sam walked over. “Are you
feeling well? You look pale, dear,” Staci pointed out with a
worried frown.

Celeste forced herself to smile,
adding a little glamour to convince Staci there was nothing wrong.
“I’m fine. Didn’t sleep too well is all.”

Staci held up a sheet of paper. “Beds
are on today’s list.”

“Hallelujah.”

Sam and Staci stood silently, as if
they were waiting for Celeste to say more. After a few moments,
Staci hugged her, speaking in a whisper. “Be careful.”

Straightening up, they said their
goodbyes before heading out the door, looking eager to purchase
more items for the building and the clinic. Everyone would be
grateful to sleep in an actual bed once more, although sleeping on
a tiny mattress with Dylan, pressed so tightly together to avoid
rolling onto the floor, had its own appeal.

“What’s up?” Gene sprawled in a chair
next to theirs.

“Nothing,” Celeste said, avoiding his
gaze.

“Uh huh. Not convinced. You two will
not do anything today without clearing it with me
first.”

“Do you think we’re idiots? I’m not
ending up as the next bloody spectacle on the viewer.” Celeste was
pretty convincing, but Dylan wasn’t sure Gene was buying
it.

“Mack?” Gene asked, his mouth edged
with skepticism.

“Dylan. It’s Dylan now.” Celeste
said.

“Sorry. Dylan?”

“We’re not going anywhere. We’re
hanging around to help. Maybe I’ll even work out later.”

“Good. Tom’s bringing in a weapons
expert tomorrow. The guy will be coming in regularly, to teach us
how to fight with a blade and use a gun.”

“We don’t need…”

“We learn it all,” Gene said firmly.
“You never know.”

Celeste and Dylan helped put away some
of the supplies that were still laying around in the kitchen area,
then killed time by playing two games of chess. Two hours later,
Staci and Sam were back with assorted supplies, so as everyone else
got busy setting up the clinic and putting together tables and
chairs for the common area, Dylan and Celeste snuck out the
backdoor, absconding with one of the vans and taking the Bayonne
Bridge toward the arena.

CHAPTER
FORTY-THREE

She’d stolen an ID from one of the
guards who’d just arrived for duty, putting him to sleep in the
back seat of his own car. Dylan did the same with a guard by the
gate.

"Celeste, where the fuck
are you?"
Gene's furious voice cut through
her thin veil without a hitch. She’d left it weak on purpose,
feeling it was important to let him know they were okay, at least
for now.

"Dylan and I’ve morphed
into guards at the stadium. We’re going in.”

"You can't save them. Get
your ass back here."

"I know I can’t save them,
but I can stop their pain, maybe make their deaths mean
something.”

The voice in her head grew
gentle, urging her to turn around and get back in the car. But he’d
forgotten his persuasive brand of magic didn't work on a theta with
her abilities.
"Don't do this to yourself,
sugar. You know what you went through after Atlanta."

"Dave and Diane will want
this. I'd want this, if it were me.”

"Hey, Gene."
Dylan piped in. “
She
knows what she’s doing. Trust us
.”

"You’re fucking idiots,
both of you. You're putting our entire operation in
jeopardy."

"Boot up your H-tab, hack
into the stadium feed, and watch the show,"
Dylan answered.

Gene was still talking when they shook
their heads and slammed down their mental walls. No more conference
calls ’til it was over.

How strange that Gene was turning into
the responsible one.

They entered the stadium, passing the
guard at the gate who nodded in their direction then turned away to
deal with an unruly wolf. Walking down the stairs leading to the
front sections of the arena, they tried their best to appear to be
working, glancing around at the various wolves and vamps, witches
and sorcerers who’d showed up for the spectacle.

One of the odd things about life under
the leadership of incredibly powerful supernaturals, was the way
the various species relied completely on their senses, most of them
arrogant enough to believe their natural gifts were adequate to
keep them secure around their enemies. None of them relied on
devices, such as retinal scans or even thumb print ID badges, which
might have kept Dylan and Celeste out of the stadium. Morphing was
great, especially since they were also able to change their scent,
but it wasn’t perfect. High tech could trump a good morph every
time.

The Director had hired extra guards,
but they seemed disorganized, with no one giving orders. Celeste
and Dylan knew there'd be cameras everywhere, but the cameras were
easy to spot, and their disguises were perfect.

They stopped at the final aisle before
the closest section of seats, standing behind the last row. There
was a large post that partially hid them from the podium where The
Director's demonic enforcers sat, smirking, and laughing about
something. Celeste was grateful The Director never appeared in
front of such a large crowd, preferring to keep out of the public
eye. He tended to terrify anyone who saw him in person, and that
would disrupt the entertainment. Instead, he'd be somewhere nearby,
probably watching everything on his high-end viewer in a private
box.

Dave and Diane were chained between
posts, completely naked. They were suffering from the effects of
the drugs and whatever torture they’d been victims of, hardly able
to stand. Celeste trembled with fury when she noticed a guard touch
a zapper to Diane’s breast, causing Diane to cry out in pain. The
demons laughed, pointing at Dave.

Celeste’s fingernails were making half
moons in her palms, blood beginning to flow, her anger reaching its
peak. To calm her, Dylan sent a warm wash of his power, giving her
the strength she needed to help them.

She'd seen these types of executions
before. They were meant to be entertainment, so the torture was
dragged out for as long as possible. They hadn't begun yet, but
when the executioner arrived, dressed in the usual mask and black
clothing, she knew it wouldn't be long.

They would start with sexual torture,
moving on from there.

Dylan asked,
"Are you okay? It's not too late to
leave."

"I'd never leave them now.
Can you—can you touch me somehow? Don't make it obvious."
He slid his body close enough so she could inhale
his comforting scent, his fingers brushing against hers where they
rested on the post.
"Thank
you.
"

"If we get split up, I'll
meet you at the third gate near the van.
"

"I'll find
you."

Celeste took in a very deep, calming
breath, sending her mind out to Diane, burning a small pathway so
Diane could hear. All eyes were on the executioner as he raised
each torture device into the air for the audience to see. Cheers
rang through the night, the crowds’ thirst for blood and pain
nauseating to Celeste. No one noticed when Diane lifted her head,
suddenly able to understand who was contacting her.

"Diane. Don't say
anything. Nod if you hear me."
Her eyes
widened, but she didn’t speak—only nodding
. "I can't save you. Do you understand?"
She nodded again.
"I can make it
fast. Kill you both quickly. Do you want that? Will Dave?"
She nodded again, tears streaming down her face.
Celeste sent her one last message—one she hoped would give Diane a
small measure of peace. "
I'm going to kill
The Director for you, for you and Dave and all his other
victims
.
Your
deaths will have meaning, I promise
."

Diane’s head moved again,
a final acceptance of her fate. She mouthed
thank you,
and the gesture almost
finished Celeste, but she had to stay strong. She closed her eyes
and worked up her rage toward The Director and sent it out in a
blast of psy-magic, turning it into a laser, burning through
Diane’s brain until her heart stopped beating. She did the same for
Dave.