Through a Crimson Veil (26 page)

“Let go of me,” he said.

Reluctantly, she did. Mika was confused, though. He’d called her
honey
again, he’d been touching her and letting her touch him, why had he suddenly told her to stop? Did he still want her to keep her feelings to herself?

McCabe shifted, arranged a couple of pillows against the headboard of the bed, sat back and patted his leg. “Come here,” he said.

If his voice hadn’t been soft, if it hadn’t held something close to a plea, she would have taken exception. But there
was
that note of entreaty, and so Mika did as he asked. Conor settled her between his thighs, her back to his chest, and wrapped his arms around her. “I told you,” he said quietly, near her ear, “not to worry about me, that I wouldn’t get hurt. You never should have put yourself in the line of fire.”

Mika glared at Conor over her shoulder. “You’re not indestructible,” she snapped.

“I know that. Damn it, you nearly died—don’t you get that? I could have taken that hit without it affecting me.”

She broke his hold and turned, going up on her knees and pinning him against the headboard with both hands. “You can’t be serious. There is no way that shot wouldn’t have hurt you.”

He scowled at her, grumbled a bit and then took a deep breath. “One of my powers is protection. I can absorb magical energy and use it.”

“But the only demons rumored to be able to do that
are…Oh.” She gaped. Did he understand what he was saying? Mika stared into his eyes, saw the distaste, the concern, and realized he was aware of exactly what he was capable of. “Well, that explains why you knew more than anyone in the human world should about auric assassins.” She began caressing his shoulders rather than pushing at them. “Relax, this stays between us. You’re my vishtau mate—your secrets are my secrets.”

His hands went to her waist. “I wasn’t worried you’d tell.”

“What were you—You were concerned about my reaction?”

Conor nodded. “It gives me an unfair advantage. The only people with a defense against it are other aurics. It’s a terrible power, demonic in the old human sense of the word. One shot and the victim’s dead. I never use it. It’s too ugly.”

Mika studied him, trying to read between the lines. “You’re an honorable man. You’re not a murderer.” Something occurred to her then. “Do you really think it matters to me what your powers are? Auric assassin or barely able to call up a breeze, I’d love you anyway.”

“You told me you’d have nothing to do with a weak demon,” he accused.

She had. She remembered. But…

“I know I did, but none of them were you,” she admitted. He appeared skeptical. She gripped his hand, trying to get through to him. “Even if you were from the weakest branch, even if you weren’t my mate—I’d love you still, Conor. Don’t you understand? It’s you. This goes beyond demon or human, powerful or weak. This was meant to be,” she swore. And it surprised her, but she meant it.

McCabe’s hands tightened around her waist, drew Mika in until she had to lean against his chest to keep her balance. Since she was right there, she kissed him slowly and thoroughly. She began to ease away, then was overcome by
another burst of passion and returned for another, longer kiss. Finally, she broke free and rubbed her nose against his, then sat back far enough to see his eyes. “Well, at least I’ll know the next time Setonians attack that I don’t need to throw myself in front of you.” She laughed.

“Don’t joke about that.”

“Sorry.” She took one of her hands from Conor’s face and pushed her hair out of her way. “If I’m recalling correctly, your—um, Sebastian—said there were two auric assassins working for the Council. Before I agreed to do this, I made them promise not to harm you. Obviously I did a poor job of negotiating, but I wasn’t involved in any plot to kill you, I swear!”

“I know you weren’t.” Conor grimaced, visibly steeling himself. “If the idea of everything between us being a lie hadn’t hurt so much, I would have seen sooner that you’d never be a part of such a plot.”

“What I feel for you isn’t a lie!” she snarled. Mika started to pull away, but Conor held fast.

“I know,” he said. More softly, he repeated, “I know that now. When you shielded me, I was finally able to look beyond the deceptions. The only times you weren’t straight with me was when it affected your job of retrieving the incantation. Am I right?”

Mika nodded, and his fingers spasmed against her back. She said, “Whatever you want to know, just ask. There’s nothing I won’t answer, and honestly.”

He leaned forward and down, and lightly bit her nipple through her tank top. Mika gasped and arched, but he didn’t do more. Instead he said, “We don’t have to play twenty questions. I know who you are at your heart, and that’s what counts. The rest is just details.”

She started to smile, but stopped; she continued to feel uncertain. “Are we really okay? You were so angry at me yesterday, and now you’re not. I want to make sure that we have everything worked out, that you’ve forgiven me.”

“I’m not mad anymore. Do I like the fact you lied to me? No, but I understand. You made that promise before we ever met, and those of Orcus never break their word.”

She nodded regretfully. “If I hadn’t promised, I would have come clean pretty quickly. I hated lying to you almost immediately.”

“And you’re not going to lie any more, right?”

His voice had a slight edge, which made her lips curve, it was so Conor. “With you, I’ll be completely honest. I’m not making any promises about anyone else.”

He shook his head with a short chuckle, and she reached up to hold him still, then planted a quick kiss on his lips. She enjoyed his laugh. “I
do
love you, Conor,” she swore.

“I believe you,” he replied.

For a moment, he studied her, something that appeared close to confusion in his eyes; then the expression segued to reluctance. Before she could protest, he moved her so that she no longer touched his body. “We’ve got two problems we need to solve.”

“Only two?” she joked. Her lips quirked up at the corners, and to her delight, his did as well.

“How about, our immediate problems stem from two sources—the dark demons and the Council?”

“Sounds about right. And neither problem will be easy to fix. The dark demons’ aims are in opposition to the Council’s, so working on one situation will likely exacerbate the other.”

McCabe frowned. “Which of the two do you think will be easier to resolve?”

Warmth filled her. He was asking for her opinion, treating her as a partner and not merely someone to protect. She said, “Each has pitfalls, but overall I’d say the Council will be much easier to handle than the Dark Ones.”

“Why?”

“Temperament more than anything. The Council isn’t a benevolent body by any means, but they’re predictable to a degree—they always act in their own best interest. They’re
also possible to reason with. From what I’ve heard and seen, not only are the Dark Ones unswerving once they set themselves on course, they’re willing to sacrifice anyone or anything to achieve their aims. For them, the end always justifies the means.”

“They can’t all move in lockstep. There must be dissension,” Conor suggested.

Mika shifted to a more comfortable position and leaned against his bent leg. The hard muscles of his thigh pressed her side and distracted her for a moment, but she wouldn’t lose her focus, not when McCabe was asking for her thoughts. “Maybe there is dissension,” she said after some consideration, “but I’ve never seen it. Remember, I told you they keep to themselves, and that when they do come out, everyone scatters.”

“Yeah, I remember.” Conor ran a hand across the back of his neck and scowled. She could see he was weighing their options, and guessed he wasn’t too thrilled with them. “Okay, looks like we get the Council off our asses first, then we only will have the dark demons to worry about.”

With her right index finger, Mika traced the frown line on the left side of his mouth.
Only
the dark demons? she thought. Those were enough. But she didn’t say so. Instead she said, “I know you want me safe, but what you suggested first makes the most sense.”

“Yeah. But I don’t like it,” he growled.

“Of course not,” she agreed. As Conor captured her and bit the fleshy part of her palm, it sent a shiver through her. Mika turned her hand, linked her fingers with his and smiled as he kissed her knuckles. But she couldn’t fully enjoy the play, not when she was distracted by her thoughts.

The Council’s aim was to retrieve and destroy the spell. If McCabe handed it over, they might be amenable to recalling their assassins. It seemed a logical plan, but she hesitated to raise it, afraid it would anger him—afraid that Conor would think she was still scheming to get that stupid
thing when nothing was further from the truth. It drove home that, even if he’d forgiven her, the fallout from her previous dishonesty would last for a while.

“Do you have the incantation?” she asked.

“What do you think?” His voice gave nothing away.

Mika hesitated, shrugged. “I think you do, but I could never figure out why you wanted it or what you planned to do with it. I can’t imagine
you
would want to lower the veil between worlds.”

“I don’t, and I don’t want all of Orcus enslaved to me either.” He paused, and she had a sense that he was deciding whether or not to say more. “The only thing I wanted was to slay the bastard who raped my mother—but I didn’t know his name, and randomly calling demons forward until I was lucky enough to get the right one didn’t seem quite practical.”

“It,” she said, choosing her words carefully, “wouldn’t have called only your fath—Sebastian—forth. It’s not that type of spell.”

“Not the way it’s written,” he agreed.

Mika managed to bite back her gasp. Conor couldn’t possibly mean he planned to alter it, could he? Someone like him, who hadn’t grown up in Orcus, who hadn’t learned even the rudiments of spell creation firsthand, could wreak untold havoc with one wrong word. Again, she had to be cautious with what she said. “You know his name now, you can call him forward using that.”

“I know,” Conor agreed.

Holding his hand more tightly, Mika took a deep breath and decided to chance diving in. “If all you want is Sebastian, you don’t need the incantation any longer, right?”

Conor gave her a hard look. “Stop tiptoeing around and say what you want.”

Mika shifted to face him squarely. “If you offered to hand the spell over to the Council, and gave your oath never to cast it, they might agree to call off their killers.” Then she remembered another piece of information she’d
been told to discover. “By the way, did you make copies or tell anyone else about this spell? They’ll want to know that as well.”

Mika grew uneasy when he didn’t answer. She should have remained quiet, or maybe subtly hinted around until the idea occurred to him and he mentioned it. No doubt he believed this was some new tactic to finish her mission, and an ache began to form in her chest. Maybe they’d never be able to get past her lies, and she couldn’t live with him always thinking the worst of her, always examining her words, looking for what she was really saying.

“The only other person who knew is dead,” Conor said. The lack of emotion in his voice tipped her off.

“Ben?”

Conor nodded. Mika longed to comfort him over the loss, but she didn’t dare to put her arms around him. Not after launching this topic of conversation.

“What are the odds your Council would agree to this bargain?” Conor asked.

“I don’t know,” Mika replied with a shrug. “If they were on the level about their reasons for destroying the spell, then I’d say the chances are good.”

“Would they destroy it? It’s a valuable tool.” Conor looked down at his hands for a moment, and hers, then met her gaze again.

Mika took a moment to consider. “Yeah,” she said at last, “I’m sure they would. They told me you’re the only one who can wield it—though they didn’t say why.”

McCabe pulled his hands free and didn’t reply. Mika didn’t think that was a good sign, and her regret grew at bringing this up. At least he didn’t move her from between his legs. She started to run her hand down his thigh—touching him had become as integral as breathing—but froze when it occurred to her that he might take her caress the wrong way. Reluctantly, she withdrew. How long would she second-guess her actions? And how long would she wonder if Conor was second-guessing her too?

“It doesn’t cost you anything to give the spell up—not really,” she said quietly. Mika felt uncomfortable, as if she were trying to sell the idea to him. Of course, convincing McCabe wouldn’t be a walk in the park, and he hadn’t heard the difficult part of the suggestion yet. “You can still summon Sebastian without it, and if you really have no interest in lowering the veil or enslaving the inhabitants of Orcus, why keep it?”

The look she received was stony, but Mika didn’t flinch. Not until he accused, “And then you’ll fulfill your promise.”

“Damn it,” she snapped, “do you think I’m advocating this because of the Council? I don’t really care about them. I don’t love them. My first loyalty is to you, and it always will be. Those guys don’t even make my top-ten list.”

McCabe scrutinized her long and hard, but Mika met his stare. Even if way deep down she was scared. If he couldn’t trust her, they’d never last.

Hell, maybe it
wouldn’t
work. Conor was so scarred by his past, he might never be able to open himself up enough to love her. And she couldn’t continue to be the only one giving—at some point, she’d have to leave him to save herself.

Mika blinked rapidly a couple of times, and reminded herself not to borrow trouble. This was a problem for the future, not today.

He surprised her by saying, “Let’s say I agree to this, how would we approach the Council? Make an appointment?”

She laughed. “They don’t take appointments. Anyone who wants to meet with them sits in an antechamber and awaits their pleasure. If they decide to see you, great. If not, it’s too bad.”

“They want the spell.”

“Right—I doubt they’d leave me waiting for long.”

His eyes narrowed. “You?”