Master of Desire (Merlin's Legacy 6), page 15
Chapter Nine
“I need you,” Helena said, keeping her voice low, throaty, as she drew on the Mageverse and fed it to her Burning Moon. Her skin began to burn, and she backed the power down a fraction, beating off the shift.
This was dangerous as hell. If the power got away from her, she’d be incinerated. Justice had warned her that kind of thing happened if you shifted too many times too close together. And she wasn’t shifting at all.
Conal glared down at her, eyes narrow with an inhuman hunger -- one she needed to transform into a craving for life. It crossed her mind that they had no condom, but she didn’t dare ask Liam to conjure one. Besides, a baby with violet eyes would be lovely…
She stepped in close, ignoring the way Conal’s power stung and bit her skin, and wrapped her arms around his powerful neck. His eyes narrowed as he stiffened, staring at her without recognition. “Conal,” she breathed, staring up into his face. “It’s me. It’s Helena.”
A thin line creased the flesh between his brows, a trace of puzzlement. He breathed in to speak and fell silent, his eyes widening. He’d caught her scent. Now if only he’d refrain from killing her long enough for the pheromones to work.
Helena stroked a hand over the high rise of his cheekbones, staring deeply into his eyes. A spark of static electricity leaped from one of his metal braids and snapped against her fingers in a painful bite. She ignored it. “I’m in my Burning Moon, Conal,” she breathed. “I need you.” Rising on her toes, she kissed him.
He didn’t move at first, and his lips were hard against hers, unyielding. Yeah, no, she thought, and leaned harder into him. His armor felt unpleasantly hot against her bare skin, like a car hood on a baking summer day. She ignored the sting, brushing her mouth over his. Back and forth. Her tongue licked out, danced over his velvet lower lip. He tasted of smoke and blood and the ozone reek of magic. It was like trying to cuddle a thunderstorm, and the hair on her arms rose. But Helena was damned if she’d give up, so she hummed a seductive note, playing with a lock of his hair with one hand. And concentrated on the hot memory of making love to him -- but more, on the heat of his gaze, that moment of soul-deep connection.
His breath roughened against hers. His lips opened, mouth going yielding, his hands lifting to slide around her waist. He made a low, rumbling sound of hunger. “Who…” He moaned against her lips. “Helena?”
Oh, thank God… She pulled back just far enough to talk. “Yes, it’s me. I need you, Conal. I want you.” Armored hands tightened almost enough to bruise, and she bit back a hiss of pain as he shoved her back so hard, she almost fell on her ass.
His eyes flared wide. “No. No, you can’t. We’re not safe, we’ll hurt you…”
“No, you won’t,” she breathed, locking her gaze with his and stepping in again.
“Don’t…” He was breathing hard now, his gaze a little wild. And there was something in them she didn’t like at all. Something that wasn’t desire for her body. But it’s not going to overwhelm him, because he won’t let it. She stroked her fingertips over the hard line of his jaw, a little rough with stubble. “I’ve got nothing to fear from either of you.” And she pumped more of that werewolf magic into the air. Her body was aching despite the situation, nipples hard, pussy wet. Which said a lot about the strength of the Burning Moon, considering the menacing energy boiling around Conal.
Again, Helena stretched up to kiss him again, and this time she lingered. Her tongue traced the seam between his lips, tasted his breath. He smelled like ozone and dark energy. Nothing like Conal at all. Never mind that. The lips were the same, the body under the armor was the same. “Make love to me,” she whispered against his mouth. “I need you.”
“Helena,” he said in Liam’s voice. “Get away! We’re not… I’m not safe.”
She opened her eyes and looked up at her friend as he stared out of Conal’s eyes. “I don’t believe that for a minute. I’m your priestess, remember? The best priestess you’ve ever had.”
He shuddered at that. “Because you’re the only one I never killed.”
“And you’re not going to kill me now either. You don’t want to.”
* * *
Helena. The taste of her filled his mouth, pulling him back to himself through the raging storm of memory and madness that was the god of death. He knew that impossibly seductive scent, that delicious taste, despite the lingering reek of blood and smoke. But he could also feel Siobhan’s power just feet away. He could eliminate the threat she posed to Helena, his sisters, Beltane, and Maeve. End the bitch as Maeve should have done thirty years ago. They’d all be the safer for it. No one else would have to suffer at the bitch’s hands again.
He remembered the grinding pain, the helpless rage, the bite of her whip. Five years of humiliation. “If I don’t kill her now,” he told Helena in a voice that almost sounded like his own, “She’ll come after us again.”
If he killed her, she’d never threaten any of them again. No one would. He’d have the power to see to that. There’d be no more Times Square Massacres, no invasions by would-be Mageverse dictators.
And the power she’d give him! He knew how it would feel. That furious storm of magic would race through his blood, light up his brain and his heart in an electric surge like the lives of the Dark Ones he’d fed on more than a millennium ago. How those deaths had sung in his blood… there had been nothing sweeter.
I should do it, whispered a hungry, ancient voice. Do it now, before she can convince me to stop.
He remembered that voice. Remembered that hunger. The rage that could never be sated. How every Dark One he’d killed had plunged him deeper and deeper into madness. He’d killed too many of the aliens in those days, drunk their lives and obscene hunger until death and suffering sated him more than justice. They had corrupted him. And even after they were gone, he’d gone right on killing, turning on his own people, unable to stop until he’d been stopped by Maeve and Cachamwri, god of dragons.
I’ll become that again. He tore his gaze away from Helena’s beautiful, seductive face, and his eyes fell on a splash of orange and gold feathers in a nearby tree. Essus, no longer aflame, staring at Conal with an expression of anguish and terror that made his heart clench. The bright feathers of one wing were burned black, and the eagle shivered in wracking pain. Even fireproof as he was, Conal had almost burned him to death.
I did that. My dearest friend, and I did that…
“Conal,” Helena said, her voice velvet, her scent pure sex.
He looked down into those dark, trusting eyes and shivered as he felt the magic in her, calling to the dark, endless need that filled him until there was room for nothing else. “Get away,” he told her, trying to ignore the hungry voice whispering, I can keep her safe. I can keep them all safe.
Until I kill them all. He stared into Helena’s face, into the love that burned in her eyes. He remembered the taste of her mouth. Remembered how he’d felt last night, listening to her heart beat.
The hot joy of devouring Siobhan’s life force was no match for the pure, shining peace he’d felt in Helena’s arms. Especially since killing Siobhan would destroy everything I am.
Get out, he told Liam. Get out of me. I am not going to become a monster. I’m not going to become Siobhan. I will not become death.
No, Liam agreed sadly. You’re not. I’m not going to do it to you.
The power began to retreat, that vast, insane energy draining away. The scarred victim in him screamed in fear, but he silenced it, refused to grab for the magic. Forcing himself to release it even as his knees went horribly weak, and he wanted to snatch the power back. He didn’t.
Something thumped on the ground at his feet. Head spinning, he looked down. It was the pistol. “I don’t want to be a monster anymore either,” Liam said.
“Oh, thank God!” Helena gasped, her arms tightening around his neck as she let her head fall against his chest. She began to shake in long, wracking tremors.
“I’m sorry!” The sound emerged as a broken rasp, his vocal cords strained from Lugh’s inhuman power. He wrapped his arms around her, shuddering as he remembered how close he’d come to hurting her.
Something bright red and yellow fluttered toward them, and Essus thumped more than landed on his shoulder. Conal was surprised he could fly at all, given that burn. “God, boy! I thought he’d killed you!”
Helena lifted her head and sucked in a breath at the sight of burned feathers and blistered skin. “Crap, Es! Are you all right?”
Conal felt sick. “Essus, I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault, Conal.” The eagle ruffled his feathers and ducked his head. “It’s almost impossible to burn a phoenix eagle, even with that much power. Stings a little, and I’ll be flying like a chicken until Maeve heals me. But it was a small price to pay to help Helena bring you back.”
Conal and Helena leaned in, studying the singed feathers. He realized with relief that the bird was right. But if he’d used a little more power… Ice rolled over him. “Jesus, that was close.”
Helena’s mouth tightened, and the gaze she turned on him held anguish. “I should have warned you about the geas release, but it never occurred to me I’d have to use it. Maeve gave me the code when I got this job -- it was strictly ‘break glass in case of apocalypse.’ Then… there was no way to warn you.” She shuddered. “Christ, I almost destroyed us all.”
“But you didn’t,” Conal told her, staring down into those dark eyes, so full of regret. “There was nothing else you could do.” He swallowed, aware suddenly of how much she must trust him to take such a risk. Of all people, she knew what Liam was capable of, but she’d still trusted Conal with his power. It was humbling.
He took another breath to speak… and gasped as raw lust roared through him, a pheromone tsunami. Oh, God, he thought, with one last flicker of drowning sanity, The Burning Moon… And then there was room for nothing but heat in his brain. With a ragged groan, he lowered his head and took her mouth.
“Not a good idea,” Essus reminded him urgently. “What if Siobhan comes to? You need to…”
“Lost cause,” Liam told him a little tightly.
But Helena was stretched against him, and her lips tasted of raw sex, and Siobhan could fuck right off for all…
Essus fluttered down off his shoulder, landing on the ground at their feet. Conal barely noticed, all his senses focused on the taste of Helena’s mouth, her feverish hunger as she kissed him back. He had to feel that long, soft body naked against his, the tight clasp of the pussy he could smell with every breath. He had to fill his hands with her soft skin… He pulled back, panting. “I’ve got to get out of this fucking armor…”
“God, yeah,” she groaned. “I need you. I need you so damn…”
As lust ripped over him in a savage wave, he looked down and began to search for a way to get the armor off…
“Ahem,” Liam said dryly from their feet. Essus had one claw planted on his pistol butt, looking wild-eyed. “If Siobhan comes to, we’ll be right back where we started. I hate to do this, but…” An ice-cold cascade of water slammed down over them. They staggered apart, choking and sputtering.
“Thank you,” Essus said dryly.
“Es!” Conal snapped, raking wet hair out of his face with armored hands. “The hell?”
“What is wrong with you?” Helena gasped, shaking her head and sending a spray of water flying. She was wearing her shredded dress again, as if he’d zapped her back into it.
“Common sense?” Essus said tartly.
“You can couple like bunnies after we’ve got the big bad Fairy locked up at the palace.” Liam sounded amused, the prick. As if he hadn’t almost made Conal kill everyone he cared about.
Conal glared down at the gun, seriously tempted to drop kick him over the trees, but he had a point. This wasn’t the time. Damn it. “Fine,” he snarled. He stalked over toward the unconscious demigoddess. She sprawled there on the ground, looking deceptively fragile, bruises darkening her face. For a moment he felt like a bully…
The chain tightened around his throat, the troll twisting his leash, laughing. Conal fought not to gag as the spiked whip tore another flaming strip out of his back…
“Conal,” Helena said softly, moving to join him, Liam in one hand. Essus rode her shoulder again, glaring down at Siobhan as if she were a field mouse he’d like to eat. “You all right?”
“Just… suppressing the urge to break her neck. But that would feed her to Liam and defeat the purpose.”
“I can shift and…”
Conal took a deep breath. “No, I’ve got it.” Bending, he scooped the demigoddess off the ground and swung her into a fireman’s carry. For moment he was surprised how light she was, even in armor. Especially compared to Helena’s lean body with its Direkind-dense muscle.
He reluctantly wrapped an arm around her knees so he wouldn’t drop the bitch onto her head. Which isn’t a bad idea. For a moment he was seriously tempted… and then he firmly pushed the thought away.
Without needing to be asked, Liam opened a dimensional gate to Maeve’s palace. They walked through, Conal trying to ignore Siobhan’s armored ass in his peripheral vision. The gate opened on Maeve’s gallery hall, with its gleaming dark-grained wood wainscoting, niches holding white marble statues of gods and goddesses, heroes and monsters. Huge chandeliers hung overhead, each glass pendant shedding a soft white magical glow.
A Chihuahua, clicking along the marble floor toward them, froze in mid-step. The dog’s bulging eyes bulged even more. “Helena?” he asked in the voice of Alec Guinness. As always, it sounded a strange coming from such a tiny body. “Is that Siobhan? What happened?”
“One hell of a fight,” Helena said grimly. “Where’s Maeve?”
“In the forge. Is Siobhan dead?” The dog’s ears perked hopefully.
“No, unfortunately,” Essus said.
“Where can I put her?” Conal growled. “I’m becoming less trustworthy all the time.”
The dog nodded, ears dancing. “There’s a spelled room Maeve used to use when Siobhan… misbehaved as a girl. Magic doesn’t work in there.” Guinness turned and scampered off as they followed at his tiny heels, turning down one corridor after another.
No matter how many times he visited, Conal was always struck by the size of the palace. What’s more, every inch seemed stuffed with beauty -- cut crystal chandeliers, intricately carved wood furnishings, hand woven tapestries and rugs, paintings and statuary to dazzle the eye. And almost all of it hosted something feathered, scaled or furry.
Members of Maeve’s menagerie stared from corners, sat atop furniture or clung to chandeliers. Everything from housecats and dogs to jaguars, koalas, lemurs and chimpanzees. He even spotted a grizzly. Voices murmured in excitement as they passed. “Is that Siobhan?”
“Is she dead?”
“No, damn it, I can still feel her power.”
“May I eat her?” The rumble from behind him sounded even deeper than Guinness’s.
“You know better than that, Shere Khan,” Helena said, aiming a dry smile back at whoever it was.
Conal glanced over his shoulder. Sure enough, an enormous tiger paced behind them, green eyes focused on Siobhan’s dangling head with menacing interest. “So it’s not just me, then?”
“She tried to fry me once for insolence,” the tiger told him. “Can I help it that she doesn’t like hearing the truth?” He bounded forward to pace Helena. “You’ve outdone yourself this time, girl.”
“Don’t look at me. It was Conal and Liam.”
Shere Khan blinked at Conal in surprise. “And Liam didn’t eat you? You must be a worthy fellow.”
“He is,” Liam said from his shoulder holster. “He saved me.”
It was Conal’s turn to blink.
“Here we are,” Guinness said, as one of the doors in the hallway swung open just ahead.
Conal started to step inside, but Helena caught his arm. “Careful. There’s a nullification spell built on the walls.”
Sure enough, the minute he stepped over the threshold, the force of gravity seemed to crush down on him as what remained of his power drained away. None of the animals entered as Helena slipped in after him. Even Essus fluttered off her shoulder to perch on Shere Khan’s back.
He’d expected bare stone walls and a cot, but with the room was as well-appointed as the rest of the palace, with a massive, elaborately carved bed, a table with two chairs, an armchair, and a floor-to-ceiling bookcase packed with leather volumes. In his peripheral vision, he glimpsed something pink and meaty. The hip next to his face was bare. Siobhan’s magical armor had vanished.
So had his own, replaced by the black Armani shirt and slacks he’d worn to go dancing with Helena this evening. Siobhan must conjure everything she wore, or she wouldn’t be naked. Grimacing in distaste, he dumped her on the bed. “Let’s get the hell out of here before I invite Shere Khan in for a snack,” he told Helena, and they escaped back into the hallway.
The minute they were over the threshold, his magic rushed back, though it was still a trickle compared to the thundering power he’d commanded with Liam.
They found Maeve waiting in the corridor, Essus perched on her arm and fully healed. Apparently one of her menagerie had alerted her they were back. The Mother stroked the eagle’s breast feathers, her expression sad. “I had to make that for her when she was ten. She went into one of her rages and started throwing fireballs at the cat.”
Judging by his impressive snarl, Shere Khan was the cat in question. “I told you you were spoiling that little bitch.”
“Yes, I know. Is she hurt?” Maeve looked tired, lines pleating around her eyes as if she were a mortal mother worried for her deadly problem child.
“No,” Conal said shortly. Not that I wasn’t tempted. But that wasn’t something he could say to Maeve.
“I’m probably going to have to call one of the Magekind to treat her injuries. I won’t be able to touch her because of the geas.” There was such sadness on the goddess’ face, Conal felt a stab of pity for her. She hadn’t asked for this hellish situation. He’d seen her mothering Iona all those years ago. Whatever had happened with Siobhan, it hadn’t been simple permissive parenting.
