His body stilled under me, his teeth slid out of me, and his suckling decreased, fading to gentle licking in seconds. The fuse, once full of potency, tapered off. A sense of self-control resumed. My thoughts were clearer.
Finally, with his head thrown back against the couch, the vampire sighed up at me with deep satisfaction. “That was better than sex … almost.” He licked his lips and gave a little thrust with his hips. “I really need more from you to make that comparison.”
I leaned back. “You’re wasting your time.”
He rubbed my thighs again. “I think you enjoy being a cock tease to me.”
At that, I stood, though it wasn’t exactly a graceful dismount. “I’m not a cock tease. You’re the one who insists on making our situation sexual. You do it to yourself.” I headed for the stairs.
He called after me conversationally, “I’ve heard that the Rege is in town.”
I turned and rolled my eyes for emphasis. “What’s that? Some new band?” He was fishing but I wasn’t taking the bait.
“No.” His tone, and the silence afterward, were patient.
“Okay then, don’t tell me. Lock up before you leave.”
He let me get three steps away. “Persephone.”
I stared straight ahead. He’d said my name and I felt weaker. The warmth of his presence faded more as I moved farther away.
I care deeply for him, but I can’t love him. I love Johnny.
And I can’t even seem to tell Johnny that.
Over my shoulder, I said, “Go back to the haven, Menessos.”
“I will. But I’m going to sit here for a while,” he mumbled.
At that, I faced him again. “Why?”
With a gracious gesture like a maître d’ presenting a succulent dish, he drew my gaze down to the bulge in his pants. “Until I can walk normally.”
I pursed my lips. “Well, if you’re just going to be sitting for a moment, I have more questions about the moon amplification spell.”
“How did that go?”
“It didn’t. Something else came up and we rescheduled.” I shrugged as if it was no big deal. “What if I had to do this spell for more than twenty wæres?”
“How many?”
Throwing caution to the wind, I firmly said, “All of them.”
“And you said you weren’t ambitious.” He rubbed at his temple. “What are you asking?”
“Is it possible to do this all at once? Say, if I did it during a full moon as they changed anyway?”
“I doubt it. Why would you want to give them all their man-minds?”
“It could eliminate rogue attacks, keep their numbers stable. Kenneling wouldn’t be necessary.”
“Very practical.” He stood, adjusted his pants, and muttered, “Your eager willingness to perform for the wæres certainly dwindles an erection.” In normal tones, he said, “You wouldn’t be going to such extremes to impress the Domn Lup, for he’s already enamored with you. So how long is the Rege staying?”
My mouth stayed shut. I hadn’t meant to confirm his earlier suspicion. Aggravated with myself, I ran a hand through my hair and discovered my goose egg was gone. So I got a perk out of feeding him. Yay.
“I’m not only the Quarter Lord here,” he said, donning the shirt though he didn’t bother to button it. “I’m now the lord of this area with Heldridge gone. Matters under his jurisdiction are things of which I must stay apprised.” He donned his jacket and sauntered closer, radiating every ounce of masculinity he possessed. “And my court witch must not be plotting to aid the wærewolves globally.”
“But the Lustrata must.” I wasn’t letting him name-drop his titles and roles as if they were exclusively meaningful. “I guess you have reason to renounce me after all.”
“We’ve already discussed that without the vampires or WEC all you have are the wæres. I understand why you would seek to sway them to your side, pacifying them with your excellence, but this is supercilious, especially for you.” He caressed my cheek, then let his touch drop away. “Why would you even want to do this?”
“I told you, to—”
“You told me the practical side, yes. But …” He sighed. “Have you even met the Rege?”
“You could say that, yes.” I wasn’t telling him more than that.
“Would you truly remove his weakness if you could? He is not like Johnny. The Zvonul are bigots who cling to antiquated dogma—no pun intended. The Rege is the worst of them. To give them what you suggest would not dull their arrogance.”
He was probably right. “I’m supposed to bring balance.”
Softly, he asked, “And would you give my kind back their days?”
“If I could, of course. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Then would you give us the means to enter places where there are wards? Would you give the undead the freedom to roam unchecked as wærewolves do?”
Those were tougher questions. Ones with a myriad of other questions waiting in the wings, no matter which way I answered.
He reached up again, this time grasping my shoulders. “Your motive is noble and your reasoning is close, but it is not perfect. You’re striving for equality, to level the playing field, as they say. But equality is not balance.”
“Why not?”
“Because no matter what you do, you cannot make us human again.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
When the alarm clock buzzed, I realized Johnny hadn’t come home last night. With all the threats aired between the two wære factions, I wasn’t surprised.
Nana had taken Beverley to the bus stop. Mountain was using an expensive paint that included primer—a timesaver—on Nana’s new room, a pretty lavender color. The subflooring was in place. Stacks of prefinished tongue-and-groove flooring were just outside the door, topped with bundles of the gray radiant heat padding. I asked him about Thunderbird.
“I checked on him at dawn and he had moved into a nest, but was still sleeping. The other griffons were nearby but not covering him as before.”
That put me in a very happy mood, for a few minutes, at least. As I flipped through the phone book to find the number for the grocery to make the cake order for Beverley’s party, I noticed Zhan staring down into a cup of tea. There were tears on her cheeks and she seemed resigned to let them air dry. I could understand that. Wiping them only draws attention to the fact that you are crying.
She and Maxine must have been closer than I knew.
“You know what?” I asked her, still searching the phone book.
“What?”
“I’m thinking that instead of buying the kiddo’s cake, I could actually make one.”
“Do you have the ingredients? The pans?”
I checked the pantry; it gave her a chance to wipe her cheeks unseen. “That would be a no. Not much cake-baking goes on here.”
“You’ll have to order it, then.”
It would be good for her to get out of the house. “Let’s just go pick one from the bakery case. They’ll write what we want on it.”
Outside, Zhan got in the driver’s side, but as she reached to put the keys into the ignition, I could see her hand was shaking. “Are you okay?”
“No.” She squeezed the steering wheel until her knuckles paled to white. “This was Maxine’s car. She loved this car.” She grabbed a tissue from her pocket. “Maybe you should drive.”
I kicked myself for not insisting on driving in the first place. “Sure.” We switched. It was a silent ride into town.
I didn’t go south to the Lodi Grocery, where Maxine had been shot. Instead, I headed southwest into Ashland. It was slightly farther, but Hawkins had better cakes anyway. By the time we arrived, Zhan had recovered.
Inside, we chose a chocolate cake from the bakery section with pink and purple in the frosting edges. The attendant took it to write “Happy 10th Birthday Beverley” on it.