Riana’s crescent pendant came into focus, then her bright green eyes, along with her nose and those red, red lips, close enough to kiss. He would have kissed her, too, on impulse, if he hadn’t been chained to her ceiling. She was smiling in that knowing way.
Once more, she had him by the balls.
Which, by the way, were still tender from his earlier encounter with her.
This time she wasn’t squeezing them until they hurt. She toyed with his sac instead, kneading gently, gently, leaning so close he could smell leather and fire from the battle he vaguely remembered charging into—and getting his head busted.
Despite his pain and confusion, Creed’s cock got hard so fast his teeth clenched. His back tensed. He wanted to thrust forward, feel her fingers on his throbbing shaft again.
Riana seemed to read his mind.
With a smile that would have killed a lesser man, she gripped his cock. Eyes locked on his, she palmed the soft underside, then ran her fingernails down his swollen length. Creed could swear each nail left a trail of fiery sparks. All the moisture in his body dropped southward, engorging his erection.
When she brushed her nails across the tip, he almost came like a schoolboy.
At that second, he became aware of someone else in the room. A woman. Two women. And something was burning his ass.
Actually burning. God!
His eyes watered from the pain, but his erection refused to wither.
“Done,” said the redhead, Cynda. As she stepped around the table where he could see her and lowered her hands, the flame-hot feeling on his ass died away. “You can quit distracting him now, Riana.”
Creed’s gut dropped as Riana let go of his cock, but she held his gaze for another mind-wrenching second. In that moment, no matter how firmly he was chained or what she planned to do to him, Creed wanted Riana more than he had ever wanted anything in his life.
I have lost my mind.
As if in agreement, Riana turned her back on him and stepped over a ring of wet earth and flames no higher than her ankles.
A ring of fire burning in a metal-lined groove on a platform.
No. A table.
Creed realized he was standing on the big wooden table in the candlelit living room of Riana Dumain’s brownstone. The ring of earth and fire were contained in the metal-lined trench around the table’s lip.
Another step took Riana down off the table, so that her head was level with his cock. When she turned around, she eyed him from head to foot. He imagined her climbing back on the table, walking over to him, kneeling, and taking him deep in her silky throat. His erection went from painful to unbearable.
At least whatever was burning his ass decided to back off.
“Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but you don’t want to do this—whatever it is you’re planning, I mean.” Creed noticed candlelight flickering in mirrors on the walls, but a lot of the mirrors had been covered. “I’m not as safe as I look.”
Weird. A lot of the chimes had been tied with a single cord, too, rendering them silent.
Closed,
his mind corrected, though he had no idea why.
“You don’t have to be safe,” Riana said, her voice almost a purr. “We like dangerous.”
Creed’s cock bucked.
I might be in trouble here.
His besotted senses slowly processed the blond woman, Merilee, to his left and a little behind him. On his right, also a little behind him, was Cynda. All three were dressed in black leather jumpsuits, though Cynda’s was more melted shreds than real covering. Her wild smile made him wish he could cover his cock. Women like Cynda liked to bite. Hard.
All three women stared at him, but Riana’s gaze was so intent he felt it like fierce, sweaty strokes all over his body.
He groaned and his cock jerked again. The chains around his ankles rattled, and the shackles above his head clinked together. When he looked up, he saw that his hands indeed had been secured by his own handcuffs, which had been passed through the links of a formidable chain secured to one of the ceiling beams.
Talk about a wet dream gone completely wrong…
Grounded. That’s what Riana had told him. So the table’s little groove had been packed with earth, water, fire, and a little air for good measure. And yeah, that was probably lead in the groove, to contain all the elements.
If he got loose, he could cross it, since he was mostly human.
Maybe.
This is not good.
Real power. That’s what Creed saw in that ring of damp dirt and fire. After all the years of searching for something supernatural outside of himself and Dominic, everything was happening at once. The Latch murder, the weird museum break-in, Riana and her tattoo, her freaky friends, that—that—whatever it was in the alley…
“Be careful what you wish for,” he said, voice cracking in his parched throat. “I mean it—you need to get me down from here before something bad happens.”
“Oooh. We’re afraid.” Riana winked at him and folded her arms. “Tell us what you are, and we’ll get you some water.”
Creed stared at her. This was not good, for real. His perceptions started to speed up and expand. Bad. Very bad. They had no idea what he kept inside him, and he didn’t even know how to tell them.
“What are you?” Riana repeated.
Creed’s fists clenched, and he wanted to rip himself free. With his senses heightened, he could smell her lavender scent and her woman’s musk like he had his face buried in it. He wanted to switch places with her, send the other two packing, peel off that leather bodysuit, and take his time running his tongue over every perfect inch of Riana Dumain.
Goddamn. My friggin’ cock is going to fall off if I don’t stop.
He did his best to swallow and prime his throat. “What are
you
? Some sort of witch? A Siren, maybe?”
Riana sighed and moved clockwise away from him, until she stood where Merilee had been. Merilee’s reflection replaced Cynda’s, and Cynda stood directly in front of him. Her green eyes took on the color of fire itself, and the flames ringing the table grew an inch or two.
Creed wished Riana would move back into his line of sight. He needed to convince her that he was serious, that this little interrogation was a potentially fatal idea. But he felt a heaviness in his feet, a lightness in his head and hands, and heat spreading upward from his cock, through his gut and chest.
“What are you?” Cynda asked. Only, to Creed’s enhanced perception the sound of her voice was more like the crackle of fire blazing out of control. Unsettling. Infuriating. The
other
clawed at the inside of his skin, wanting out, wanting to rage, but it fell back as if something had struck it between the eyes. Creed’s mind screeched back to normal speed, normal senses, normal understanding of the absolute weirdness around him.
At least the unnerving sensation finally deflated his cock.
Creed had no time to enjoy the relief, however.
Cynda moved.
Merilee stood in front now, Riana to the right, and fire-bitch on the left. Merilee’s tanned skin gave her an aura of delicate beauty, but a wicked flicker in the depths of her blue eyes told Creed that this one might be the most dangerous of all.
Riana. Where was Riana? His dizziness got worse. His head—God. Any second now, it would snap off his neck and float to the ceiling.
“What are you?” Merilee asked. Or did Merilee actually say the words? It seemed like the wind made the sound. The wind roaring in his ears.
Another shift. Riana again.
Total relief. Creed tried to focus on her, to speak up about the very real danger inside him, but he felt such a heaviness he wondered if his wrists would tear through the cuffs suspending his arms. Riana stared at him, her gaze at first distant, then knife-sharp and piercing.
Did he see uncertainty in those beautiful green gems?
If so, it vanished quickly.
The table shook beneath his heavier than heavy feet.
“What are you?” Riana’s mouth asked, but Creed heard the question in the deep, terrifying bass of the earth itself, groaning as it turned, turned, turned under the sun’s blazing gaze.
Creed’s thoughts crumbled. His muscles convulsed. His throat worked against his will. “Creed Lowell. NYPD. OCU. Detective Second Grade.”
His vision blurred.
A harpy made out of fire stood in front of him. Then a creature made of air, and finally, a woman-shaped being sculpted out of dirt and leaves.
What are you?
What
are you?
What
are
you?
He feverishly gave his address. His birthday. Repeated his name and profession. Said he was dangerous, told them they needed to get him down and get him out of their house. Told them his relationship to Dominic. He even gave the name of his dead mother Grace, and his grandmother Delilah. And still they asked.
What are you?
“Human,” he muttered, even though he didn’t mean to. “And something bad. Something
other.
Don’t know—can’t explain. Let me go before it gets out.”
The pressures on his body and mind eased. Gentle hands caressed his shoulders and face. “Stay awake.”
Riana’s voice and touch roused him, brought him back from the edge of some dark, twisted place. He forced his eyes open, tried to hold her gaze, but she was gone before he even got oriented.
The questions started again.
Stop,
he pleaded in his mind, as if Riana could hear him.
This won’t end like you think. In the name of everything sane, stop!
Did he say any of that aloud? The
other
was rising again, getting stronger now, like an unstoppable wave of bile and heat and hatred. If it broke loose, if it changed him, would the grounding circle be enough to stop it?
Fuck.
Would Riana be inside the circle when it happened?
His ring hummed and jerked against the skin of his finger. Everything got louder, brighter. Colors flowed from the women—lavender around Riana, red around Cynda, and golden around Merilee. The colors shimmered and twinkled until he almost closed his eyes to get away from them.
The room around Creed swam and rippled. He stopped paying attention to anything other than controlling the energy inside him. The
other
had only ripped free against his will a few times before, always with the ring off, and oh, God. He had to keep that from happening.
“Don’t,” he tried to say—did he? Could he? “Dangerous. I’m bad. It’s bad. You don’t understand—”
Creed couldn’t make sense of much else, until someone gave him another drink of water. Someone with sweet green eyes, who gazed at him with mercy and horror all at once.
His heart crashed against his ribs.
“Riana.” He tried to reach for her, but his hands were still bound. “You have to stop. And get out of the circle. I’m not safe.”
He took another gulp of the water she offered. “I don’t know if the grounding will hold it—get away from me.”
She looked down, then climbed off the table again. But she didn’t go far enough. Not nearly far enough.
“Move!” Creed bellowed, struggling with the unnatural energy rising through his body.
“We’re perfectly secure,” said someone from behind him. Probably Cynda, but he didn’t know for sure. “You’re the one who should worry.”
The women started to move clockwise, walking, walking the room into a spin, and Creed sank into confusion once more. New questions came, along with more heat, more dizziness, more heaviness, until the voices joined, stronger than time, older than reality.
What kind of
other? they demanded. God, so loud. It hurt his head. Pounded his brain.
“A bad one,” Creed mumbled, and he knew he couldn’t refuse to answer. He wasn’t even sure he was still standing up, but he had to be, right? The
other
flailed, and Creed imagined himself holding that untamed energy by the throat. He would not let it out. Not now. No way.
Does Andy know what you are?
Andy. Protect Andy. “No.”
Who sent you?
“I sent me.” He needed more water. He needed to lie down. Was he lying down?
Why did you come here tonight?
Creed blinked at the distant shapes of mirrors. Colors swirled from one piece of glass to the next, surrounding him, holding him inside the brilliance, forcing him to speak. “To see Riana.”
Riana. Yes. Riana. Control the
other.
Don’t let it harm her. That’s what he intended—to control himself, and keep her—keep all of them—safe.
Did you make the Asmodai?
“Asmodai.” Colors. Too many colors. Was the water drugged? “What’s an Asmodai?”
Are you one of the Legion?
“I’m NYPD. OCU. Detective Second—”
Are you one of the Legion?
“Legion of what?”
Who was talking to him now? Which woman? Was Riana still in the room? Creed fought to regain his mental balance, but reality shimmered at the edge of his thoughts. The
other
shredded at his gut, charred his throat, his blood, his consciousness, but he had it contained until one question stabbed into the center of his mind.
Where did you get that ring?
The
other
surged forward so fast and so hard that Creed lurched into full awareness.
He was still on the table. Fire still burned atop the earth in the lead groove on the table, and someone had added a bit more water. A breeze made the tops of the flames twitch, and the light seemed to blaze in the few uncovered mirrors reflecting the room and the women who had him captive. A single wind chime in front of the door tinkled softly, like a faraway admonition.
Riana stood inside the circle, only inches away from him. Her face shimmered in the candlelight. Sweat glistened on her forehead. “The ring,” she repeated. “The crest of the Legion. Where did you get it?”
Anger and fear dug at Creed, wounding his insides almost as much as the
other.
His mind speeded up again, and his senses spread out across the room. Merilee smelled like the ocean and fresh rain. Cynda, like fire and smoke and light sandalwood. Neither woman was aroused.