Riana was, but she was holding herself back. Creed breathed deeply, taking in the rich aroma of her juices, the hints of jasmine clinging to the dark curls around her face. He tried to speak, his heart to hers.
“Go.” He jerked away as far as he could move. “It’s always been mine. Don’t touch it.”
His voice, but not his voice. The
other
was coming.
Riana stepped even closer to him.
“Get back,” Creed heard himself snarl. “Now!”
“Take the damned thing and get it over with,” Cynda said. “I’m tired. And way past hungry.”
“Leave…the…ring…alone,” Creed managed through clenched teeth. Between exhaustion, increasing pain in his wrists and arms, the muddling questions, the spinning room, and the roaring of the
other
in his mind, he thought he might crack down the center.
Riana once more locked her eyes on his.
She seemed to be considering. Weighing his statement. Perhaps doubting herself a fraction.
Creed did his best to put all of his emotions into his gaze. “Don’t, Riana.”
Her lips trembled into a frown. “I’m sorry,” she said at last, her pained voice so quiet he barely heard it. “I have to.”
Riana stretched up on her toes, reached forward, and gripped his manacled hand. Her leather-covered chest pressed into his neck. Her chin brushed his lips.
So soft. So beautiful. God, he didn’t want to kill her.
Creed tried to jerk his hand back, but the chains held him fast. Before he could think of a way to stop her, Riana grasped his finger and tugged at his signet ring.
In absolute desperation, Creed lifted his head and crushed his mouth against hers.
Sweet, incredibly sweet.
Feminine, angry, powerful.
He could taste so much in her. He wanted to taste so much more. The hot shock of the kiss rocked him, and as she tried to pull back, Creed captured her bottom lip with his teeth and wouldn’t let her go.
5
Riana’s mind reeled.
The exquisite pleasure-pain of his bite nearly made her senses explode.
She couldn’t help but lean forward, couldn’t help but give her mouth back to Creed, and Creed really kissed her then, pushing forward, pressing his naked flesh against her body as his tongue found hers. She felt him everywhere at once, like bone-deep lightning. He tasted like salt and sex and smelled of cedar and mandarin and sweat—one-hundred-percent male, and completely human.
Riana moaned and pressed one hand against his shoulder. The other hand found his incredible erection.
Still, he kissed her. She couldn’t breathe. Didn’t want to breathe.
Dizzy, she dug her nails into his neck as people yelled at her, seemingly from thousands of miles away.
Wind buffeted her back. Heat bit at her fingers, and Creed tore his mouth away from hers, cursing.
A jet of flame receded, and a veritable tornado of wind calmed instantly. The smell of singed hair lingered in the air.
“I swear to the Goddess,” Cynda yelled. “Get the ring, Riana!”
Riana stepped back from Creed, grappling for her focus and balance. She tried to ignore the strain of her nipples against the leather of her jumpsuit. She tried to pretend she wasn’t so wet the leather chafed her thighs when she moved. This man
wasn’t
completely human. He was something
other
by his own admission—but she couldn’t convince her body of that simple truth.
His cock had felt like molten steel in her hand, and the way he had kissed her, like he wanted to drive that cock into her until she screamed…
She had almost moaned again, just at the thought.
After an hour staring at his chiseled chest, watching the way the wild locks of his hair dusted his shoulders, tracing that interesting scar on his left arm with her eyes, studying the perfection of his rock-solid thighs—and now, after that kiss—damn, that kiss! It actually hurt her to do what he asked her not to do.
Cynda started ranting again, but Riana couldn’t fault her. Cynda was right. Enough bullshit.
Riana shook her head, then clamped her teeth together. In one fast, deliberately harsh motion, she slammed herself against Creed, stood on her toes, and got hold of the ring.
It felt hot to the touch, and she could swear it was vibrating.
She pulled at the thing, but Creed pulled back. His black eyes smoldered.
Another fierce tug, and Riana slipped the ring over his knuckle and into her palm.
Instantly, the tattoo on her arm got so hot she thought it might be scalding her. She shouted and grabbed her wrist, almost dropped the signet ring, but managed to keep hold of it. Cords tore off the wind chimes and their tuned pipes clattered and smashed together. All the uncovered mirrors cracked down the center. Metal groaned and stretched, and the table started to shake.
Riana cried out, then Cynda and Merilee had hold of her, yanking her out of the circle, dragging her off the table, falling with her to the floor. When she managed to get her head up and look back at Creed, she saw that he had broken the cuffs on his wrists and the chains on his ankles. He clenched his fists. His eyes closed and his teeth clamped together, as if he was spending every fiber of his being holding back something inside him.
Something awful.
The tense muscles of his chest shimmered.
And parted.
He literally separated along all the major lines of his body.
White-gold light blazed from every crack. He shouted once, a bass note of absolute frustration.
Riana couldn’t get a full breath. She felt as if the brownstone’s walls were crushing in on her, forcing all the air out of the world. Cynda and Merilee went absolutely still on the floor beside her as Creed Lowell changed—no—
transmogrified
—into a being made completely out of light and energy.
He—it—was still man-shaped, still muscled, like some sort of god who stepped from the clouds onto their living room table. This
other
was so tall its head brushed against the remnants of the cuffs and chain it had destroyed.
It reached up and gripped the chain. The metal links melted into a puddle at its feet.
“Oh, shit,” Cynda whispered.
“Give him back the ring,” Merilee said immediately. “We don’t need it that badly. Fuck. My arrows are across the room.”
“No arrows.” Riana gulped air. Her hands dropped instinctively to the belt holding her daggers. A rattle and clatter told her Cynda had drawn her sword before even bothering to stand.
“No sword, either. Don’t kill him—I mean, don’t kill it—unless we have to.”
“Yeah,” Cynda muttered. “Sure.”
The
other
made a noise in between a growl and a roar and bent down to examine the melted metal on the table.
Caught between a wish to run and a strong desire to cower, Riana made herself get up. Her knees shook as she moved, and she knew her hands were shaking, too.
She checked the grounding circle. It was still intact, flames, water-soaked earth, and all. Somehow, Merilee was keeping a breeze weaving in and out of the flames. All secure. It should hold.
Right?
The
other
stood again, its golden head nearly touching the ceiling beam.
Riana glanced at the hardening puddle of metal that used to be a chain and some handcuffs. Her heart skipped and squeezed, and she swallowed again and again.
Fear.
No, terror.
She wasn’t used to terror.
She squeezed the signet ring in her hand. The mortar, pestle, and broom on the inside of her arm burned hot enough to keep her mind from fragmenting, and the dark crescent moon in the center of her tattoo literally squirmed against her skin.
“Goddess, my arm hurts,” Cynda murmured, then let out an amazing string of curses as Merilee pointed toward the door.
“The warning chimes. She’s ringing them, but not for us.”
Cynda was setting off chimes for other Sibyls, warning them away.
There’s mortal danger here.
Riana stared at the gleaming golden god-thing. She searched its face for some hint of the person she had met, the human being she had touched, the man she had wanted only a few minutes ago.
There’s death in this house.
The
other
seemed to be studying them as hard as they were studying it. It had no definite facial features, no eye color. And it didn’t seem to know her at all.
“I always thought death would wear black,” Riana said, almost to herself.
The
other
cocked its head.
It moved.
The table groaned beneath it, and the whole brownstone seemed to shake. The
other
stuck out its arm and knocked three covered mirrors off the nearby wall. They plummeted to the floor and shattered, leaving a dark, smoldering mark on the wall where the creature’s hand—did it have a hand?—made contact.
“Stop!” Cynda leaped up and thrust her flame-ringed sword forward. Merilee reacted next, charging around the table to pick up her bow and nock an arrow.
The
other
paid them no heed. A single step took it off the table and out of the circle.
So much for grounding.
Riana’s thoughts fired automatically, offering her no comfort.
So much for the fearsome powers of the Sibyls. If this creature sneezes, our roof will fall in.
The god-thing landed on the floor in front of her.
It was close enough to touch, and its energy vibrated across her skin until her teeth chattered. The floors shook. The remaining mirrors on the walls shook, too, and glass fell from the cracked ones.
Cynda cursed as she dodged a big shard. Merilee stood on the other side of the table without moving, bowstring taut, arrow aimed at the
other
’s head. The being smelled eye-wateringly sharp, like the air just before a devastating thunderstorm.
It wanted to kill her. Riana could tell. It wanted to tear her apart, eat the pieces, then clean house. Completely. Before its presence could overwhelm her, Riana drew one dagger and kept the signet ring tight in her other hand.
“Get back.” She gestured with the dagger. “Now!”
To her immense surprise, the
other
shot backward as if she’d shoved it. Well, as if some giant three times her size had shoved it. It flowed more than leaped onto the table and changed size—first smaller, then taller, then thinner, then wider. In seconds, it became fully manlike again, tall and muscular, like some artist’s marble sculpture of Apollo, bathed in electric sunlight. Only, Riana could tell by its almost-expression that it still wanted to tear her head off.
Something held it back.
But what?
Merilee adjusted her aim, keeping the deadly tip of her arrow trained on the thing’s shimmering head. “It acts like an Asmodai,” she said.
“With no human body, and lots bigger.” Cynda positioned herself beside the table, sword raised for a lethal strike. “Honestly, Merilee, have you ever seen a golden Asmodai?”
“It’s not an Asmodai,” Riana said, though in truth, she wasn’t sure. It did have some features in common with the demons.
And a little while ago, it was Creed. And a little while before that, I had my hand on its cock.
“I think it’s doing what you say because you have the ring.” Cynda shifted her weight back on one foot. “Tell it to do something, or let me cut its head off.”
“Sit,” said Merilee. “Stay. Roll over. Nice demon.”
The
other,
still godlike in its form and size, let out a wall-shaking roar.
“Shut up, all of you!” Riana kept the dagger in front of her. Based on what Cynda said, she held out the ring, too.
The room had gone silent at her command.
To the
other,
she said, “Can you speak?”
It made no response.
“I should shoot it now,” Merilee said. “It’s dangerous.”
Cynda stiffened. “Beheading’s more certain.”
Riana glared at them for a moment, then returned her attention to the
other.
“Sit down on the table.”
The glowing god-thing hesitated, gave her another murderous almost-expression, then lowered its powerful shape to the table’s surface. Hatred emanated from it as it stared at her hand, the one holding the ring. She sensed other emotions, too. Jumbled, indistinct—confusion? Fear? Resentment?
Cynda and her sword flamed and crackled. A breeze stirred constantly in Merilee’s hair, aggravating the damaged wind chimes. Riana found herself holding her breath and counting to keep from allowing any of her power to escape. If the brownstone shook any more, the walls would crack. The neighbors might have called the police already, or the news media might be surging toward them to explore the earthquake focal zone at Sixty-third and Central Park.
She had no idea what to do next, and that pissed her off. She was never without answers. She couldn’t be. She had to lead. She had to think of something before Cynda and Merilee killed the
other
—if they even could—or before it killed them.
I will
not
lose my triad. I will
not
lose my family.
The crescent pendant felt like a lead weight on her chest, and she felt the harsh, wary eyes of Mother Yana evaluating her, prodding her, even now.
The signet ring dug into her palm.
She glanced at her hand, then at the godlike golden creature.
“Put out your right hand,” she commanded. “Let me see five fingers.”
It seemed to glare from its constantly shifting eyes, but it complied.
Riana edged forward. She sheathed her dagger and held the ring on either side, with both hands.
The
other
growled.
“What are you doing?” Cynda shifted her weight again, looking all the more ready to whack the creature’s head right off its shoulders.
Merilee stood still as a Greek carving. “Ri, don’t give it the ring. Are you nuts?”
Riana shook her head once to silence them. Her heart pounded so hard she thought it would jump to her throat and choke her. If she was right, she would diffuse the situation. If she was wrong, the thing—Creed—would die—or it would eat her triad whole.