Okay. So, Riana seemed to be the leader of this little coven, or whatever it was. He gazed at her as he searched his memory. “Sibyls were ancient women, crones or something, who lived nearly forever but didn’t stay young. Oracles from Greek mythology, right?”
“Sibyls came before Greek mythology.” Riana rubbed her leather-clad knees with both hands as she shook her head. Her dark hair spilled over one shoulder, accenting the clean, beautiful line of her jaw. “Every culture has a myth about wise women who serve the Mother—Sibyls, in whatever form. The word comes from
Cybele,
the Goddess, the oldest deity in human history. The Greeks used a similar term to refer to some of their priestesses, and eventually the word got associated with elderly women who could see fate and the future.”
“We aren’t those Sibyls.” Cynda gripped the hilt of her sword as if daring him to argue. “Some of the Mothers and Sibyls see the future and give prophecies, but we aren’t fortune-tellers or weak nellies who hide out in caves.” Smoke rose from her shoulders. If looks could kill, Creed figured he would have died five times in the last thirty seconds.
“We’re warriors of the Dark Goddess,” Merilee said in a tone every bit as icy as the breeze that whipped past Creed’s ears. “Initiates of the Dark Crescent Sisterhood. Highly trained in the use of weapons and fighting skills. We can take you out in whatever form you choose to attack us.”
“Easily,” Cynda agreed.
The floor trembled. Just a little, but enough to make Cynda and Merilee clamp their mouths closed.
Creed felt a rush of surprise and discomfort. Riana did that. He was sure she did. Riana made the house shake—or had it been the ground beneath the house? Either thought was disturbing.
“Sibyls work with the elements.” Riana tilted her head to the side to indicate Cynda and Merilee. “Fire and air.” She touched her own chest. “And earth. We’re a triad.”
Damn. She
did
make the ground shake.
“What about water?” he asked numbly, gripping the edges of his blanket in tight fists. “Water’s an element, too. Shouldn’t you be a quartet?”
Riana gave him a sad smile. “We all do a little work with water, but the water Sibyls didn’t survive. A disaster wiped out Motherhouse Antilla in the Atlantic, west of the Azores, in ancient times.”
“A natural disaster,” Merilee said before Creed could ask.
Cynda added, “Yeah. A tidal wave on top of a flash flood. Imagine that. The whole island sank.”
The brownstone shook again. A broken mirror crashed to the floor and finished splitting into a few dozen pieces. Riana clenched her teeth and closed her eyes, and the shaking stopped. Tense lines formed across her forehead, and she looked utterly exhausted and vulnerable.
Creed fought an impulse to grab her and kiss her until she opened those eyes in surprise, then closed them all over again, lost in the pleasure of his touch.
Bad idea. She probably knows how to snap my neck with her knees.
He remembered the sweet sensation of kissing her before she took his ring. He remembered biting her lip, tasting her as she surrendered her mouth to his, and he almost groaned.
Robberies and a murdered kid. Weird beings on the loose in NYC. Getting handcuffed to the ceiling. Letting the
other
get loose and almost killing people. Remember that, too? Snap my neck with her knees…
After grinding his teeth for a few seconds, Creed said, “I think we should work together.”
Cynda burst out laughing as Merilee’s gaze dropped to his newly invigorated erection, which he had forgotten to cover with his hands when Riana started shaking the brownstone.
“I’ll just bet you do,” she said. “Exactly what kind of work did you have in mind?”
Riana opened her eyes then, and the exhaustion seemed to fade into mild amusement as she watched him scramble to cover up the blanket bulge again.
So much for cool dignity.
He sighed.
She smiled.
“What the hell?” Creed met her gaze and moved his hands out of his lap. If she wanted to size him up—literally—then let her. “Look at me if you want to. A man would have to be blind, deaf, and stupid not to notice how beautiful you are.”
As Merilee and Cynda laughed and hooted, he continued. “We should work together. Whoever murdered the Latch kid had real supernatural abilities. I think you know something about the killers, too, so you can help us get the bastards.”
When Riana didn’t answer, Creed went a step further. “I can behave myself. If you want me to.”
At that, Riana’s cheeks flushed a brilliant scarlet. She started to lean toward him, seemed to catch herself, and leaned back instead.
Creed didn’t really care that Cynda and Merilee were in the room laughing their asses off. He felt like he was fighting for something he couldn’t quite name. It couldn’t have been Riana’s respect for his wisdom and self-restraint, though, because the next thing that jumped out of his mouth was, “What, you want me to bare my soul again?”
He jerked off the blanket and stood.
The only wind chimes still intact, the ones by the front door, rang.
Riana froze. If she’d moved an inch, his stiff cock might have brushed her face.
Cynda choked mid-giggle, swore, and drew her sword.
Merilee snatched her bow from her shoulder and nocked an arrow in the time it took Creed to blink.
At that moment, the door to the brownstone burst open.
Creed turned toward the sound.
Bright sunlight outlined the unmistakable shape of his partner Andy, her Big Apple sweatshirt wrinkled and stained, and her jeans frayed just above her untied sneakers. She pulled off her huge sunglasses, then stood as still as a redheaded rock in the entrance, taking in the scene in front of her.
Creed followed Andy’s gaze around the destroyed room. To Cynda, half-naked through her burned bodysuit, holding her sword in a fighting stance. To Merilee with her bow and arrow. To Creed, wet and dirty and bruised, and absolutely naked, standing on the huge messed-up table. And finally, to Riana, dressed all in leather, on her knees in front of Creed’s cock.
Andy put her hands on her hips and cleared her throat. When she spoke, her words came out in an uncharacteristic soprano. “Okay, now. Y’all have some serious explaining to do.”
7
An hour later, Riana wished she could collapse on the splinter-strewn sofa occupied by Cynda, Merilee, and Andy. Had she ever been so tired? And hungry. Up for twenty-four hours, starved except for a few handfuls of potato chips—and she needed to change clothes. Her torn bodysuit felt hot and tight, and the thing had holes burned in it everywhere.
She rubbed her forehead. What had possessed her to be open with Creed Lowell about the Sibyls? Did she really feel a bit of trust for this creature who had almost killed her triad?
It made sense to talk to him. There’s something about him…and he’s right. We do need to work together.
Riana bit at her bottom lip, which was still sensitive from Creed’s passionate bite when he kissed her. She didn’t like how dizzy that memory made her feel, and she really didn’t like the twist of uncertainty in her belly.
Sibyls were discreet, of course, as they had been throughout history, but there was no code or rule that forbade them to reveal the existence of the Dark Crescent Sisterhood. Many people in Russia, Ireland, and Greece, especially those who followed the ways of the Goddess, knew about the Motherhouses.
But was her judgment affected by the schoolgirl jitters she experienced whenever Creed looked at her? She had known her share of men in every sense of the word, but few could boast such an immediate and powerful effect on her.
She couldn’t stop thinking about Creed’s bold admission of his attraction to her, either. Riana bit her tingling lip again, this time harder, wishing for one of Merilee’s pencils to chew.
Did he have to be so frank, so open?
How did he know she would admire that? A man not afraid to want a woman. A man willing to pursue what he desired.
He’s not a man.
She glanced at Creed, who had wrapped Cynda’s green blanket around his waist. He was sitting in the chair closest to hers, an intense look on his handsome face as he spoke to Andy. Riana’s gaze drifted from his dark hair to his muscled arms to his well-defined chest, and lower, to where the blanket hid his cock.
Sweet Goddess. He’s more man than anything else.
He respected Andy, too, and treated her with a kindness and deference Riana associated with protective older brothers. Andy clearly had no idea there was anything unusual about Creed, beyond his tremendously accurate instincts on the job.
They had explained about Sibyls and Creed’s
other
to Andy, and explained again, and explained a little more. Cynda had produced flames in her palms. Merilee made the wind blow three times, and Riana had rattled the brownstone once to convince her. Andy had asked to see Creed without his ring, but everyone refused.
“You could have told me,” Andy said to Creed. The hurt in her tone made Riana wince. “What did you think—that I’d turn you in or something? You’re my partner, you big idiot. We should be able to tell each other anything. And you three”—Andy turned to the women, focusing on Riana—“are you really my friends, or did you just want information on OCU investigations?”
Cynda and Merilee took turns gazing at the floor, but Riana couldn’t afford that luxury. “At first, that’s exactly what we wanted.” She fought the urge to stare at her toes like a chastened child. “It didn’t take much time to like you for yourself, though. And even less time to learn to respect you.”
“We’ve come close to telling you about us,” Merilee mumbled. “A bunch of times.”
A piece of Cynda’s bodysuit gave off a burst of smoke as she cut her gaze to Riana. “I wanted to spill everything, but our exalted leader thought we should protect you.”
Merilee let out a breath. “Any time you’re ready to be the pestle, sweetie, you just step right up and tell the Russian Mothers. I’m sure Mother Yana would just love to welcome an Irish fire-bitch into earth training. Right before she fed you to her wolves.”
“Are they always like this?” Creed asked Andy.
The low rumble of his voice made Riana shiver.
“Sweetie, this is mild.” Andy eyed the thin line of smoke rising from the leather on Cynda’s shoulder, then Merilee’s hair, which was dancing in a light inside breeze. “But I’ve never seen the special effects before. Riana, I still don’t get who you’re—well, I guess who
we
are—supposed to be fighting. Are the Legion some sort of devil-worshipping group that summons these Asmodai demons?”
“Not summon,” Riana said. “Create. Asmodai have human shapes, but they’re really made of one of the four elements. Their maker controls them with a talisman.” She gestured to the sword Cynda had placed on the floor at her feet. “We destroy them by cutting off their heads or piercing their hearts or brains with the element that powers them. If they survive their mission, they take off their talisman, hold it in their hand, and return to their masters. And I don’t know what deity those masters worship, but it isn’t the Goddess.”
Cynda and Merilee had relaxed against the sofa’s overstuffed arms, and Merilee had actually closed her eyes. Riana seized her chance. “And I agree that we should work together, the five of us, to catch whoever really killed the Latch boy, because it wasn’t Alisa. She would never do something like that.”
“You know her?” Creed asked softly, making Riana shiver again. Then, “Oh. I get it. She’s one of you. She’s a Sibyl.”
Merilee had jerked upright at Riana’s suggestion of collaboration. So had Cynda, but it was Merilee who spoke. “Never in the history of our existence has a Sibyl turned to perverted rituals. We don’t kill good guys. We try not to kill humans at all, and we would
never
kill a child.”
“And we need our warriors,” Cynda cut in, managing to keep her inner fire under control. “The Legion has stepped up its attacks. We have no idea what they’re up to.”
Andy nodded. “That much, I understand. How many Sibyls cover New York?”
“We have ten triads here,” Cynda said. “Two in each borough.”
Creed gave a soft whistle. “Thirty women to look out for eight million people. That doesn’t seem like enough.”
“We aren’t an endless resource.” Riana looked at him, tried not to stare into his dark eyes, and failed. “Fewer Sibyls are marrying these days, and even fewer have daughters to pass on the gift.”
Creed gazed back at her, and Riana felt the air between them sizzle. She had the heart-melting impression he was thinking about the kiss they shared. A rush of heat made her cheeks blaze, and she couldn’t shake the sensation of his hard body pressed against hers. She shifted in her chair, trying to keep her cool, but it was a short step from that image to the memory of his hard cock in her hand, straining to meet her eager touch.
“So being a Sibyl, it’s a bloodline thing,” he said. “I wondered.”
“Not always.” Merilee twirled a strand of her blond hair around her finger. “Sometimes the gift shows up spontaneously, but that’s not common. Plus, it’s hard to convince the parents to surrender the girl for training.”
“Until she accidentally burns down her house,” Cynda said sleepily, then looked stricken. “I mean, if she’s a fire Sibyl and gets mad, or something like that.”
Riana was startled by Cynda’s candor, and distressed by the tight look on her triad sister’s freckled face. Before Cynda fumbled around any more to cover her drowsy admission, Riana stretched and yawned. “I think we’ve all had enough. We can get started this evening, but right now, I need a nap. Merilee and Cynda and I didn’t get any sleep last night. Creed didn’t, either.”
Cynda gave Riana a grateful look.
“And y’all woke me up at the ass-crack of dawn, thank you very much.” Andy rubbed her stomach. “I’m starving.”
“God, me, too.” Merilee sprang up and headed for the kitchen without so much as a kiss-my-butt or a goodbye.