Reap the Wind (27 page)

That was Mircea’s job.

“It isn’t even dark yet,” Mircea commented mildly. “And the portal to the city is virtually instantaneous. What purpose would it serve to get there hours before everyone else?”

“So what do you intend to do?
Nap?
”

“No. But it would appear that you could use one.”

Kit glared at him. And then flung himself into a green club chair in front of the desk. And sat there, pretending to relax, while practically quivering with repressed energy.

I’d have been more curious as to why, if I’d been slightly less furious.

Because Mircea
kept doing it.
The phantom touches kept gliding over my skin, and I kept getting steamier and steamier. Because he was playing with me while killing time and chatting to his buddy, and because he was in my
head
.

He had to be, to do this, whatever the hell this was. Some new vampire power, something I’d never heard of, something that went a lot further than just picking up a stray surface thought once in a while like some masters could do. Something he hadn’t told me about because this wasn’t surface, this wasn’t passive, this was
in my
freaking
head
.

Son of a
bitch
.

And then he goosed me.

I saw it before it landed, a quick contraction of his fingertips on the chair arm. A subtle pinch of the smooth leather. Only it didn’t feel subtle. It felt hard, a sharp sting that, okay, under the right circumstances might have been welcome, but these were not those. These weren’t even
close
to those, and—

And then he did it again.

I looked up to see a small smile curving the perfect lips, just a little smirk, which would have been enough on its own. But it wasn’t on its own. It was hanging out with a couple of whiskey-dark eyes that were sharp and amused—and open.

And fixed on mine.

And steamy abruptly went nuclear.

“You’re too damned calm,” Kit said, getting up to pour himself a drink. “It’s annoying at the best of times, but right now it’s verging on the obscene.”

“You would prefer me to panic?” Mircea asked, his eyes on me as I slowly got up off the floor.

“I’d prefer you to act human—”

“That would be difficult.”

“You know what I mean,” Kit snapped, sloshing something into a glass. “Show a nerve for once!”

“You needn’t be concerned,” Mircea said, watching me walk toward him. “We’ve put together an excellent team.”

“It’s not the team I’m worried about. It’s the damned fey!” Kit swept out a hand. Which went right through me, like I wasn’t even there.

Because I wasn’t. Not for him. I was in Mircea’s head, or he was in mine; I didn’t know which.

But I knew one thing.

Two could play this game.

“If any fey are injured tonight, it will be on their own heads,” Mircea said, one eyebrow going up as I rounded the desk. “They are acting illegally, in violation of treaty—”

“Yes, and the treaty matters so much to them!” Kit said bitterly. “They’ve never followed it, never had any intention of doing so. The Green still farm us for slaves, the Dark are constantly trying to slip past the border, and the so-called Blue Elves—”

“They prefer ‘fey,’” Mircea murmured as I stopped in front of him. “‘Elf’ is considered pejorative.”

“Like I give a damn what they prefer!”

Mircea didn’t comment. He also didn’t move. He just sat there, looking up at me, eyes glinting wickedly.

Because he thought I was bluffing.

No, I thought grimly; he
knew
I was. He played these games with me all the time. Like in those dreams I’d been having lately, which I was now sure had been him. Like all those times he’d evaded questions, ignored hints, dodged open-ended comments. And he always got away with it. Because how do you tie down a master vampire? How do you get his attention? How do you make him
listen
?

I decided I might have just figured it out.

I watched his eyes widen slightly as I dropped the towel and straddled him.

“At least the Green are up front about it,” Kit said, glaring at a map on the wall. I assumed it was of faerie, since that’s what he was talking about, but I didn’t more than glimpse it. Because Mircea had already recovered.

Strong arms pulled me abruptly against him, the height difference assuring that, even with me kneeling on the chair, we were face-to-face.

“They look down those long noses of theirs and tell us to mind our own business,” Kit said. “But the damned Blue Fey, oh, they’re our good friends, our staunch allies—and they smuggle more than the rest combined!”

“It’s unfortunate,” Mircea murmured, dark eyes gleaming into mine. “But some friendships outlive their usefulness, and have to be discarded.”

“You don’t get to choose my friends,” I told him. “Any more than you get to play around in my head!”

“I’m not playing.”

“Neither am I!”

“Well, I’d like to know what you call it, then,” Marlowe grumbled. “You know we can’t drop the Blarestri. We have to have allies, particularly now.”

“Indeed?” Mircea asked me. “Then what are we doing here?”

“Wasting our time!” Kit snapped. “I’ve said it all along.”

“You tell me,” I gritted out as Mircea suddenly leaned back, taking the chair to a steep recline. And pulling me over him, onto the sweet spot where slim hips met thickly muscled thighs. And where the heavy weight of his sex was barely concealed by a thin layer of silk. It was more an enticement than a barrier, a soft, seductive caress as I fought to find purchase on the slick material.

“Some people specialize in trouble,” Mircea said, as warm hands curved around my hips, steadying me. And then pulled me up until his lips rested against my stomach.

Marlowe was still glaring at the map, his back to us, and Mircea took full advantage. Those wicked lips began to move, slowly, draggingly, openmouthed against my lower belly. Followed by a hint of tongue, sliding across my skin, tasting me. Making me shiver.

And who was supposed to be teaching who a lesson here? I thought dizzily.

“Some even seem to prefer it,” Mircea told me, sounding amused.

And then he made another sound as I shifted position slightly, deliberately dragging over him.

And suddenly, things weren’t so soft anymore.

“Like those triple damned Svarestri,” Marlowe agreed, freshening his drink. “They don’t mingle with us lesser beings, oh no. Except when that bastard Geminus offered them carte blanche, even bringing them in through the official portals, since who would suspect a senator of smuggling?” He made a disgusted sound. “Me, for one! I knew he was up to something, but I thought it was those illegal fights he’d been running for decades. Should have known he’d branch out sooner or later, with that many contacts. . . .”

I stopped listening.

Mircea’s hands had tightened, holding me in place. But my hands found his shoulders anyway, because the support wasn’t enough. I didn’t know why; he was nowhere near an erogenous zone. Except that suddenly everything was, and my knees kept trying to buckle.

I had a moment of disconnect, of utter, mind-numbing disbelief. I wasn’t kneeling here, naked and dripping, in Mircea’s office. And he was definitely not licking the drops of water from my skin.

Only I was and he was, and I couldn’t seem to move, could barely breathe as the strokes became longer, slower, wider. Or when he followed the swell of a breast, the warmth of his breath only tightening my body more as he stopped short of the nipple, even though a drop of water trembled on the tightly furled tip. It shone in the lamplight, reflecting the room for a few seconds. And probably a tiny version of my increasingly desperate face.

Until gravity had enough and it finally dropped onto his lips.

He held my eyes as he licked it away, as he laved the skin around it, as he—

My head went back, staring at the wall behind his head because I couldn’t watch him anymore. But it didn’t matter. I could still see his shadow mingled with mine, moving together softly. Could still feel every stroke of the warm roughness dragging over me. Could still hear the sound he made, low in his throat, as he started to pull.

My back arched, my fingers in his hair tightened to fists, needing something, anything to ground me.

And trying to hold that damned head still before I went crazy.

But, of course, that did nothing about his hands, and they were busy. Smoothing down my back, over the curve of my butt and down my thighs, to the sensitive skin at the back of my knees. Only to retract their course in reverse a moment later. And every trip pushed me against that not-so-soft bulge, simulating something that wasn’t going to be simulation much longer, because I was going to rip those damned trousers off him and—

“Explain. Now,” I gritted out.

“That might be difficult,” he said, shooting Marlowe a look.

“‘Difficult’ isn’t the word I’d use,” Marlowe groused, returning to his chair with what looked like a triple. “Trying to plug up a city leaking like a sieve with damned portals everywhere. Even if we succeed, what have we done? Stopped some smuggling, maybe made things a little less convenient for the other side. But we aren’t going to win this playing defensive, and we both know it!”

“And the alternative would be?”

“You know damned well. Our enemies are in faerie, not here. We either go after them where they’re holed up, or—this isn’t going to go well, Mircea.”

Actually, I thought it was going perfectly. Mircea’s technique, formidable as it was, was also limited with his friend sitting right across the desk. But mine wasn’t. Kit couldn’t see me, couldn’t hear me.

Which left all kinds of possibilities, didn’t it?

I smiled and saw Mircea’s expression change. But he didn’t get up, and he could have. Because that would mean admitting there was something he couldn’t handle, wouldn’t it?

And we both knew that would never happen.

I smiled again and bent to lick up the water I’d been thoughtlessly shedding onto his chest.

“Close enough portals and it will start to matter,” Mircea said, ignoring me. “Kill off enough of the dark mages they’re working with, and it will hurt even more. The fey don’t know this world, can’t walk in it easily—”

“Some can.”

“Not enough. And even those who can, don’t like to try it. Their magic is weak here; it leaves them vulnerable.”

His voice changed slightly on that last word, maybe because he was feeling a little vulnerable himself suddenly. Because I’d just reached his neck. A human male would have been more affected if I’d gone in the other direction, but Mircea wasn’t human. And I’d recently discovered an Achilles’ heel I should have suspected before.

But it was always nice to learn something new, I thought, scraping the edge of my teeth over the strong cords in his throat.

“Then why do I feel like we’re sitting ducks?” Kit groused.

Mircea didn’t answer him that time, maybe because his throat was already busy, working under my lips. Like his pulse was pounding, pounding, pounding beneath my tongue. I was right above the jugular now, right above the source of a vampire’s life and power, his virility and strength. Right above his most vulnerable area, even for a master.

I wouldn’t take his blood, of course; didn’t want it, couldn’t use it. But it was still heady, having him like this. That big, hard body spread out under mine, the hands clenching on the chair arms because they couldn’t on me, the heartbeat under my mouth jumping when I closed my lips over the pulse point.

And began to suck.

And felt more than one thing leap against me.

“Mircea?” Kit prompted.

“Perhaps you need a drink,” Mircea told him, sounding a little strangled.

Marlowe looked down in confusion at his glass, which was still almost full. “I have a drink. What I don’t have is information—especially about the so-called light fey!”

Kit jumped up again and began to pace, but I barely noticed.

My god, it was good, the salty-sweet taste of his skin, the little shivers of his body beneath mine, the way he reacted to every draw of my lips. I squirmed on top of him, knowing I was playing with fire, but I couldn’t help it, didn’t care. Even when I pulled back enough to see his eyes, filled with heat and fire and the promise that I would pay—and pay dearly—for this, just as soon as Kit left.

But he hadn’t yet, had he?

He was pacing, still running on about the fey, gesturing and bitching—

And not paying any attention to the man behind the desk.

Who watched me as I slowly sat up, raising the stakes. Mircea could have asked his friend to leave, could have left himself, could have done a hundred things he wasn’t doing because he still didn’t believe it. He didn’t think I’d do it.

And why should he? I’d let him get away with a ton of crap these last months, things I wouldn’t have put up with from anybody else. I’d backed down every time he challenged me because he was Mircea and I loved him and he was
Mircea
.

But I’d just reached tilt.

He didn’t get to wander around
inside my head
. He didn’t get to decide who my friends were. He didn’t get to keep me in the dark even more than Jonas did, and tell me not to bother my pretty little head about it because the big, strong men would protect me. Because the big, strong men didn’t understand what we were facing any more than I did.

We were all stumbling around in the dark, even Kit, even the Senate’s chief spy-who-knew-everything—except about the fey, apparently. And the demons. And the crazy creatures from another world we’d been fighting, who called themselves gods and thought about humans the same way we thought about bugs. And killed us just as easily.

If we were going to survive, we needed to at least start stumbling around together. But we weren’t, because Jonas didn’t trust me, Mircea didn’t respect me, and nobody believed in me. And as long as I kept backing down, they were never going to.

I sat up slightly, pulled down those damned sleep pants, grasped him gently.

And then sat back down, taking him inside me.

“The dark fey aren’t as much of a problem,” Kit said, oblivious. “We’ve had so many refugees from them, especially lately, that my people have managed to build up at least a basic image of their power structure and main players. But the light worries me.”

I knew how he felt. Because Mircea’s eyes had just changed, tiny pinpoints of amber swirling up out of the velvety darkness, a signal that maybe, just maybe, I should have thought about this a little more. That maybe I was in over my head.

Way over.

And I didn’t care.

Not enough to stop me from squirming about, getting comfortable, while watching him get less so. Not enough to keep me from groaning when he abruptly hardened inside me, even more than he’d already been, filling me fully, deliciously. Not enough to keep me from beginning to move.

Kit was still droning on, but I barely heard him anymore. And God, if I’d thought the other was heady, it was nothing to this. Watching that powerful body squirm, feeling him moving inside me, hearing his breath speed up as I did, as I undulated on top of him, as I set the pace for once. It was glorious.

Until he suddenly sat up, shifting the weight of him, making me gasp. And grasped the back of my neck, jerking me within a hair’s breadth of his face. And abruptly let his fangs descend.

My heart was beating out of my chest, my breath was caught in my throat, my body was tightening around him enough to make us both gasp.

And I still didn’t care.

“What are you going to do?” I asked breathlessly. “Bite me?”

And, just like that, his eyes flashed gold, the brown of the man completely eclipsed by the power of the vampire.

“What was it Churchill said about Russia?” Kit asked, almost surreally at this point. “A riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma—”

“Why don’t you go look it up?” Mircea growled.

“What?”

“Go!” he snarled, and simultaneously swept all the items off the center of the desk, sending books, papers, and the smirking, potbellied pen cup flying.