Spider-Touched (21 page)

“My gift is to heal animals,” Rebekka said, remembering the lion roars she’d heard when they entered the estate and desperately hoping the revelation of her talent would keep her from ending up in Father Ursu’s care.

Interest sparked in the old man’s face. “Ah, that would explain her presence at the ambush, Derrick, which any other time I would have applauded, given what was intended for the animals on that truck. She’ll stay here for the night as my guest.”

The priest openly frowned. “Time—”

“Is of the essence,” the patriarch interrupted, his voice now holding the imperious tone of a man whose personal power couldn’t be ignored, even by the Church. “No one is more aware of it than I am, though I do share your concern about whatever witch’s evil she might carry on her.”

To Rebekka he said, “If you’ll kindly remove it from your pocket, then I’ll have you shown to your room and brought a change of clothing suitable for joining us at the evening meal.”

Caught in the fear of being taken to the church, Rebekka hadn’t given much thought to the token in her pocket. Her mind had been paralyzed, locked in finding a way to survive without betraying Levi. But now she was loath to give up the inscribed pentacle.

Too late she remembered standing in the occult shop with Annalise and glancing down at the book in the witch’s hand, automatically memorizing the short spell requiring candle, blood, and token.
Should you need to use it in order to summon help, change the last word to
aziel.

The butler moved closer. He’d unobtrusively picked up a tray, and now he held it in front of her. Rebekka easily imagined him doing the same to another guest, taking a weapon perhaps, or something else banned from the patriarch’s presence.

There was no choice—not if sacrificing the token kept her out of the Church’s care. She placed it on the velvet-lined tray.

Father Ursu stepped forward, as if he intended to take possession of the pentacle, but the butler was already turning away, his movement allowing the patriarch to see the token before it was taken from the room.

It was another defeat, and as with the others, the priest’s voice held no acknowledgment of it. It remained smooth, unperturbed. “Do you think it’s wise to keep it here, Carlos?”

The patriarch laughed. “Surely I can be trusted to keep something so insignificant safe. It bears the Wainwright sigil, one that automatically marks it as evil in the Church’s view. If it were truly harmful, the healer wouldn’t be able to carry it. Now, as much as I hate to admit it, I need to rest before the evening meal is announced.”

“I’ll take my leave then.” Father Ursu glanced at Eston. “What of the child? Surely you don’t want to be burdened by it. Can I be of assistance there? He differs from those typically accepted into our ranks, but considering your support of the Church, he’d be accepted and raised for the priesthood.”

Carlos Iberá snorted. “And have everyone wondering which of my children or grandchildren produced a bastard?”

“My word alone would be enough to have him taken in.”

Rebekka’s arms tightened reflexively, making Eston wriggle and fuss in protest. “He’s got a mother,” she said.

“A pathetic creature destined for a life of poverty and abuse,” Father Ursu responded, confirming her guess that he had been at the trapper’s compound.

For the first time she wondered what his interest in the prisoner was, and why—given the Church’s power and that of the Iberás—they hadn’t brought the chained man to Oakland under private guard.

“Leave the boy here for now,” the patriarch said after a long pause.

“Very well. The rest of my evening is spoken for, but send word if you need me.”

“Of course.”

Tomás opened the door so the priest could depart. A moment later the butler returned and escorted Rebekka to a room with no locks, either on the inside or the outside.

AS Araña emerged from the shop, relief slid through Tir, cutting away his worry and leaving need in its place. He took the offered shirt when she reached him, but instead of putting it on, he crowded her, maneuvering her into what privacy could be found beneath the leafy canvas and shade of the tree.

“Give me the machete,” he said, tormenting them both with the command.

He nearly doubled over at the sound of her soft whimper and the slight tremble of her fingers as she obeyed him by opening the front of her shirt so she could remove the harness holding the blade’s sheath in position along her back.

His hands balled into fists to keep from reaching out and pushing her bra out of the way so he could look at her breasts. If he saw them, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from touching, suckling.

His cock throbbed at the sight of the leather straps against her skin. She was so utterly feminine. And yet she was a warrior, too. A survivor.

When she’d freed herself from the harness and handed it to him, he secured the weapon and felt the warmth on his back from where it had been held against her skin.

He put the shirt on, leaving it unbuttoned.

Their eyes met and held. Heat flared between them, fierce and consuming.

Her hands went to his chest, fingertips stroking his nipples and sending spike after spike of painful desire straight to his cock.

Liquid fantasies formed and re-formed in his thoughts. Quicksilver fast. Mercury-like.

Her dark eyelashes lowered, but Tir didn’t mistake it for a show of submissiveness. He shouldn’t allow her any power over him, he told himself, but found it too easy to imagine fighting this battle with her over and over again, enjoying it each time they were so engaged.

“Button it,” he said, bracing himself for torment and only barely suppressing a moan when her fingers trailed down his chest and then over the front of his pants as she grasped the bottom of his shirt.

She obeyed. Slowly.

The curtain of her hair hid her expression as she closed his shirt. But her emotions told him the truth.

He struggled to keep his breathing even as her scent intensified with each button.

Her face lifted as she worked her way up his chest.

Satisfaction filled him at the sight of her flushed cheeks and wet, parted lips.

His cock jerked, leaked. A pant escaped despite his intention to remain stoic. Another followed when she reached his neck and her knuckles brushed against the inscribed collar.

Tir grabbed her hips, pulling her to him. It was sweet torture to have her against him but separated by clothing.

If he were free, his memory and his power restored, he’d take her to a safe place and keep her there. He’d insist she remain naked so he could look upon her at will, touch and take her throughout the day and night.

Her hands returned to his chest and settled over material-covered nipples. “The bus will be here in a few minutes,” she said. “We should take it to the edge of downtown. Otherwise we’ll lose too much of what’s left of the day.”

Tir was loath to let her go. His hands left her hips, sliding upward until they cupped her face. He brushed his thumb over her moist bottom lip and nearly came when her tongue darted out to caress him before she captured the end of his thumb in her mouth and sucked before releasing it.

“Turn around and I’ll braid your hair,” she said, her voice husky, her nipples hardened points against the front of her shirt. “You’ll draw less attention with it tucked into your shirt.”

He took her lips in a lingering kiss before obeying her, then shuddered at the feel of her fingers combing through his hair, weaving strands of it into a new fantasy. A fantasy where he crouched naked in front of her, his testicles hanging free between his thighs, his cock touching, rubbing against her smooth mound and soft belly while her pouty nipples brushed against his chest as she freed his hair.

A moan escaped, and he could feel the way it shuddered through her, going from her fingertips to her cunt. And somehow he knew the spider was there, waiting for his mouth, his cock, his touch.

She pulled the collar of his shirt out and slid the braid through the opening to snake down his back. When she stepped to the side, Tir fought the urge to capture her hand in his in order to maintain the physical contact. He continued to fight it as they walked to the bus stop.

Silence reigned between them as they stood with others who were also waiting for the bus, but it wasn’t the emotional silence he’d come to abhor. It was the silence of caution.

He felt the surreptitious gazes of those around them. If he consciously chose it, he could feel their emotions as well.

They didn’t interest him. Not beyond assuring himself they posed no threat.

He relaxed to enjoy the caress of a breeze. Araña’s scent mingled with that of flowers and trees, the earth itself, all of it becoming the sweet smell of physical freedom.

Tir hooded his eyes and lifted his face toward the heavens. The endless blue called to him, as if he could soar in its heights and become a part of it, forever above the earth and those who inhabited it.

Sunlight struck him, and he basked in the feel of it against his skin. He wouldn’t be shackled again. He’d see all of mankind destroyed before he allowed himself to be at the mercy of humans again.

The sound of a heavy diesel engine cut across his thoughts. Around him, those who waited for the bus shuffled their belongings and prepared to board.

He turned his attention to the street and watched the bus round a corner before slowing to a stop nearby. Fear spiked through Araña, along with quickly suppressed grief, her emotions echoing through him as if they were his own.

Tir reached for her, took her hand where moments before he’d denied himself the contact. Her fingers tightened on his, the sole, silent acknowledgment she gave that boarding the bus was difficult. And then she pulled away in order to pay their fare.

He followed her, allowing her to choose their seats. When he sat next to her, he cupped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I won’t allow you to be harmed,” he said, keeping his voice low but making sure she heard the depth of his pledge, the promise that settled into every fiber of his being.

Emotions bombarded him. So much pain and guilt it was nearly overwhelming.

“Stop,” he said. “You can’t undo the past.”

“I know.”

She escaped his grip and the snare of his eyes, and looked down, drawing his attention to the well-worn wallet in her hands. Her fingers traced the seam, the edges, trembled slightly as she opened it and removed the folded bills it contained.

“You should have money in case we get separated,” she said, counting out half of it, touching the denomination marks as she spoke the numbers out loud in case he was unfamiliar with the currency.

He wanted to deny they’d ever be separated, but he knew it would be a lie. She pressed the bills into his hand and he took them. Then she slid the wallet back into her pocket and turned away from him to look out the window.

A fist tightened around his heart. He edged closer, conscious of being watched, chafing at not being able to divert her thoughts and ease her with the joining of their bodies. His fingers tangled in her hair. But rather than force her to face him again, he combed through the silky locks, stroking the back of her neck.

His mouth whispered kisses against her cheek each time she flinched when a camouflage-painted vehicle passed. “Tell me about Matthew and Erik.”

She stiffened at the sound of their names, but Tir didn’t allow her to retreat. “Tell me,” he repeated, touching his lips to her earlobe, gently sucking it.

Her breath hitched, desire and pain mingling.

His free hand settled on her stomach, and he wished they were alone so he could slide his fingers beneath the waistband of her pants and cup her bare mound. He didn’t want her to feel anything but happiness and pleasure.

Before he was forced to ask her for a third time, she said, “They took me in when most wouldn’t have. They taught me what I needed to know in order to one day survive on my own. They made me believe in myself, in my worth despite . . . the things that set me apart. I loved them. I would have died in their place if I could have, even if it meant eternal damnation.”

Tir’s fingers tightened in her hair unintentionally. Jealousy scorched through him, along with violent denial at the idea of her giving up her life.

He forced himself to loosen his grip on her hair, to slow the agitated race of his heart. The heat of his reaction dissolved with the lash of her sadness across his soul.

Tir’s lips went to the corner of hers. “They wouldn’t have wanted you to surrender your life for theirs.”

“I know,” she said, her voice barely audible. “Matthew told me to live for all of us. It was the last thing he said to me before he was killed.”

Tir pressed a kiss to the corner of her lips before easing away from her and watching as the city of Oakland was slowly revealed.

Hardscrabble poverty gave way to lesser poverty, and then to wealth. Estates gave way to the downtown area, where buildings rose in defiance of the past and citizens walked the streets.

Araña finally turned from the windows. “We should get off at the next stop.”

There were cursory glances in their direction as they left the bus. Speculative appraisal, but Tir could sense no threat.

“Which way?” he asked, smelling the ocean mixed with diesel fumes and roasting meat.

She indicated an alleyway. “There will be fewer people if we take whatever shortcuts we can and get to the road that runs along the waterfront.”

He nodded and followed where she led, content to turn his attention to keeping them both safe. When they reached the bay, Araña stopped well before where piers extended out into the water and docks hosted container ships being loaded and unloaded.

“I can see the
Constellation
from here,” she said, pointing to it. “She’s in the second slip from the end. This side.”

“Stay here. I’ll see what I can learn.”

Her fingers lightly shackled his wrist, and the restraint sent heat surging to his cock. “Be careful.”

Amusement filled him, flowing into his chest along with a warmth he didn’t want to look at too closely. He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. “Humans have far more to fear from me than I have to fear from them.”