Devil's Gate: Elder Races, Book 3 (4 page)

His response was immediate.
It’s my pleasure. See you soon.

Seremela checked her email messages and found a reply from Carling that the other woman must have sent even as Duncan drove to her apartment earlier. Of course Seremela could have as much time off as she needed, and she was to let Carling and Rune know if there was anything they could do to help.

Seremela had to smile. She didn’t doubt for a minute that Carling had known very well what she was doing when she had shared Seremela’s email with Duncan. Carling had already provided more help than Seremela could have hoped.

The weather changed drastically over the next hour, swirls of sunlit blue sky breaking through the ominous dark clouds. They would have to take care on route to the airport. Seremela had finished packing in plenty of time, and she had showered and changed for the trip into jeans and a sleeveless yellow, button-down cotton shirt.

She felt calm and optimistic by the time Duncan knocked on her door again—and then, of course, all of that went to hell. Her snakes spilled in a helter-skelter swirl around her shoulders. If they really had been dogs, she had no doubt they would have been barking and having a running fit.

Time to bite the bullet. She wasn’t about to spend the next three or four days keeping the brats constantly under wrap under extreme desert heat, even though they totally deserved it. She squared her shoulders, marched over to the door and opened it.

“Hello, Seremela,” said Duncan. “Have you had time to—?”

She caught one glimpse of him. He, too, had changed into an outfit very similar to hers, wearing jeans and a gray T-shirt that molded to his lean torso and muscled biceps. Previously whenever Seremela had seen him, he had always been the epitome of cool male elegance. It was shocking, somehow, to see him so casually dressed.

Or at least she thought it was. She didn’t get a good enough look to be sure. Her snakes obscured her vision as they swarmed around her shoulders and over her head, shooting toward Duncan any way they could. The strength of their reaction surprised her and caught her off balance. She stumbled forward a step, which was all they needed.

Duncan began to laugh as her snakes wrapped around his neck and his upper arms. He caught her under her elbows as she stumbled, and they stood staring at each other, entwined. Something electric sparked in his eyes. She didn’t know what it was, but the strength of it affected her powerfully. Her skin flashed with heat.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled. “It’s only—you know they just like you, and—”

“Don’t apologize,” he told her in a gentle voice. He touched her cheek with the fingertips of one hand. “Like I’ve told you, I enjoy them.”

Others might thrill to the crash and thunder of tumultuous passion. For Seremela, the most lethal thing in the world was exactly this kind of gentleness, this type of moment. They stood near enough to each other that she could see how his dark eyes had dilated, a subtle enough change in color that if she had stood even a few feet away, she wouldn’t have caught it. He looked at her intently, his face sharpened with that same electric expression that pierced through his gaze, yet he touched her as lightly as snowflakes drifting down to rest on her sensitive skin.

She was intensely aware of each of the four small points of contact, even more so because she could barely feel them, and they held so steady, so steady, as he looked deep into her eyes. That single, innocent touch was almost unbelievably erotic. The steady light contact said things, and the very fact that he paused so long meant that he made sure she heard it.

It said his exquisite gentleness was no accident. It said he had to be intimately aware of the placement and position of her body to achieve such a delicate, butterfly touch. It said he touched her because he wanted to touch her, and that he knew how to be gentle and tender, that he was confident and didn’t shy away from scrutiny, and that he could hold steady when he needed to.

It said he knew very well that she was clever enough to hear all of the nuances in his unspoken message.

Her breathing grew ragged. Her lips trembled as her snakes held him in position and he smiled into her eyes. And all he did was touch her cheek.

“Are you ready to go?” he said quietly, his fabulous, famous voice pitched for her ears alone.

And that was it, man, she just about came right there in her pants. The fact that she didn’t was a miracle. She should be glad about it, since she could hope to maintain some semblance of dignity….

She glanced sideways at her snakes which had locked around him. One had wrapped around his biceps so far it was peering at her upside down, from underneath his arm.

Yeah well, she might not be able to maintain dignity exactly.

LET GO!
she ordered. It was as stern a mental voice as she had ever used on them.

She must have startled them because they loosened and slipped back over her shoulders. Grateful, she took a deep breath and stepped back. She said aloud, somewhat hoarsely, “Yes, I’m ready.”

He inclined his sleek, dark head with a smile, stepped inside and picked up her carry-on, while she looked around her apartment one last time, checked to make sure she had her iPhone, and shut and locked the door as they left.

Internally she was flipping rapidly through her Rolodex of teeming emotions. What to label this feeling? She had roared through embarrassment several minutes ago, so nah, that wasn’t it. As they rode the elevator down to the garage in silence, she finally had to admit, she didn’t know what she felt. She had never felt it before, so it wasn’t in her Rolodex.

She did know the emotion held a large amount of shock and amazement.

Because
all he did was touch her cheek
.

And now all she could do was wonder, what else could he say in that silent, sensual language of his?

What poems could his fingers whisper as they danced across her skin?

What eloquent prose could he share with his body?

She had assumed they would be flying out of the Miami International Airport and was surprised when Duncan drove them instead toward Kendall-Tamiami Executive Airport, thirteen miles southwest of downtown Miami. Breaking the silence for the first time since they had left her apartment, she said, “I didn’t know there were any commercial flights out of this airport.”

He gave her a brief smile. “There aren’t, but there are corporate flights. We’re not taking a commercial flight. We’re using the agency plane.”

“Oh, I see.”

The possibility hadn’t even crossed her mind, and she was frankly staggered. Rune and Carling had given her so much already. Carling had given her a papyrus sketch she had made in ancient Egypt, of a long-dead, half serpent, half human woman who, according to legend, had founded the medusa race. While the worth of the sketch didn’t matter to Carling, the fact remained that it would still fetch a small fortune from a museum if Seremela ever chose to sell it. Then there was the new job, for which they paid her an extremely competitive salary, gave her a great benefit package and even paid for her relocation expenses. Now they gave her an unspecified amount of time off and were lending their agency plane.

When they returned, she would have to thank them properly, in person. The least she could do was have them over for supper. Carling could enjoy an excellent bottle of wine, and Rune certainly had a hearty enough appetite for several normal men combined.

Her gaze slid sideways to Duncan. Perhaps Duncan could join them. She smiled, feeling warm all over at the thought.

They parked, and Seremela glanced at the sky again as they exited the car. To the north, the sky had turned almost entirely blue. She could see the rays of sunshine spilling over the edge of dark clouds like laser beams. Her stomach tightened at the sight, and she turned to Duncan anxiously.

He glanced at the sky and gave her a calm smile. “It’s all right. We’ve got a few more minutes. There’s enough time to board.”

“If you say so.” She took her case as he handed it to her. Then he took his two cases, slammed the trunk and they strode toward the building. Once they were inside, she was able to take a deep breath again, but in order to board the Gulfstream jet, they had to go back outside again.

Duncan remained calm the entire time, and he never pulled out a cloak but he did take the stairway ramp to the plane at a lope just as sunshine spilled out over the northwestern border of the airport runway.

“Good gods,” she muttered as he disappeared inside the plane. She glanced at the plane windows, noting that they were already lowered. His entire life was like this, a never-ending dance to avoid the sun. Feeling somewhat wrung out, she followed him at a slower pace up the ramp.

The pilot and her copilot were the plane’s entire staff, and they greeted Duncan and Seremela cheerfully as they took their luggage to stow. Duncan held onto one piece of luggage long enough to pull out a laptop and a slim briefcase. He smiled at Seremela. “I hope you don’t mind if I focus on work for a while.”

“Of course not,” she said. “This isn’t a vacation. I would have brought work too, if I thought I could concentrate enough to get anything done. Well, that, and half my job involves growing nasty things in petri dishes.”

He laughed. “Thank you for not bringing your work with you.”

She grinned. “You’re welcome.”

The plane had a couch, and after takeoff when Duncan settled to work at a table, Seremela gave into temptation and stretched out to rest. Her sleepless night had caught up with her. The copilot brought her a pillow and a blanket and she curled on her side, her snakes spilling down her body and coiling in the natural hollow made by the indentation of her waist.

She dozed, rousing slightly every time she heard Duncan’s voice. Mostly he was arranging for his time out of the office for the next several days, but once she surfaced to wakefulness with a pulse of alarm.

She clenched without moving, and she knew all of her snakes were awake and coiled with readiness too. The plane’s engine ran strong and smoothly, and all seemed normal. What was it that had woken her?

Then she heard it again, Duncan speaking in a voice so cold and sharp it speared through the silence in the cabin like a stiletto. “…the fact remains, Julian, Carling’s house is on an island in an Other land. Further, you can only access the passageway to the island from the ocean. Do you think she chose any of this by accident? It is not in the Nightkind demesne, so it does not fall under your legal domain. We have been patient now for a year.”

Wow, he was really angry at this Julian guy. Then realization jangled through her. Duncan wasn’t talking to just any Julian, but to Julian Regillus, the Nightkind King and Carling’s estranged progeny.

Duncan paused, clearly listening to whatever was said on the other end of the line. Then he said icily, “That’s unacceptable. Carling’s magical library is too dangerous. She doesn’t trust anyone else to move it. She needs to move it herself, and you cannot continue to block her access to her own property.” Another pause. “It’s too late for that. She’s done waiting. We’ve already filed a petition with the Elder tribunal. It’s only a matter of time until the tribunal approves it.”

Then another silence that stretched on, until she realized that Duncan wasn’t pausing to listen but that the phone call had ended without goodbyes. Cautiously she peeked around the edge of the couch.

Anger etched the lines of Duncan’s expression, turning him into a hard faced stranger. His dark eyes glittered, shards of black in his pale face. The gentle, urbane man she had become acquainted with and liked so well was nowhere to be seen, and what was left in his place was something entirely dangerous.

Then he caught sight of her peering around the arm of the couch, and the hardness in his expression eased.

She said, “I’m sorry. I overheard some of that.”

He shook his head and sighed, running his hands through his hair until he actually looked rumpled. She frowned. Maybe that shouldn’t seem as adorable to her as it did, especially after what she had just seen in his expression.

“No, it is I who should be apologizing—again—to you,” he said. “I woke you, didn’t I?”

She didn’t bother to deny it but just regarded him steadily. “As soon as I realized who you were talking to, I should have done something to let you know I was awake, like gone to the lavatory.”

Even though he didn’t need to breathe, his humanity had not left him, she saw, as he blew out a breath. “You absolutely should not have done that,” he said. “I didn’t realize I would be transferred to Julian himself, or I never would have called. Then at that point the phone call took a dive straight into the toilet.”

 
“Well, since the damage is done,” she said, as she sat up. “If you don’t mind me asking, why won’t Julian let Carling have access to the island? Is it because he doesn’t want her to have her library?”

“I don’t think so,” Duncan said. “It’s useless as anything but a retreat. As an Other land, it’s illegal for anyone from Earth to harvest anything from the island for commercial gain, and Carling has filed evidence that an intelligent indigenous winged species lives in the redwoods. And Julian doesn’t give a damn one way or another about Carling’s library. In fact, he insists that Carling send librarian witches to pack it all up and transport it. On the other hand, Carling insists—and she does have the legal right of it—that she have free access to her own house and that she sees to the transportation of the library personally.”