Huntress, Black Dawn, Witchlight (30 page)

Sylvia’s pale face flushed. “I do not! I’m finished with them, and you know it! I may be a spellcaster, but I’m not a witch anymore.”

“It’s good to see you haven’t forgotten what they’ve done to you,” Hunter said, “After all, you could have been a Hearth-Woman, taken your rightful place on the witch Council.”

“Yes…”

“Like your grandmother and her mother before her.
They
were Harmans, and so was your father. What a pity the name isn’t passed through the male line. You ended up being just a Weald.”

“I
was
a Harman,” Sylvia said with muted ferocity. She was staring at the floor again, and she seemed to be speaking to herself rather than to Hunter. “I
was.
But I had to stand there and watch my cousins be accepted instead of me. I had to watch
half humans
be accepted—be welcomed. They took my place—just because they were descended through the female line.”

Hunter shook his head. “A very sad tradition.”

Sylvia’s breath came raggedly for another minute or so, then she looked up slowly at the tall man in the center of the room. “You don’t have to worry about my loyalty,” she said
quietly. “I want a place in the new order after the millennium. I’m through with the witches.”

Hunter smiled.

“I know it,” he said, lightly and approvingly, and then he started pacing the room. He got what he wanted out of her, Maggie thought.

Almost casually, he added, “Just be sure that Delos’s power is kept in check until everything’s decided.”

Sylvia bent and lifted the basket, which Maggie had forgotten about.

“The new binding spells will hold,” she said. “I brought special ingredients from one of the oldest Midnight witches. And he won’t suspect anything.”

“And nobody but you can take them off?”

“Nobody but me,” Sylvia said firmly. “Not even the Crone of all the witches. Or the Maiden, for that matter.”

“Good girl,” Hunter said, and smiled again. “I have every confidence in you. After all, you have lamia blood in you to balance the witch taint. You’re my own eighth-great-granddaughter.”

Maggie wanted to punch him.

She was confused and frightened and indignant and furious, all at once. As far as she could tell, Hunter Redfern seemed to be manipulating everybody. And Delos, Delos the prince and Wild Power, was just another of his puppets.

I wonder what they plan to do if he
won’t
join their new order? she thought bleakly.

After a few minutes, Hunter turned in his pacing and walked by the door. He paused briefly as if listening, then glanced at Sylvia.

“You don’t know how happy it makes me just to think about it,” he said, in a voice that wasn’t strained, or overly cheerful, or too loud, or anything that rang false. “To finally have a true heir. A male heir of my own line, and untainted by witch blood. I would never have married that witch Maeve Harman if I had known my son was still alive. And not only alive, but out having sons! The only true Redferns left in the world, you might say.”

Maggie, with her teeth set in her lower lip, didn’t need to guess who was on the other side of the door. She watched tensely.

And Delos came in, right on cue.

“I
’m sorry. Was I interrupting something?” he said.

Maggie had to struggle not to draw in her breath sharply.

It was always a little bit of a shock seeing him. And even in a room with Hunter Redfern and the pale and dazzling Sylvia, he stood out. Like a cold wind blowing through the door, he seemed to bring coiled energy in with him, to slap everyone awake with the chilly smell of snow.

And of course he was gorgeous, too.

And not awed by Hunter, Maggie thought. He faced his great-grandfather with those fearless yellow eyes level, and a measuring look on his fine-boned face.

“Nothing at all,” Hunter Redfern said amiably. “We were waiting for you. And planning the celebrations.”

“Celebrations?”

“To honor our agreement. I’m so pleased that we’ve come to an understanding at last. Aren’t you?”

“Of course,” Delos said, pulling off his gloves without any change in expression. “When we do come to an understanding, I’ll be very pleased.”

Maggie had to bite her lip on a snicker. At that moment, looking at Hunter’s facile smile and Sylvia’s pinned-on simper, she had never liked Delos’s dour, cold grimness better.

Idiot, she told herself. When did you ever like it at all? The guy’s an icicle.

But there was something clean and sharp-edged about his iciness, and she couldn’t help admiring the way he faced Hunter. There was a little aching knot in her chest as she watched him standing there, tense and elegant, with his dark hair tousled from riding.

Which wasn’t to say she wasn’t scared. That aura of power Delos carried along with him was very real. He had sensed her before, even with Aradia blocking the signs of her life force. And now here he was, maybe twelve feet away, with only a piece of linen between them.

There was nothing Maggie could do but sit as still as possible.

“Sylvia has taken the liberty of beginning the preparations,” Hunter said. “I hope you don’t mind. I think we can work out any little details that are left before tomorrow, don’t you?”

Suddenly Delos looked tired. He tossed his gloves on the bed and nodded, conceding a point. “Yes.”

“Essentially,” Hunter Redfern said, “we are agreed.”

This time Delos just nodded without speaking.

“I can’t wait to show you off to the world outside,” Hunter said, and this time Maggie thought the note of pride and eagerness in his voice was sincere. “My great-grandson. And to think that a year ago I didn’t know of your existence.” He crossed to slap Delos on the back. It was a gesture so much like the old king’s that Maggie’s eyes widened.

“I’m going to make some preparations of my own,” he said. “I think the last hunt before you leave should be special, don’t you?”

He was smiling as he left.

Delos stared moodily at the fur coverlet.

“Well,” Sylvia said, sounding almost chirpy. “How’s the arm?”

Delos glanced down at it. He was still wearing the complicated brace thing Maggie had seen him in yesterday.

“It’s all right.”

“Hurts?”

“A little.”

Sylvia sighed and shook her head. “That’s because you used it for practice. I did warn you, you know.”

“Can you make it better or not?” Delos said brusquely.

Sylvia was already opening the basket. “I told you, it’ll take
time. But it should improve with each treatment—as long as you don’t use it.”

She was fiddling with the brace, doing things that Maggie couldn’t see. And Maggie’s heart was beating hard with anger and an unreasonable protectiveness.

I can’t let her do that to Delos—but how can I stop her? There’s no way. If she sees me, it’s all over….

“There,” Sylvia said. “That should hold you for a while.”

Maggie ground her teeth.

But at least maybe she’ll
go
now, she thought. It feels like about a century I’ve been sitting in here listening to her. And this stool isn’t getting any more comfortable.

“Now,” Sylvia said briskly, tidying. “Just let me put your gloves away—”

Oh,
no,
Maggie thought, horrified. On the shelf beside her was a pile of gloves.

“No,” Delos said, so quickly it was almost an echo. “I need them.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re not going out again—”

“I’ll take them.” Delos had wonderful reflexes. He put himself between Sylvia and the wardrobe, and an instant later he was holding on to the gloves, almost tugging them from her hands.

Sylvia looked up at him wonderingly for a long moment. Maggie could see her face, the creamy skin delicately flushed, and her eyes, the color of tear-drenched violets. She could
see the shimmer of her pale blond hair as Sylvia shook her head slightly.

Delos stared down at her implacably.

Then Sylvia shrugged her fragile shoulders and let go of the gloves.

“I’ll go see to the feast,” she said lightly and smiled. She picked up her basket and moved gracefully to the door.

Delos watched her go.

Maggie simply sat, speechless and paralyzed. When Delos followed Sylvia and closed the door firmly behind her, she made herself get slowly off the stool. She backed away from the curtains slightly, but she could still see a strip of the bedroom.

Delos walked unerringly straight to the wardrobe.

“You can come out now,” he said, his voice flat and hard.

Maggie shut her eyes.

Great. Well, I should have known.

But he hadn’t let Sylvia come in and discover her, and he hadn’t simply turned her over to his guards. Those were very good signs, she told herself stoutly. In fact, maybe she wasn’t going to have to persuade him of anything at all; maybe he was already going to be reasonable.

“Or do I have to come in?” Delos said dangerously.

Or maybe not, Maggie thought.

She felt a sudden idiotic desire to get the dust out of her hair. She shook her head a few times, brushing at it, then gave up.

Terribly conscious of her smudged face and slave clothing, she parted the linen hangings and walked out.

“I warned you,” Delos said.

He was facing her squarely, his jaw set and his mouth as grim as she had ever seen it. His eyes were hooded, a dull and eerie gold in the shadows. He looked every inch the dark and mysterious vampire prince.

And here I am, Maggie thought. Looking like…well, like vermin, I bet. Like something fished out of the gutter. Not much of a representative for humanity.

She had never cared about clothes or hairstyles or things like that, but just now she wished that she could at least look presentable. Since the fate of the world might just depend on her.

Even so, there was something in the air between Delos and herself. A sort of quivering aliveness that quickened the blood in Maggie’s veins. That stirred something in her chest, and started her heart pounding with an odd mixture of fear and hope.

She faced Delos just as squarely as he was facing her.

“I know some things that I think you need to know,” she said quietly.

He ignored that. “I told you what would happen if you came here. I told you I wouldn’t protect you again.”

“I remember. But you
did
protect me again. And I thank you—but I really think I’d better tell you what’s going on.
Sylvia is the suspicious type, and if she’s gone to Hunter Redfern to say that you don’t want people looking in your closet—”

“Don’t you
understand
?” he said with such sudden violence that Maggie’s throat closed, choking off her words. She stared at him. “You’re so close to dying, but you don’t seem to care. Are you too stupid to grasp it, or do you just have a death wish?”

The thumping in Maggie’s chest now was definitely fear.

“I do understand,” she began slowly, when she could get her voice to work.

“No, you
don’t,
” he said. “But I’ll make you.”

All at once his eyes were blazing. Not just their normal brilliant yellow, but a dazzling and unnatural gold that seemed to hold its own light.

Even though Maggie had seen it before, it was still a shock to watch his features change. His face going paler, even more beautiful and clearly defined, chiseled in ice. His pupils widening like a predator’s, holding a darkness that a human could drown in. And that proud and willful mouth twisting in anger.

It all happened in a second or so. And then he was advancing on her, with dark fire in his eyes, and his lips pulling back from his teeth.

Maggie stared at the fangs, helplessly horrified all over again. They were even sharper than she remembered them
looking. They indented his lower lip on either side, even with his mouth partly open. And, yes, they were definitely scary.

“This is what I am,” Delos said, speaking easily around the fangs. “A hunting animal. Part of a world of darkness that you couldn’t survive for a minute in. I’ve told you over and over to stay away from it, but you won’t listen. You turn up
in my own castle,
and you just won’t believe your danger. So now I’m going to show you.”

Maggie took a step backward. She wasn’t in a good position; the wall was behind her and the huge bed was on her left. Delos was between her and the door. And she had already seen how fast his reflexes were.

Her legs felt unsteady; her pulse was beating erratically. Her breath was coming fast.

He doesn’t really mean it—he won’t really do it. He isn’t serious….

But for all her mind’s desperate chanting, panic was beginning to riot inside her. The instincts of forgotten ancestors, long buried, were surfacing. Some ancient part of her remembered being chased by hunting animals, being prey.

She backed up until she came in contact with the tapestry-hung wall behind her. And then there was nowhere else to go.

“Now,” Delos said and closed the distance between them with the grace of a tiger.

He was right in front of her. Maggie couldn’t help looking up at him, looking directly into that alien and beautiful face.
She could smell a scent like autumn leaves and fresh snow, but she could feel the heat from his body.

He’s nothing dead or undead, some very distant part of her mind thought. He’s ruthless, he’s been raised to be a weapon, but he’s definitely alive—maybe the most alive thing I’ve ever seen.

When he moved, there was nowhere she could go to avoid him. His hands closed on her shoulders like implacable bands of steel. And then he was pulling her forward, not roughly but not gently either, pulling her until her body rested lightly against his. And he was looking down at her with golden eyes that burned like twin flames.

Looking at my throat, Maggie thought. She could feel the pulse beating there, and with her chin tilted up to look at him and her upper body arched away from him, she knew he could see it. His eyes were fixed on it with a different kind of hunger than she had ever seen in a human face.

For just one instant the panic overwhelmed her, flooding up blackly to engulf everything else. She couldn’t think; she was nothing but a terrified mass of instinct, and all she wanted to do was to
run,
to get away.

Then, slowly at first, the panic receded. It simply poured off her, draining away. She felt as if she were rising from deep water into air clear as crystal.

She looked straight into the golden eyes above her and said, “Go ahead.”

She had the pleasure of seeing the golden eyes look startled. “What?”

“Go ahead,” Maggie said distinctly. “It doesn’t matter. You’re stronger than me; we both know that. But whatever you do, you can’t make me your prey. You don’t have that power. You can’t control me.”

Delos hissed in fury, a reptilian sound. “You are so—”

“You wanted me scared; I’m scared. But, then, I was scared before. And it doesn’t matter. There’s something more important than me at stake here. Prove whatever you’ve got to prove and then I’ll tell you about it.”

“So completely stupid,” Delos raged. But Maggie had the odd feeling that his anger was more against himself than her. “You don’t think I’ll hurt you,” he said.

“You’re wrong there.”

“I
will
hurt you. I’ll show you—”

“You can kill me,” Maggie said clearly. “But that’s all you can do. I told you, you can’t control me. And you can’t change what’s between us.”

He was very, very angry now. The fathomless pupils of his eyes were like black holes, and Maggie suddenly remembered that he wasn’t just a vampire, or just a weapon, but some doomsday creature with powers meant for the end of the world.

He hovered over her with his fangs showing.

“I
will
hurt you,” he said. “Watch me hurt you.”

He bent to her angrily, and she could see his intent in his eyes. He meant to frighten and disillusion…

…and he kissed her mouth like raindrops falling on cool water.

Maggie clung to him desperately and kissed back. Where they touched they dissolved into each other.

Then she felt him tremble in her arms and they were both lost.

It was like the first time when their minds had joined. Maggie felt a pulsing thrill that enveloped her entire body. She could feel the pure line of communication open between them, she could feel herself lifted into that wonderful still place where only the two of them existed and nothing else mattered.

Dimly, she knew that her physical self was falling forward, that they were both falling, still clasped in each other’s arms. But in the hushed place of crystalline beauty where she
really
was, they were facing each other in a white light.

It was like being inside his mind again, but this time he was there opposite her, gazing at her directly. He didn’t look like a doomsday weapon anymore, or even like a vampire. His black-lashed golden eyes were large, like a solemn child’s. There was a terrible wistfulness in his face.

He swallowed, and then she heard his mental voice. It was just the barest breath of sound.
I don’t want this—

Yes, you do,
she interrupted, indignant. The normal barriers
that existed between two people had melted; she knew what he was feeling, and she didn’t like being lied to.