Symphony of Light and Winter (9 page)

I walked down the hallway, casting a scowl at the woman worthy enough to decorate Cyril’s walls. I stopped when I heard voices over the creaking of the floorboards. Deep-voiced men prattled on in barely understandable words. I sank to my knees, distributing my weight, and crept toward the voices.

The murmurs came from a large sitting room off the foyer at the bottom of an opulent mahogany staircase. From my vantage point, the room was visible. The seating area contained chocolate-brown leather couches and several russet chairs embossed with brown vines, but the most eye-catching thing were the larger-than-life men filling the room.

A man with wavy, shoulder-length black hair, bronze Mediterranean skin, and a sexy Spanish accent said, “It doesn’t make any sense. What do you think he’s looking for?”

Overton, with his back to me, responded, “Rhys, we think we know what he’s after, but we’re not sure why.”

Another man with a fierce profile inquired, “Stanton, what is it?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing of consequence,” Overton retorted.

Instead of quieting, the fierce-looking man engaged Cyril, who was in attendance but not visible. Deep and menacing, Mr. Fierce growled, “We don’t have any answers and the last time you were out of control we were all at risk. If you remember, your Awakening took seven months. Don’t forget, we may be hard to kill, but we’re not invincible like you, Maker. Do I need to remind you of those fifteen years when—”

Cyril’s voice held authority. “I remember. A little hard to forget. If something should happen, my Awakening would be much shorter. I do understand your concerns, but I’m not going to risk a war on a possibility. Besides, I don’t intend to surrender.”

He revived in seven months? Where had he been all this time then? A sick feeling rushed through me. Was there a connection between his seven-month Awakening and my seven-month coma?

The one called Rhys spoke again. “I think we should use the darts on one of those mindless bastards and you can pick his brain.”

Overton moved to the opposite side of the room. “That’s not a bad idea. Cyril, I’m sure since Myghal’s back, an opportunity will present itself. We have the paralytic darts left over from when we brought Vidius and his minions under control. Whoever we capture doesn’t need to be out long for you to read his mind.”

Mind reading? Oh shit! Had he read my mind? Did he already know my secrets?

In my panic, I reached to steady myself on the banister, but the waxy residue adding shine to the beautiful wood caused me to lose my grip. I slipped and plummeted headfirst down the stairs. Each stair impacted my flesh as I bounced all the way to the bottom. One unkind stair caught me midback and knocked the breath out of me. Frantic footsteps approached. By the time I got my bearings, I was flat on my back looking up into the face of a furious Cyril, an amused Overton, and five other handsome men who all held surprised looks on their faces.

A man with a rugged profile and long auburn hair said, “Well…hello…”

I hurt from the fall, but the look on Cyril’s face made my possible injuries the least of my worries.

“Miss Hill, so nice of you to drop in,” Cyril said through clenched teeth.

Overton moved to offer me his hand, but Cyril pushed him away.

“Could you excuse us, gentlemen, I need to see to Miss Hill. I’m afraid she might need medical attention.” Cyril reached down and lifted my aching body with ease. He cradled me in his arms but made no effort to hide his irritation.

I heard Overton mumble to the other men, “Yes, we think he’s looking for her. We can discuss when Cyril returns. It’s best he explains.” He paused and nodded to the other men. “Yes, I know. I feel it too.”

Cyril didn’t hide his speed. I found myself in the middle of his bed in record time.

His jaw set and his brow furrowed with anger. “Are you hurt?”

“Just a little sore.”

“Were my instructions somehow unclear? You were not to leave the room.”

“I understood every word.” I stretched and said, “Owww.”

“Are you all right?” He leaned over me. For a fraction of a second, his face changed from fury, to concern, then back.

“I think I’ll be fine.”

He stared as he crossed his arms. The moment grew tense with each passing second.

“Cyril, I want to go home.”

No response. His nostrils flared and a bicep twitched as he remained unwavered.

“Are you trying that Jedi mind-reading trick on me?”

His glare became more intense. Still nothing. I never knew when to shut up.

“Cyril, please, Olivia went missing before you kidnapped me…” I paused because he inhaled abruptly and his stance went even more rigid. Trudging forth, I said, “Arthur Landon’s daughter, Olivia, my friend, is missing and I’m very worried. I need to find out if she’s OK. Plus I have to get back to my job.”

“A missing persons report was filed yesterday. They suspect she is dead.”

Tears formed, escaping my eyes.

From behind a stoic glare, he asked, “Did I hear you right? Did you accuse me of reading your mind and kidnapping you?”

His tone spoke volumes; I was fucked. With no good way to answer, I closed my eyes and looked for something to salvage the situation. Wait. Why did I even care if he was mad? Old reliable sarcasm stepped up to the plate. “I didn’t say you read my mind. I asked if you tried. I didn’t know you read minds. You’ll have to forgive me. I’m a lowly human incapable of understanding your godlike powers.” I faked a smile as I rolled my eyes, then asked before he started again, “So, are you telling me that keeping me locked in this room with strict instructions not to leave does not make me a prisoner?”

His eyes narrowed.

Did I render him speechless? Well, will wonders never—

“Let me tell you how I see things, Miss Hill.” His words were forced through gritted teeth. “
I saved you!
I cleaned you. I doctored you, damn it. I’m allowing you to stay in my home, in my bed and use my shower. How dare you accuse me?”

Tears streamed down my face, knowing he wasn’t done. My will to combat him and my need for his acceptance were at odds. He was such an ass, so why did he leave me constantly tied up in emotional knots? I wanted to fucking hate him, but couldn’t.

“Why would I be tolerating your ridiculous excuses if I had read your mind?” His body shook and he took a deep breath.

“You can’t read minds?” I pursed my lips, trying to hide the forming smile.

“What in the hell gave you that impression? Of course I can! But because I can do something, doesn’t mean I choose to. The fact you’re still breathing proves my point.”

His irrational anger and indignation fueled my resolve. Determined, I would not give in.

He leaned over me. “I can read your mind. I can deconstruct you down to a molecular level and reconstruct you into someone far less irritating. There is nothing, Miss Hill, I cannot do. You’d be wise to remember.”

He loomed over me and pressed his body against mine. Amazing. Even when he looked like he’d kill me, he was aroused.

Placing his lips to my ear, in a guttural, deep voice, he growled, “Never forget, Miss Hill, I pull your strings. You are my puppet, not the other way around. The only power you’ll ever have over me is the power I give you and right now, I can’t get you far enough away from me. Go ahead and be a fool. It’s only a matter of time until Myghal comes for you. He’ll do anything to get back at me, including killing you.”

Did he know I knew Myghal was really my late husband, Michael? With the mind reading I wasn’t sure about anything. Pausing for a moment to make sure he had concluded his rant, I bravely whispered, “I don’t think he will kill me.”

He pulled back from my ear, stared me in the eyes, searching for something, then reached into his pocket for his phone. Putting it to his ear, he pressed a button and spoke. “I need you to escort my ungrateful guest home. She has overstayed her welcome.”

Cyril never broke eye contact. I matched his gaze in our silent battle. He did not remove his body from mine until Overton entered the room several minutes later. Cyril then peeled himself away and motioned in my direction. “Get her out of here.” He made for the exit and closed the argument along with the door.

“Certainly.” Overton nodded, walked over to me, and extended his hand. I took it and pulled myself up. Silently crying, I looked up and encountered something I didn’t expect. Overton’s smirk.

“Go ahead, get ready, Mary has other clothes for you. When you’re done, I’ll take you home. I’ll have her put everything salvageable from the fight in a bag for you.” He continued smiling.

“What? Why do you have that look?”

He shook his head. “I find this all amusing.”

“Really? Why? I’m not finding any of this amusing.”

“Cyril can’t see what’s in front of him and it’s driving him crazy.”

“How do you know, especially when it comes to figuring out that man?”

“You’re breathing, right?”

I nodded.

“Then, I’m right.”

* * *

Overton, ever the gentleman, carried my bag to the garage. I made my way to what I thought was the passenger door when he cleared his throat.

“Linden, are you planning to drive?”

“No,” I said and shot him a puzzled look.

“Then you need to come over here.”

Ah, British car.

He opened the door for me. The beige leather adorning the seats was soft and smooth to the touch. The convertible top was down and I ran a finger over the wood-grained dash while Overton took his place in the driver’s seat.

“Is this yours or cranky ass’s?” I propped my arm on the window ledge. Overton didn’t hide his laughter. He pressed a button and the roof closed.

“It’s mine. Your ‘cranky ass’ drives a motorcycle most days, but when desperate he prefers his BMW. I keep telling him he needs to move up in the world, but he’s the most unmovable mountain. I’ll put up the top and windows because you’ll probably find it a bit cold out. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.” His words came laced with casualness, like we were old friends.

“What kind of car is this?”

“This, my dear Linden, is a Bentley Continental GTC High Society.” I could almost see him puff out his chest in pride.

“I’ve never seen one before. It’s beautiful. I’m partial to convertibles.”

He pushed a button on his dash and the garage door opened. He slowly backed out and made his way onto the road.

“What, no blindfold? Aren’t you worried I might find my way back to your secret lair?”

“I’m not worried. I know you’ll be back.”

“Yeah, right.”

We were on Mount Washington as I suspected. The outside of the house looked no different from any other house lining the streets, other than seeming a bit more modern. The exterior was tasteful but bland, given the posh interior furnishings. You would never expect the house to have the large picturesque view or multiple floors while being carved into the side of the mountain.

Once I got my bearings, I sat back in the seat and made myself comfortable. We had thirty minutes of traffic to navigate to get to my apartment. I decided to take advantage of my alone time with Overton.

“I guess since you didn’t ask, you already know where I live.” I tried to hide my irritation.

“Of course. I fully investigated you. You smelled of Cyril. I knew he was four thousand miles away. It wasn’t as though you ran into him by accident.” His voice contained very little inflection.

“Speaking of that, you smelled me? How is it possible? I hadn’t seen Cyril in ten years. Are you the same as Cyril?”

He chuckled again. “No, I’m not the same, different from you, but not the same as him. I could smell you because, since you’ve been intimate with him, he is part of you.”

I guffawed and protested. “Intimate? I’ve never been intimate with Cyril. Are you kidding me?”

“Really? I thought for sure you bit him while he shagged you. He’s usually careful to make sure there’s no chance, but he’s not himself around you.”

The rage boiled up inside me. The thought of Cyril with another woman struck a nerve.

“What do you mean he
usually
makes sure there’s no chance?” My voice shook with anger.

“Now Linden, honestly, you didn’t think him celibate. Actually, he has quite an appetite. When he’s out, it’s nothing for him to take two or three before he’s sated.”

Dear God! I couldn’t listen. I didn’t want to know these things. “Disgusting. What? He just picks up no-name bar trash, has his way with them, and leaves only to come back another night to do it again? He’s a sick bastard.”

Overton laughed. “He doesn’t get many complaints. Oh, come on, Linden, you don’t strike me as the puritanical type. What’s wrong with a man getting his knob polished and a little nip when both he and the woman get what they came for? Those bar wenches know the game. No one is taken advantage of.”

“Ugh, I will never touch him again. He probably has some kind of horrible disease. Disgusting. Wait…nip? He bites them?”

Overton smiled and shook his head with a placating maneuver. “Yes. It gives him strength. No greater source of energy than blood.”

I shook my head and tried to dislodge what I heard. My anger was uncontrollable. “He fucks random strangers and drinks their blood. I’m going to be sick!”

“Not in the car, love. This leather will be harder to clean than Cyril’s boots. He ended up throwing them away, you know. Besides, why do you care? You do nothing but complain about him. If I didn’t know better I would think you were jealous.”

“I liked you better when you didn’t talk so much.”

It dawned on me we still had over ten minutes left before we would be at my apartment, and he still wore a satisfied smile from his last comment. I patted my leg for a few minutes, tapping a familiar rhythm, and watched the passing buildings. Ignoring him wasn’t working. With one final smack against my leg I turned my head toward him and stared. “What are you?” I was done with pleasantries. “And don’t give me any bullshit about how it’s better Cyril tells me. I’m never going to see him again, so spill.”

He laughed.

“Stop fucking laughing and answer the question.”