Tempt the Stars (14 page)

For the tenth time I told myself to stop this and just wind down already. I had a full day tomorrow. I needed to clear my head. I needed some sleep. I needed—

Hell, I knew what I needed.

I also knew I wasn’t going to get it.

It was one of the problems of living with creatures with supernatural senses. They were with me
all the time.
Even when they weren’t right by my side, they might as well have been. And it wasn’t just their noses I had to worry about. Vampire hearing meant every breath was noted, every word, every sigh—

My fingers curled against the warm, wet tile, but it didn’t help. I needed some alone time. I needed some
space
. The most I’d been by myself lately had been that short time in Pritkin’s room, and then I’d mostly been asleep. Not that it mattered, since a war zone wasn’t conducive to certain things, although if I’d thought about it, I might have been desperate enough . . 

I glanced at the shower door, which was all fogged up. That and the heavy fall of warm water made it feel almost like I was somewhere else. I could close my eyes and imagine a waterfall or a rain forest or . . . or a
shower
with no vampires around. I wasn’t real picky right now.

I stood there for a moment, wondering how a person got to the point where she actually had to have an internal debate over whether or not to masturbate. I felt a half-hysterical giggle rise to my lips at the sheer absurdity of it, which, of course, I also had to swallow back down. The great Pythia, demigoddess and heir to the throne of Artemis . . 

Couldn’t even get herself off.

Only I could. I absolutely could. It felt like I wanted it so badly, was so close to the edge, that I might not have to do that much at all. I could just let my hand smooth over my breasts, slide over my stomach, and then just follow the trails of water a little . . . bit . . . lower. . . 

And feel the sudden shock of hands on my body, a tongue sliding up my naked spine.

I should have jumped; I almost did jump. But I knew that tongue. I knew those hands. I knew . . . oh
God
.

The palms were warm, in defiance of the legend. The fingers were roughened by calluses formed hundreds of years ago, in wars most people had forgotten. And the touch . . . was masterful.

That’s what five hundred years of experience does for you, I thought wildly, as a water-slick body pressed against mine.

I didn’t turn around. I didn’t move. I hadn’t expected to see Mircea tonight, had been psyching myself up for even a
phone call
, and now . . 

I wanted to speak, to tell him I was sorry, to tell him it hadn’t been how it looked. But my throat had closed up, and nothing came out. Except a groan, as wet, naked skin slid against me, with an almost electric frisson.

Mircea didn’t say anything, either, not in words. But I knew the tense and flex of that lean body, and it didn’t need words. The hands that had been gentle a moment before gripped my hips, fingers digging into my naked flesh. And pulled me roughly back against him, abruptly enough to wrest another gasp from my lips.

Or maybe that was the image that flashed across my vision, of a powerful body standing under the spray, one arm braced against the wall, tight jaw beaded with water, and eyes half-lidded as he . . . pleasured himself?

It didn’t make sense, any more than the fact that the tiles he was leaning against were a different color from mine. Or that the shower he was standing in was configured in a different direction, making my brain hurt. But I didn’t have time to process it, because the visuals were a little . . . overwhelming.

Wet dark hair streaming over his shoulders, free as few ever saw it. Chest running with rivulets, stomach and buttocks tight with effort, biceps hard and bunching on the arm that he was braced with, and the one he was using to hold himself. Only hold wasn’t the right word.

He was pulling out of the cage of his palm in long, slow strokes and then surging in hard, letting me feel the power behind each thrust. There was none of the butterfly touch he often used with me, which I’d mistaken for his preference. But which I now realized was the result of a vampire overcompensating for the fragility of a human, so afraid he might hurt her that he was overgentle, overcautious.

He wasn’t being cautious now. And it was beautiful, he was beautiful, in his casual brutality. Someone who couldn’t hurt himself and knew he couldn’t, pushing his limits, reaching for a climax that—

Suddenly included me?

Those incredible eyes closed, sharp teeth buried in his lower lip, and a frown of intense concentration came over his face. A hand pushed my wet curls to the side, the tongue found the indentations on my neck he’d left there as a mark of his possession. And something like an electric shock reverberated through me. Hands slid over my body, furling my nipples, tightening my skin, even before an unmistakable thickness slid against me.

It was hard and hot and unbelievably heavy. Mircea wasn’t small, even soft, and like this he was both eye-widening and somewhat terrifying. At least normally. But right now there was none of that. Just this, just gasping breath and raw need and pulsing, unfulfilled ache, and I was actually going to explode, to come apart at the seams, to go completely insane if he didn’t—

“Oh God.
Yes.
” That’s what I’d wanted, what I’d needed, not my own touch but his, the feel of him as I wrapped my legs around his waist—

And almost fell off. My back was against wet, slippery tile, my front was against soapy, slippery vampire, and any moment now, I was going to land in an undignified heap. And given my experience, probably on my butt. But then Mircea slid strong hands underneath my thighs, boosting me up, bracing me with his body as he pushed into me—

Carefully, as he hadn’t been just moments ago. He was slowing down, being cautious, holding back. And I didn’t want that.

“No,” I gasped, even as he held me, so, so carefully. Like I was china, like I might break. When I wanted to break; I wanted to
feel.
“Not like that. Like before.”

“I’ll hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

But Mircea was being stubborn. “My fantasy, my rules,” he told me, shifting position, getting that last half inch . . . just there. . . 

“That’s cheating,” I gasped. “And it’s my fantasy.”

A dark eyebrow quirked, causing a miniature cascade down one sculpted cheek. “Forgive me,
dulceaţă
, but I believe this is
my
fantasy, which would explain why you are being difficult.”

“You like it when I’m difficult?”

“I like you any way,” he murmured into my ear, dark, wet hair falling around me as he sped up—

But not enough.

Long, thick strokes were more maddening than satisfying, and I’d about had it. “Damn it!” I tongued his earlobe. “Do what I tell you!”

He slowed down even further, a long, sensual glide. “Make me.”

I bit down on that tantalizing bit of flesh, and felt him vibrate against me. Oh, he’d liked that, had he? “Harder,” I ordered.

“
That
is cheating,” he muttered, but the pace sped noticeably up.

I bit his neck next, right at the spot where hard shoulder met strong throat, and he barked out a laugh. “Now I know I’m dreaming.”

It bled a little, but the water washed it away. I bit higher next time, closer to the point where he’d left his mark on my own neck, and felt him suddenly go rigid against me. And then shove me into the wall and
take
me, with a reckless abandon that left me breathless and aching and gasping and—

“Cassie?”

I did jump that time, and gave a shriek, almost falling on my ass. Because that hadn’t been Mircea’s voice. It took a disorienting second of clinging to the soap dish to process the fact that a) those had been Marco’s deep tones, b) they were outside the shower, c) there was no one in here except for me, and d) I might possibly be going crazy, but that wasn’t exactly news.

“Are you all right?” Marco demanded.

I didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure I could. I was panting like a freight train and my eyes were crossing as I struggled to suppress a really inappropriate orgasm. What the
hell
?

“Cassie?”

I swallowed, staring at the fogged-up door, where the light from the bedroom was mostly blocked by Marco’s Roman profile. He was looking at the wall, despite the fact that even vampire eyes couldn’t have seen much in here, because he knew how I was. They all knew how I was about bodily modesty, which was stupid considering how much of the time I ended up naked, but there you go.

But he wouldn’t be outside for long, if I didn’t manage an answer. Preserving what was left of my modesty wasn’t his job; keeping me alive was. And I’d almost died in the bath once before, because people hadn’t wanted to disturb me, although how I would manage to kill myself in a shower was debatable. But let’s face it, if anybody could . . 

“Cassie.” And okay, that had the “you have exactly three seconds to respond before I charge in and save you, so if you don’t want saving, you better damned well speak up” tone. And since I was still sprawled against the wall, body tight and shuddering, I decided that might not be a great plan.

“I . . . yes. Yes.”

“Are you sure?” He didn’t sound convinced, and I couldn’t blame him. My voice had been a broken croak.

I cleared my throat and tried again. “Yes, I—I’m fine.”

“Okay. It’s just you’ve been in there awhile.”

Yeah, I guessed so. My fingertips were going pruney, and I felt more than a little waterlogged. Along with really, really confused.

I swallowed. “I was just about to get out.”

“All right.”

“Marco . . . you . . . haven’t heard from Mircea tonight, have you?”

“No, it’s a little early for him to check in. There’s a time difference between here and New York, you know.”

“Yeah. I know.”

“I’ll tell him you’re fine if he calls. Get some sleep, Cassie.”

“I’ll do that,” I said, staring at my empty shower.

After all, tomorrow was going to be hell.

Hell, it turned out, looked a lot like Vegas.

Not the neon, glitz-and-twinkly-kind. More the arid-sand-littered-with-desperate-people kind, but still. There was a vague sort of familiarity to it. I wondered why a certain green-eyed demon had never mentioned it.

Of course, he hadn’t mentioned much,
I thought angrily, just as the guy at my side went sprawling.

There was nothing to have caused it that I could see, except for his own dusty pair of Pradas, but he hit hard nonetheless. I stopped abruptly and went into a crouch, afraid we’d just tripped some ward or other his senses had missed. But I guess not. Because a second later, he flipped over, sand clinging to one side of an elegant profile, and stared at the pale blue sphere I’d decided to call the sky. And cursed inventively.

I took a swig from the too-warm water in my canteen and waited it out. “Do you want to ride the camel thing?” I asked when the tirade finally tapered off.

The only answer was another spate of cursing.

“Guess not,” I said, and passed the canteen to the third member of our trio, who finished it off in one hearty swallow.

“Did you just drink
all
the water?” Casanova demanded, struggling to sit up. Only to have the beast’s ratty tail smack him in the face.

I’d have had some smart-aleck response to that. Something about Casanova being a vampire and not really needing water. Or about the likelihood of his spilling it, considering his current lack of grace. Or about the fact that we’d gone to a lot of trouble to find someone willing to sell us one of the camel things just so he could ride instead of staggering through the dust like a drunken frat boy.

But Caleb just looked down at him impassively. He did impassive well, along with big, black, bald, and intimidating. In fact, I hadn’t seen anything Caleb didn’t do well, except for putting up with Casanova’s histrionics. I guess war mages were made of sterner stuff. At least, war mages willing to go into hell to rescue a buddy were. But even Caleb’s patience was starting to wear thin.

As a dusty boot to Casanova’s couture-clad posterior made plain. “Get up.”

Brown eyes that were currently neither rich, nor mellow, nor enticing glared up at him from under a fall of silky dark hair. “If you’d release this infernal spell, I wouldn’t be on the ground to begin with!”

“A hobble spell doesn’t keep you from walking,” Caleb said, crossing his arms.

“No, it keeps me from walking properly. Or running, which I might damned well need to do!”

“It wouldn’t have been necessary if you’d volunteered.”

“Oh, of course!” Casanova said, fighting with the voluminous robes that we’d bought off a fellow traveler to cover up his Armani. “Of course this is my fault! Of course it is. I can’t imagine why I wouldn’t volunteer to walk into hell!”

Caleb just continued to look at him. As one of Pritkin’s oldest friends in the Corps, and the only other person besides Casanova who knew who he really was, he’d been a natural addition to the rescue posse. Casanova had been less so—a lot less—but we needed him. Or, more precisely, we needed the camouflage his body provided to our guide.

Said guide was looking at him in mild reproach at the moment. “I’ve told you—you aren’t in any danger, Carlos,” Rian said, using his birth name. I’d gotten the impression that she found his pretensions a bit trying. “A host is not responsible for the actions of his demon. If we are caught, I will tell them I forced you—”

“I
was
forced,” he said viciously. “No one in his right mind would be here otherwise!”

Rian didn’t comment. She did that a lot. It was probably why she and Casanova had managed to maintain their relationship for so long. Of course, the fact that she chose to manifest as a beautiful black-haired, vaguely Persian-looking woman, with huge dark eyes, honey-colored skin, and ruby red lips probably hadn’t hurt.

And unlike her host, Rian had volunteered to help out. She’d known Pritkin a long time, from his days as a young man at his father’s court, and she’d always been sympathetic to his situation. Which was lucky, since getting into said court was turning out to be more complicated than I’d thought.

Casanova, on the other hand, clearly felt that he was better suited for lounging around someone’s boudoir than for slogging through hell. Not that he was slogging particularly well.

But he did finally drag his six feet of outraged litheness off the sand.

“How much farther?” he demanded.

Rian glanced at the sky. “Don’t worry, I’ve timed it perfectly. We’ll reach the city by nightfall. I’ll need to merge with you at least an hour before that, or risk being detected.”

“Yes, and we wouldn’t want that,” Casanova muttered.

“No, you wouldn’t,” she said seriously. “You’re in no danger, Carlos. But if I am discovered, the master may well revoke my rights to any more time on earth. He feels it has been unfairly extended as it is.”

“I don’t see why,” I said, grabbing the reins of the camel thing. It seemed to like Casanova. Or his hair, anyway. It kept trying to eat it.

“To avoid overfarming earth, the demon lords made an agreement,” she reminded me. “Only a set number of each of our races is allowed on earth at one time. We have to take turns.”

“But you’re still on yours. Aren’t you allowed three hosts?”

“Yes.” She shot a sideways look at Casanova, who was reacting typically to the camel-slobber cowlick he’d just been graced with. “But I do not think anyone expected me to find an immortal for my last host. I should have been forced to return centuries ago.”

“But, technically, you aren’t breaking any rules.”

“I am now,” she said quietly as we merged back into the ragged line of similar groups all heading in the same direction.

I was actually grateful for them, since the “road” was invisible as far as I could see, just endless miles of reddish clay baked into giant cracked plates by the parching sun. Only an occasional dried-up twig of a tree poking out of one of the cracks broke the monotony, along with the scattered line of travelers, all going in more or less the same direction. Mother had neglected to mention that the main court of the incubi was a damned long way from the portal we’d passed through to get here.

Of course, that wouldn’t normally have been a problem. Rian could shift into and out of the demon world the same way I could shift across the human. But the demon lords were paranoid of one another and closely guarded their main courts, and Rosier had just increased the security on his from tight to maniacal. So no shifting. She’d had to go through the incubus version of the TSA in order to get home, just like every other demon.

Luckily, our group didn’t include any other demons. And as far as the guards at the gate had been concerned, that meant we basically counted as the in-flight meal. Of course, that begged the question of how, exactly, we were going to get out when our group
did
include another demon, and one on the top of the “no fly” list.

Damn, I hoped Mom had been right.

“Who are all these people?” Caleb asked, watching the passersby.

They weren’t as interesting as I’d expected, at least what I could see. A lot of them were muffled up as much as we were, against the overhead glare and the intermittent gusts of wind that whipped fine sand into every available orifice. But they looked vaguely human, at least most of them, a bunch of tattered, hungry-looking types in dusty rags.

Or rather, those on foot like us were. But every once in a while, a clatter of hooves and a miniature dust cloud announced the passage of more prosperous-looking individuals, in fine, loose robes to protect them from the sun. I couldn’t see much of them, either, since both men and women had veils hanging from turbans or other head coverings, probably to try to cut down on the amount of rose-colored dust they breathed in. But there were glimpses of bright-colored silks underneath their outer robes, and they rode in comfortable-looking carts.

Rian glanced around disinterestedly. “Servants, or those who would be so. Traders—the few who can be trusted. The people of this world returning home after journeys elsewhere . . ”

“People of this world?” Caleb looked confused.

“There are many hells,” she told him. “It is merely a term for worlds in this dimension. Kazallu is one; earth is another.”

“Bullshit. We do not live in hell!”

“Speak for yourself,” Casanova said, limping from what turned out to be a rock in his shoe.

“
A
hell,” Rian said, unperturbed. “When we found this one, eons ago, the people on it were . . . primitive, few in number, dying of disease, famine, war. We took control and helped them.”

“Fed on them, you mean,” Caleb interjected.

“To an extent. But they are not very . . . nutritious? They provide a subsistence, nothing more. That is why our time on earth is so prized. In a few years there, we amass power that would take centuries here.”

“So we’re cattle to you,” Caleb said, as if she’d just confirmed something long suspected.

Rian shot him a flirtatious glance. “Prized cattle, surely.”

“Oh, stop it,” Casanova said irritably. “She’s just teasing you,” he added to Caleb, making me blink.

I looked at Rian, but her violet-dusted lids were lowered, the long lashes shading her high cheekbones. And then back at Casanova. And then I wondered how a predator didn’t notice when he met a greater one.

But I didn’t say anything, and neither did she, being busy pulling a veil across the bottom of her face and turning away slightly, as another vehicle approached ours.

This one was different, a sporty two-wheeler, almost like a chariot, and driven like one, too. I didn’t have to ask who it belonged to; Rian’s reaction was enough. The incubus-possessed driver hadn’t bothered with an outer cloak like everyone else. Instead, he wore a fine, thin red silk robe embroidered with gold that flashed in the light as he all but ran us down, scattering us lesser beings to either side as he thundered past.

“Son of a—why couldn’t we get one of those?” Casanova demanded.

“They’re restricted to the Danim, those hosting an incubus,” Rian told him. “It would attract too much at

tention.”

“And my bloody feet won’t?”

“If it could cost you so much, why are you helping us?” Caleb asked her, eyes narrowed.

“Shouldn’t you have asked that before we got here?” Casanova demanded.

“I’m asking now.”

“The feud between John and his father is tearing the family apart,” Rian told him. “Among other things, it is making the master look weak. Some have begun to say, if he cannot control his own son, perhaps he should not be the one to control the family—and that is dangerous.”

“Who else would do it?”

“As at any court, ours has factions, senior demons and their followers, who constantly vie with each other for advantage. Rosier himself is usually above such squabbles, but John is his weak point and everyone knows it. And as with all who hold power, he has enemies.”

“Imagine that,” Casanova said poisonously. “And such a pleasant creature.”

“He is better than those who would replace him,” Rian said, more sharply.

“When you said this was tearing the family apart, does that mean some are taking Pritkin’s side?” I asked hopefully. Because we could use more friends.

But of course not.

“No. No one understands his reluctance to feed. It is seen as proof of his humanness, his alienness. No incubus could go so long. . . ” She shuddered. “It is against our very nature, against everything we are.”

“Then it sounds like everybody agrees with Rosier,” I said sourly.

But she shook her head. “Almost no one does. Few understood his obsession with obtaining a half-human child, and even fewer can comprehend why he refuses to let that child live as he chooses. Yes, John could be an asset to the family if he would use his powers on our behalf. But if he will not . . ”

“Oh yes. The horror,” Casanova said bitterly. “His father wants him to live in the lap of luxury, surrounded by beautiful women, and be treated like a prince. And all he has to do in return is sex up a few probably gorgeous demons. But what does he choose instead?”

“To live his own life,” I said. “To not be prostituted out by his father to gain power for Rosier’s ambitions. Which he doesn’t have control over and which could be any damned—”

“Oh, please. We’re all cogs in someone else’s ambitions, whether we like it or not. That’s life. If you’re smart, instead of bucking the system, you get what you can out of it.”

“Yeah, if you’re a selfish son of a—”

“Don’t even try that, little girl,” Casanova snapped. “
I’m
selfish? What about your precious mage? We’re at
war
, in case you didn’t notice.”

“That’s the reason he’s here,” I said impatiently. “He saved me—”

“Yes, one person. And what about the rest of us?”

“What about you? What was Pritkin supposed to do—”

“He was supposed to realize that, if he would get his head out of his ass, bow that stubborn neck to his father, and ask nicely, maybe he could get us some allies worth a damn!”

“What are you talking about?”

“The demon lords,” Casanova said severely. “The demon
council.
Do you have any idea how much power they have?”

“Carlos . . ” Rian said quietly.

“You want somebody to win this war for you, to do it fast?” Casanova demanded, ignoring her. “That’s where you want to turn for help. But instead, what are we doing?” He flung out a hand. “We’re doing our best to piss

them off!”

“Carlos—” Rian said, a bit more urgently.

But Casanova was on a roll. “Let’s look at the facts, shall we? The damned mage gets his back up, decides he doesn’t want to be a demon. So he comes to earth, forgetting that you don’t merely get to wave something like that away. You are what you are. Denying it is just a head game you play with yourself. But his head game resulted in a girl getting dead—”

“That’s not fair!” I said, glaring at him.

“Of course it’s fair. He may not have planned to kill her, but he drained her, didn’t he? Yes, Rian told me,” he said, at my outraged expression. “If I’m going to risk my neck getting him back, I deserved to know.”