Читать книгу Masked Desire - Alana Delacroix - Страница 14

Chapter 8

Cormac watched Michaela shut the bedroom door behind her. He was fairly certain she wouldn’t leave without him again…but not completely sure.

Now he sighed and regarded the couch. Since it was a little too short for him to sleep comfortably, there was only one thing to do. He pulled the pillows and thick duvet from his bedroom and settled down in front of her door. There was no way Michaela would get around him again.

He had only himself to blame. He should have kept a better eye on her. She resented his role as Watcher, but he’d thought her slavish adherence to orders meant she would play by the rules. That she hadn’t done so intrigued him. There was more to Michaela than he’d thought.

The apartment was peaceful despite the annoying little blue security light beaming on the balcony. She didn’t need the rest of the beeps and bells. He was here to protect her now.

He paused. That’s not what he was here for. This was a problem. Like all fey, he possessed a protective streak and as a caintir, it was almost impossible to combat. Kiana herself had warned him about it during one of their first training sessions. “The dolma wants all,” she’d said, her amber eyes wise. “Look at a fallen tree overgrown with vines.”

He’d laughed. “I’m a vine?”

She’d remained serious. “Yes. Your connection to the dolma means you will always have to fight a poisonous possessiveness. Otherwise, you too will choke the life out of what you love.”

Since he only loved Yetting Forest and his sister, and was now in exile, that hadn’t been a problem for him. Michaela had roused those latent, primal emotions and made it clear that she expected him to mind his own business.

Not an easy ask.

Michaela was also more powerful than he had anticipated. He dredged his memory for what he knew about the masquerada. They had status levels, he knew, that were dependent on how many masques an individual could shift into. They were notorious for their blind worship of power. He frowned. Eric, the Hierarch, could shift into any form he pleased, and wasn’t constrained by race, gender, or age. In her life outside of Pharos, Michaela was the highest ranking member of Eric’s advisory council. Eric had made a Herculean effort to get his people to accept each other’s worth regardless of how many masques they could take on, but it was a slow process. To be on that council, Michaela needed to be strong.

Seeing her as a vampire had been a shock. While there was no treaty against it, there was an unspoken agreement that masquerada only appeared in human masques. They were already the most numerous of all the arcane groups, and their ability to take on other personas made them feared. Who could know how many infiltrators one had when they wore the faces of your friends?

Physically, she was also capable of almost ripping out a human’s arm without even blinking. That part, he had no problem with. It was kind of sexy, in a way.

Michaela’s wooden floor hummed softly beneath him and he adjusted the blankets to prevent his flesh pressing against it. What had occurred in the alley with the pigeons couldn’t happen again; he’d been weak. Cormac wouldn’t be surprised if his old enemy Rendell made a habit of spying on him in the hopes of finding something to further discredit him to the queen, as if he could drop any lower in her eyes. Finding out Cormac was a caintir would be a choice morsel for him to bring back to the queen.

The pendant, with the leaf from his tree, lay heavy on his chest, a countdown clock reminding him of his first and only real responsibility. His forest needed him and nothing would distract him from his goal. He’d taken on the Watcher role to find out who had killed the man he needed, not as Michaela’s guard or protector.

Nor could he get drawn into the easy, perfect joy of being a true caintir again. That power was what got Princess Kiana slaughtered. No. He corrected himself. The power didn’t kill her. Kiana’s ability to speak with wolves didn’t kill her. Her influence over the forests and its creatures weren’t what tortured her to death.

Tismelda and her insecurity had done all that.

To speak with the wolves again…He tucked his arms behind his head and stared at the smooth curves of a vase in the living room.

A creak came from Michaela’s room and he listened closely before dismissing it. She was still there and not climbing out a window. He adjusted his pillows and propped his head on his hands. The day had been a series of unanticipated events, especially those involving her. Michaela was aggravating beyond belief. Devious. Robotically rational. Strong-willed. Make that iron-willed. Gorgeous. A vicious vampire. A huge, rough Russian man.

Right. That he’d never seen her shift had blinded him to the point that not only could she shift, but it was the central part of her being. She was a masquerada and he could no more separate that from her than any other trait. What does it feel like for her to be Yuri, or any other masque? he wondered. He would ask one day.

Though not tomorrow, which looked like it would be more irritating hours of by-the-books investigations. His gut still said Rendell had murdered Hiro in a power play to prevent Cormac’s return to the Queendom, but another possibility had come clear the moment he’d seen the security footage of Hiro and had solidified when he saw Michaela’s security precautions. Her work neutralizing the rest of Eric Kelton’s enemies meant she was a high-profile target, and she knew it. Hiro’s death could reasonably have been the result of mistaken identity. If Michaela was the target instead of Hiro, then he would need to find a way to bow out of his Watcher role to pursue other avenues of satiating the queen.

He’d think about it tomorrow. It would give him a puzzle to ponder as he listened to toothless interrogations.

His mind drifted to how to deal with Queen Tismelda. He’d make some discreet checks about the ownership of the forest, but it could take months to settle it. It was almost laughable that he, a creature who had lived for centuries, was now desperately measuring months. Hiro’s forest was the only leverage he’d had to end his exile and it was slipping out of his grasp.

Well, it’s not like he was going to come up with a grand plan in the middle of the night lying here on Michaela’s floor. He shut his eyes, put one hand on his fading leaf pendant, and willed himself to sleep.

* * * *

Cormac woke when a door slammed into his ribs. He groaned, his dream state dropping him for one harrowing minute back into the battlefield of his youth, when he’d been woken by a spear in the side.

No, he was too warm and comfortable for the battlefield. He opened his eyes to Michaela’s triangular face poking through the small gap that led to her bedroom.

She tilted her head. “Were you lying in front of my room all night?”

He rolled slowly to his feet. “Clearly.”

She edged out. Her hair had come out of the braid she had twisted it in for the night and lay in a jetty fall around her face. He blinked. The morning sun streaming into the room lit her eyes and he saw they were a delicious chocolate brown, not the black he assumed. A small spray of freckles dotted her nose and cheeks, and one dark freckle lay near the cupid’s bow of her delicately etched mouth, the lips the palest pink he could imagine.

His gaze travelled down to the white silk she wore, which clung to her every curve.

Michaela cut the reverie short. “Was that necessary?”

He moved out of the way. “After our adventures last night, yes. I think it was.”

She muttered a vile insult in Chinese and stomped her way to the bathroom, hair swishing behind her as she gave her head an indignant toss.

Cormac yawned. Yesterday, Michaela had shown him a small, plain room to use as an exercise space. He folded his blankets and made his way down the hall. Bamboo palms lined the room, narrow leaves shining in the sun. Their simple energy called to him, and he yearned to hover his hand over them to connect to the dolma, but he wouldn’t. Not after last night’s incident. He couldn’t risk it.

He stretched his arms up and out, feeling the aches and stiffness disappear. After moving to the center of the room, he began the meditation exercises Kiana had taught him when he was a child. Combined with physical poses that resembled the yoga practices of the humans, the practice had saved his sanity through the endless years of his exile. During these almost sacred minutes he was able to mesh his fractured self together and believe himself back in his forest, his oak rising high above him.

Michaela entered the room and waited quietly in the corner as he released the final pose.

“There are some mats in the closet,” she said. “Straps and blocks as well.”

Cormac blew stray hair out of his face. “I hope you don’t mind me using your room.”

“Not at all.”

“You use it often?”

“For tai chi, mostly. Very good for mental clarity. Your practice was unfamiliar.” She hesitated, unusual for her. “Will you show me?”

He smiled at the peculiar delight that coursed through him. “If you’ll teach me tai chi.”

She laughed. “I’ll do my best. What’s your practice called?”

“Dolmatan. It promotes inner silence.”

“I like that.” She moved into the room, closer to him and bringing the smell of tuberose in her wake. “I often think those of us born into earlier ages had more silence, more room for thought. I don’t think I’ve managed to outgrow that.”

“Nor I. Although I remember London being loud, with the calls of the sellers and the eternal clacking of horses’ hooves.”

“Wharves were always chaotic.” Michaela’s face was lost in memory. “I was a merchant and the docks were always deafening. Combined with the smell of the fish and the garbage people threw into the water, it made me nauseous.”

“Really?”

“Until I got used to it. Then it smelled like coming home, no matter where I was.”

The kettle whistled from the kitchen and Michaela’s expression instantly reverted into her usual smooth mask. “Can you make the tea?” she asked. “I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”

As a dismissal, it was clear enough, but he lingered in the door. Michaela stood with her hands on her hips, watching him in the long mirror that lined the wall. “The tea?” she repeated.

Was she giving him orders like a servant? He settled against the wall, ready to contradict her when a flash from her eyes warned him to back off. For many long-lived arcana, meditation was a necessity to mentally process the demands of their many years. He shut the door behind him, feeling momentarily ashamed to have prevented her peace.

He went to make the tea.

Precisely twenty minutes later, Michaela came out with tidy hair and calm eyes. She took the cup he gave her with a nod of thanks and sipped. She sipped again, her eyebrows raised. “This is good.”

Despite himself, he felt a rush of pleasure that she enjoyed it.

Ridiculous. What did he care if she liked the tea?

It was nice that she did, though.

* * * *

Although their discussion in her apartment had been polite enough, as Michaela started the car, she felt a barrier slam down between them. It had been difficult for her to get to sleep again last night. The memory of how he had leaned in towards her before they left the car had kept her tossing and turning all night. She’d wanted more.

It was bizarre. She didn’t even like the man. Not only that, she’d seen his face when she’d shifted into Yuri. Under his initial shock was an expression she was used to seeing from other arcana—suspicion mixed with horror. The masquerada were too different from the rest of the arcana. She sniffed. Somehow vampires drinking blood was considered more normal.

She passed a human in a BMW whose rude gesture stopped dead when he saw the glare Cormac gave him.

Now. Just say the words.

“You were right.” Unlike last night, this time she meant it. “I should have woken you. I’m not used to answering to another person about my whereabouts.”

“Thank you.” He touched her hand and that simple gesture nearly skyrocketed her heartbeat. She pulled away, not comfortable with her reaction. “So. You were a vampire last night.”

She didn’t take her eyes off the road. “You had pigeons. I didn’t know fey could summon animals like that.”

“Fine. Let’s make a deal.”

“Shall I buy a vowel?” She glanced over.

His lip quirked. “Wrong show. Here’s what I suggest. We say nothing about last night, at all. That’s it. What happened will stay our secret.”

“Agreed.” Her answer was so prompt that he laughed.

“I’m not done yet. You tell me about taking on arcane masques. That’s not supposed to happen.”

“There’s no rule against it.”

“Then you won’t mind if I mention it to the other councilors.”

She definitely would. “Then you need to tell me about the animals.” She stopped at a red light and faced him, waiting until he started to speak.

“What do you know about the fey?”

She turned back to the road, frowning slightly. “You draw energy from nature, I know that, and protect the forests you’re bonded to. Queen Tismelda’s court is said to be quite an experience, though she doesn’t welcome strangers.”

“True enough. We can sense nature, but most are limited to the plants and animals that are individually located in their ancestral forests.”

Michaela nodded. “I thought it was mostly trees.”

“It is, for most. I’ve lived in the city for so long that the animals are used to me. They reacted to my anger but it was unconscious.” He shrugged. “There’s no more to it than that.”

When she parked the car and made to get out, Cormac stopped her. “No, you don’t. You don’t get to leave when it’s time for my questions.”

“I wasn’t done with my questions but I want out of the car.” Away from being close to him.

“Fine. In my office.”

“In the security room.” Since her own office was a crime scene.

“No, Michaela. You have a team who will want to talk to you and interrupt us. Mine.”

It made sense. It was a logical decision, Michaela told herself. Still, she didn’t like him ordering her around. “The boardroom.”

Now he laughed. “You never give up, do you?”

She smiled. “We’re agreed? The boardroom?”

He shook his head, still smiling. “Agreed.”

A small victory, but after last night, good enough.