Goddess of the Rose (32 page)

“No one—no one would. But I'm not stupid. You made Hecate angry. The Empousa's gone. The roses are sick. I'm here, and it's you who brought me. Come on—it's just not that tough to figure out that something happened between the two of you.”

“I am forbidden to speak of the past.”

“I get that. You and everyone else around here are forbidden. But I'm not, so let me explain something to you. One—I am not her. I'm sure I'm quite a bit older, and, let's say for the sake of argument, quite a bit wiser. Two—I come from another world, which means I don't have the prejudices the women of this world have. For example, I don't have a problem getting my fingers dirty taking care of the roses. And I don't have a problem seeing the man within you. Now, I want you to answer one question honestly and clearly for me, and I don't want to hear any of this ‘I am forbidden to speak of it' crap.”

“Ask,” he said.

“Is there a rule that says Hecate's Empousa cannot love her Guardian?”

His dark eyes met hers. “I know of no such rule, but there has never been any need for one.”

Mikki held her breath and said, “There is now.”

“Mikado, you say you see the man within me?” His voice was strained.

“Actually, what I'm saying is that I might be falling in love with the man within you. I think I have been since you came to my dreams.” She wasn't touching him, but she was standing close enough that she could see that his body was trembling.

“That may be, and just hearing you say those words is a rare and wondrous gift, one I have never before been given. But you must understand that though I have the heart and soul of a man, I also have the passions of a beast. I force the beast to submit to me, but he is always present, and he is as ravenous as the man for love.”

Mikki felt a rush of emotion that made her heartbeat increase. But she wasn't afraid. She was fascinated. She took his hand and slowly raised it to her lips.

“I could not love the man without accepting the beast.”

“Does it not make you fear me?” his deep voice growled.

She rested her cheek against his hand. He cupped her face, and she kissed his palm. “Does the beast within you want to hurt me?”

“No! He wants to love you, but he doesn't know how.”

“Then we'll have to teach him.”

They finished gathering the threads in silence, but their hands met often and their eyes spoke of dreams yet to be fulfilled. They retraced their path through the forest, too preoccupied with one another to sense the presence that lurked in the shadows, its red eyes ravenously following their every movement.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

A
STERIUS carried the threads wrapped in the silk palla, and they made their way quickly through the sleeping gardens. They walked closely together, with arms brushing. He welcomed the sizzle of pain that contact with her body caused him. It was a price he was gladly willing to pay for her closeness.

Asterius's mind was a blur of thoughts.
Her touch still pains me, so she does not love me yet, but could she be falling in love with me? Could it be possible? And if she isn't—if this is a sham or an odd impulse she deigned to follow, but will regret
. . . His chest tightened. He should leave tonight with the gift of words and hope she had given him. It was enough.

It was not enough!
The beast within him roared.

Asterius's mind and heart were at war, and he remained silent, fighting internal battles and savoring the soft brush of her arm against his.

Mikki tried not to think at all. Every so often she would steal a sideway glance at his strong profile—the square jaw, wide forehead, pointed onyx horns . . . A chill shivered through her—part trepidation, part fascination. She wasn't going to think. She was going to follow her instincts.

Both of them were preoccupied enough that together they were surprised when the stairway to Mikki's balcony was suddenly in front of them.

“I will take the threads to the Dream Weavers,” he said gruffly.

“That's a good idea. They're waiting for you.” She made a motion as if she wanted to touch the pile of gleaming thread but seemed to think better of it and dropped her hand to her side. She looked from the threads into his eyes and said, “The dream that we were in—will the women see it and weave it into a tapestry, too?”

He looked thoroughly surprised by her question. “I do not know. I have no personal experience with dreams coming true.”

Mikki tilted her head back so she could look up into his face more easily. “You don't have dreams?”

“I do, but they do not come true. Since I swore an oath to be in Hecate's service, I have been watching the dreams of others come true without being granted any of my own.” He continued to look into her eyes. “You already know I am the son of a Titan and I have lived for countless centuries, with more centuries stretching endlessly before me. I also want you to know I will remember today for as long as my heart beats.”

“You sound like today is over.”

He smiled, flashing sharp, white teeth, but his eyes remained sad. “It was a pleasing day, but as with all things, it, too, must end.”

Mikki didn't want it to end, not yet. She wanted . . . she wanted him to . . . Her mind fumbled through possibilities. What did she really want him to do? Standing so close to him she was, once again, struck by his size and the powerful melding of man and animal—the cloven hooves and furred legs—the muscular chest and powerful shoulders—the face that looked like it should belong to an ancient warrior god and not a creature who was part beast. In her dream she had been pursued by him and then had ended up in his arms. It had been erotic and exciting, but it had been a dream. Reality was much different. For one thing, he was definitely not pursuing her. For another, she had to remember what he'd said about the beast within him. She was no fairy-tale Beauty, and he was not going to turn into a foppish prince if she agreed to marry him. Hell, he hadn't even asked her. Who knew what his intentions were—half the time his expression was so masked that she couldn't even guess at what he was thinking.

But what were
her
intentions? She'd admitted to him that she might be falling in love with him. What did that mean? Just how hard and far was she willing to fall?

“If there is nothing else you require of me, then I bid you good night, Mikado.”

When he finally spoke, she realized she'd been standing there staring stupidly, speechlessly at him. She blinked her eyes, feeling a little like she was coming out of a trance.

“There is one more thing you can do for me.”

Mikki climbed quickly up three of the balcony steps. He started to follow her, but she turned so he had to stop abruptly. She was almost at eye level with him, and for a moment he just stood there, enjoying the exquisite sensation of being so physically close to a woman who did not shrink from him or treat him as if he was an errant hound. Then she put her hands on his shoulders.

“What may I do for you, Mikado?” Despite the instant pain that began to radiate through his skin at her touch, he tried to speak as softly as possible, mentally cursing his inhumanly powerful chest and the voice that boomed from it, afraid that he would frighten her again. Afraid that she would stop touching him . . . or that she would not.

“This,” she whispered.

She leaned forward and touched her lips to his. He could not move. It was as if her kiss had turned him back into stone. She pulled away, but only by a hand's width, so she could meet his eyes.

“Your lips are warm,” she said, still whispering.

“Yours—yours are unimaginably soft.” He somehow got the words free from where they had lodged in his throat.

“May I kiss you again?”

He knew she could feel his body trembling under the uncommon and bittersweet pleasure caused by the weight of her small hands. Not trusting himself to maintain control of his voice, he nodded.

This time her lips lingered. With a supreme effort of will, he pushed aside the white-hot jolt of pain and drank her in. Her scent filled his senses. Mikado was sweet rose spice and warm mortal woman, and she was touching him—kissing him—almost in his arms. It was more intoxicating than any of the magick he had at his command.

“It's better if you kiss me back,” she murmured against his lips.

As he had watched so often in other men's dreams, he opened his mouth slightly and tilted his head. When her tongue flicked briefly against his, Asterius's body responded automatically. With a growl that changed to a moan, he dropped the palla so the luminous threads spilled all around them on the stairs. His hands came up and circled the gentle curve of her waist. She leaned farther forward so her full breasts pressed against the leather of his cuirasse. He could feel the heavy heat of them, just as he could taste her. He wanted her with a lust that was as white hot as the agony that was coupled with his desire. His pulse pounded in his temples as his blood surged in streams of liquid fire through his body. There was nothing in the world except Mikado—her touch, her taste, her heat. He had to have her. Even if the pain destroyed him, he had to have her! He had to bury himself in her and pump an eternity of need into her seductive warmth. Her arms went around his shoulders, and the kiss deepened. He slid one hand up the smooth line of her back as the other dropped down to cup her irresistibly round ass and bring her closer, holding her tightly against his throbbing length.

Ah, Goddess! He'd never felt anything like the delicious pain of having her body pressed against his.

His pain-filled and lust-fogged mind didn't register her first cry. He only heard the second because she had begun to struggle to get away from him. Breathing hard, he forced himself to lift his mouth from hers. Then he smelled blood. Her blood. He stared at her lips. They looked swollen, bruised. One was cut and bleeding. Her eyes were wide and she, too, was panting for breath.

“No!” he growled. Releasing her, he staggered back a step.

She took a shaky step back, too, so her body pressed against the banister. When her back touched the marble, she winced.

“What have I done?” he rasped.

“Your claws . . .” she began, her voice sounding unnaturally shrill. “You must have scratched me.”

He looked down at his hands. His claws were fully extended. His eyes shot to her.
Oh, Goddess! Please no! Please don't let me have harmed her!

“Let me see your back,” he said, but when he started to move toward her, she jerked back another step away from him. He stopped, as if she had driven a stake through him, impaling him into place.

“It's fine. I'm sure I'm fine.”

Mikado's eyes were filled with fear—and something else. Something he was sure he recognized—loathing. He knew the look too well. He'd seen it the night the other Empousa had rejected him. Her eyes, too, had told him she feared and loathed the beast. Slowly, making no further move to touch her, he collected the spilled threads, gathering them into the palla. Then he straightened and walked down the staircase before allowing himself to look at her again. She was still standing with her back pressed to the banister, watching him with wide, stunned eyes.

“I did not mean to hurt you. I do not ask you to forgive me, because I know that is not possible, but I do ask you to try to believe that I did not want to hurt you. I would never want to hurt you.” With a choked growl, he turned and fled into the night.

When he was gone, Mikki wiped a trembling hand across her mouth and winced. She felt the cut on her lip with her tongue. She hadn't even known his teeth had done that. Her knees were wobbly, and she climbed the winding staircase slowly, but she didn't go to her room. She kept walking along the length of the balcony and down the stairs that hugged the eastern side of it. Thankfully, she didn't have to call for Daphne. As she'd ordered earlier that evening, the servants had begun leaving thick towels and extra chitons and nightdresses, along with soaps and oils and jugs of wine in large baskets near the baths. They had, of course, protested that it was their duty to attend to the Empousa's needs at all hours. But Mikki had insisted. She'd known she would want the privacy to bathe without being attended to and watched—she just hadn't known she'd want it this soon.

She unwound herself from the chiton, filled a goblet from a jug of red wine and gingerly lowered herself into one of the steaming pools, sucking in a breath as the mineral water covered her back.

It had scared the shit out of her. She'd been kissing him and liking it. He'd tasted like man with something musky mixed in—something as alien as it was exciting. And he'd felt . . . she shivered. He'd felt like stone, only his body was warm and unbelievably powerful. And he'd wanted her. Desperately. She could feel his muscles bunch and quiver under her touch. She reveled in the hard length of his erection as it pressed insistently against her, and her own body responded with an answering heat and wetness that felt so damn good it made the back of her teeth ache. She'd rubbed against him, teasingly erotic, loving how easily she could feel his body through the thin silk of her chiton. The low, rumbling growl he'd breathed into her mouth had thrilled her. She was doing that to him! It was she who had held that incredibly powerful beast in her arms and made him tremble for her. She'd molded herself against him, fitting her softness to him. It had been like her dream, only better. She didn't have to wake up alone and limp from an unsatisfying solo orgasm. He was right there. She could have him—all of him.