Marissa Day (5 page)

Corwin bucked wildly beneath her and Darius shouted and pumped his cock uncontrollably against her ass, his fluids hot against her back, and his fingers driving into her. Their twinned ecstasy poured into Miranda, raising her higher and higher still. She was beyond her own body, beyond the dull Earth. She was a being of air and golden light and wild power separate now from her earthly flesh. Her body, strained past its limits to endure its delight, rode her lovers hard, until it had to shudder and buck and cry out. She was aware of all this, and yet it was almost a trivial matter. The other, soaring pleasure that enveloped her spirit was so much greater and more absorbing.

Once more, her body’s delectable spasms slowed and soothed. Now Miranda looked down at Corwin beneath her, and saw he looked strangely pale. Corwin’s eyes, wide with astonishment and something very close to fear, met hers.

“What ... ?” said Darius thickly. He pulled away, falling sideways onto the blankets. But beneath her, Corwin couldn’t move.

Miranda reached out and stroked Corwin’s brow.
Poor creature. It was too much for him, this wild pleasure.
She felt his cock begin to soften in her.

“Sleep,” she whispered. Slowly, Corwin’s eyes closed and his head lolled back. She climbed off him and stood, stretching her arms overhead toward the shining moon. It was all so beautiful. The night air was soft against her skin. The moonlight thrummed through her veins, stroking each nerve ending—sensitized by the passion her lovers had shown her—into fresh life. She was strong. She was free.

Darius struggled to push himself back onto his knees. “What have you done to him!”

Miranda looked down at Corwin, huddled unconscious at her feet. Some part of her mind was aware she should be concerned at his pallor, and at how shallow his breathing was, but she could not make it matter. So, she simply bent to reclaim her shift and gown.

“Stop!” Darius flung out an arm to intercept her. Miranda turned and struck out in one fierce movement. Darius flew backward, hitting the trellis hard enough to shudder the entire arbor before he slid to the ground. Miranda regarded him with her cool gaze for a moment, then turned. Shrugging casually into her clothes, she walked away and left her lovers lying on the ground behind her.

Darius’s first thought was to charge past the bounds of the protective circle and drag Miranda back to them, but one glance at Corwin’s pale form lying amid the scattered cushions stopped him cold. On hands and knees, he crawled across to the other man.

“Corwin?” Darius shook with fear and with rage as he laid his hand on Corwin’s sculpted chest. After an agonizing moment in which he could sense nothing but the pounding of his own heart, Darius felt Corwin’s breath rise and fall. The movement was far too slow, but at least it was steady.

Darius had to grit his teeth together to keep from roaring into the darkness. There was no time for such gestures. Corwin was cold and damp to the touch. If nothing else, he was in danger of taking a severe chill.

Darius looked to Viscount Stokley’s house. They had not wanted to use it except in case of emergency, but this certainly qualified. Swiftly, he gathered Corwin and the quilts into his arms and carried him to the kitchen door. Darius murmured a spell and kicked hard. The door opened, and he didn’t really care to which force it had yielded.

He carried Corwin down the steps into the dark kitchen. The fire was dead in the hearth and there was no fuel, but at least they were out of the damp. Darius laid Corwin by the hearth, bunching the quilts underneath his head for a pillow.

Corwin did not stir.

Darius sat back, rubbing his palms against his thighs. If Corwin died ...

I will not let it happen. By all the gods in Heaven and all the daemons in Hell, I will
not
lose you!

Slowly, Darius gathered up his broken composure. He needed to be still. He needed his mind to be clear. He breathed the cooling night air deep into his lungs. He was weak. He too had been robbed by Miranda Prosper. Not nearly so much as Corwin, who had placed himself inside her, but more than enough to dim his inner focus. Darius forced himself to concentrate. He closed his mind off from worry, from fear, seeking the place deep within, the reservoir of power at the center of his being.

Normally, Darius had Corwin to help control the opening of that inner door, as he helped Corwin. To do it by himself was difficult, but not impossible. Darius stretched, he strained, and slowly, oh, so slowly, his inner barriers fell and he felt his power rise.

Like starlight.

Like fire.

Like sunrise breaking over the world.

It filled him. It buoyed him, pouring wild joy and recklessness into him, lifting him high above the cold clay earth.

Darius opened his eyes and looked down at Corwin, so still and pale and beautiful. His black hair shimmered against the pillow’s pale silk. Darius laid his hand over Corwin’s heart, bent close and kissed him fully and openly on the mouth.

At first, there was only the sweetness of the kiss. As far gone as Darius was in the wash of his own power, he cared for nothing else. Slowly, however, Darius realized Corwin did not respond. Darius’s heart pounded. His muscles trembled. He deepened the kiss, focused his power and forced his breath and power into Corwin’s still form.

Softly, Corwin stirred and groaned against Darius’s mouth. His hand lifted, and dropped back.

“Corwin?” Darius pulled away and grasped Corwin’s wrist, feeling for the pulse. “Corwin Rathe, open your eyes! Look at me!”

Corwin drew in a sharp breath. He coughed. Darius gripped his hand hard, and Corwin’s eyes fluttered open.

“Gods and goddesses,” Corwin breathed. “What happened?”

Darius dropped back onto his haunches. He pressed Corwin’s warming hand to his forehead, and for a moment could do nothing but breathe. When finally he could speak, Darius told Corwin what he had seen and done.

“I’m going to kill her,” Darius grated.

“Stop it, Darius.” Corwin’s hand tightened around his, but with none of his usual strength.

“She almost killed you!” Darius cried.

“Whatever happened, it was not her fault. She was an innocent.”

“How can you be sure?”

Corwin coughed and swallowed, and his head dropped back. Darius barely had time to catch him and lower him to the quilts. “It’s been a while, but I know when I’m with a virgin.”

“There are other ways to make use of a Catalyst.”

“Name me a Sorcerer who leaves his Catalyst untested,” Corwin panted. “Darius, you must take me to her. Then, one way or another, we’ll know.”

Darius’s jaw clenched until he felt the muscles in his cheek twitch. But Corwin was right. If Miranda truly was ignorant of her own nature, at this moment her life was in danger. He thought of her tender, shadowed beauty burning away from the force she now carried within her, and his guts turned over.

“But what if she is one of theirs?” Darius laid his hand on Corwin’s brow. It was dry now, though he was scarcely any warmer.

“Then you get away and warn the captain.”

Fear lanced through Darius, reigniting his harsh anger. “I won’t leave you.”

“Darius ...”

“Never,” he declared flatly. “There must be a way other than to put you in such danger. I’ll summon help.”

Corwin winced, but managed to prop himself up on his elbows. “No time, no time. If she is innocent, she’s dying right now. She’s not going to know what to do with any of the power she’s absorbed.”

“You keep saying so, but an untried Catalyst would not have been able to drain you, not like this. If it wasn’t Miranda Prosper who did this to you, who was it?”

“I don’t know,” Corwin panted. “Did you check the circle?”

Darius pulled back. It was not possible. He’d been on watch.

Except he’d heard a noise, like someone trying to get in at the garden gate, and he’d gone to check. No. It couldn’t be ...

Darius leapt to his feet and ran back out into the night air. The moon was still high enough to show him the way back to the arbor. There on the ground he could still see the smudged remains of the protective circle he’d traced, and he could still make out some of the runes he’d laid.

Enough to tell where they’d been scratched out and retraced.

Darius’s blood ran cold.

No. No. My fault. Mine.
He’d been taken in by a trick so old and so simple he hadn’t even thought of looking for it.

Darius scrambled to his feet and ran back to Corwin’s side, not caring what noise he made, not caring that he left the door flapping on its hinges behind him. He didn’t need to say anything to Corwin, who was still up on his elbows; Darius’s stunned and crestfallen expression told the whole story.

Corwin awkwardly pushed himself up into a sitting position. “There’s much more going on than we knew.” He rested his forearms on his knees. “We have to find her, before she is beyond help.”

Before you both are.
But Darius said nothing, only helped Corwin to his feet. “Where do we begin?”

“I think we must do a little more housebreaking.” Corwin took two steps forward and staggered.

But Darius was right beside him. “Lean on me.”

“Who else is there, Darius?” said Corwin as he laid his arm across Darius’s shoulders. “Who else?”

There had never been such a beautiful night. Miranda glided through the arched gateway between the two gardens. Moonlight turned the formal hedges and flower beds into silver sculptures and towers from some fairyland. She tilted up her chin and gazed at the stars as if they were long-lost sisters. It was not possible she should feel so strong, so vital and alive.

And from such forbidden pleasures.

But a more unforgiving flame spread beneath her skin. It crept up from the damp soles of her feet inside her ruined stockings and slippers. At first it was easy to ignore, but the closer she came to the house, the more insistent and less wholesome it grew, until it became a terrible itch under her skin. The delight warming her began to melt away in the face of the growing discomfort. Her toe caught on a stone, and Miranda stumbled.

What is happening to me?
Miranda lifted her eyes toward Lady Thayer’s house, and the light seared her eyes.

She was aware now that there were other people on the garden paths, strolling here and there, couples come out from the party to enjoy the rare, clear London night. Faces she could not quite make out turned toward her as she stumbled again. The stars seemed so distant now, cold and pitiless. Her head felt light, but all her limbs were far too heavy and the itching inside her was quickly turning into real pain.

“Miranda!”

Miranda stumbled again, lurched and would have fallen, if her outstretched hand hadn’t found a stone bench. She sat down heavily.

“Miranda, where on Earth have you been!”

A silhouette strode purposefully across the sloping lawn. This one she could not mistake. Her mother bore down on her like some dark angel of fury.

Daphne Quicke stopped in front of her daughter, hands on her hips. Miranda lifted her head to look at her but had to drop her gaze a moment later—which caused her to miss seeing her mother’s disapproving frown waver, for just an instant.

“Did he hurt you?” Mother asked flatly.

It took Miranda a moment to understand the sort of question her mother asked. The ballroom, the dance with Corwin Rathe, belonged to a different world from the place of fire and pain she had entered. He might have hurt her, but she didn’t know how, because she didn’t understand what was happening.

“Honestly, Miranda, it’s not that I mind you finally attracting men, but you might have had the sense to be discreet!” Mother took one step closer, and laid a cool hand on Miranda’s forehead. “You’re fevered. Thank heavens. It will provide an acceptable explanation for your appearance.”