Playing with Passion Theta Series Book 1 (29 page)

“Tonight’s script is intricate. I need
access to all the power available to me.” Diane was playing another
action-heavy role.

“This is crap.” Sam was scowling,
furious like the rest of them.

Mack and Ingrid exchanged glances.
"Ingrid and I might be able to fix this." Mack said, excitement
glittering in his eyes.

“How?” Dave’s expression was wary.
“Another experiment?”

Ingrid explained. “I’ve spent a lot of
time learning how to manipulate power. I think I can handle
this.”

“Let her try,” Alan said.

“I’ll need your help. Grab onto each
other and pull up some psycore energy. Not too much, we still have
a performance. I’m going to combine it with mine and use it to
unravel the block.” Psy magic worked better than axis for delicate
work like untwisting a block without destroying something else.
Using axis power would be like grabbing a sledgehammer to pound in
a nail.

The troupe agreed, although some still
looked hesitant as they held hands and focused their energy,
sending it to Ingrid in a cool wash. She soaked it into her body
like a sponge, harnessing what they’d shared and unweaving the
simple braid-like spell. It seemed whoever had woven it hadn’t
expected anyone to counter their magic, otherwise they would’ve put
more effort into its construction.

And in a blink, the troupe had all the
axis energy they needed to blow the minds of the wolves with a top
performance. The group gathered around Ingrid, laughing and sharing
hugs, and she found herself remembering what Mack had said that
first night, about how the troupe would become her family if she’d
let them in. Mack and Gene had certainly crossed that line, maybe
Staci, Sam, and Alan, too. She’d never been so close to feeling
like she’d found a home.

Mack was smiling at her, the warmth in
his gaze making her wonder if he was reading her mind. They were
only a few steps apart, so close. Her instincts told her to back
away from this male who could destroy her with only a few words,
but her feet were automatically stepping forward. Ingrid shook her
head. She’d never been a coward.

Swallowing down her misgivings, Ingrid
pressed herself against Mack’s firm body. Their kiss was a
reconnect, a new beginning. “I’m a fool,” he whispered, pulling her
close enough to get them arrested.

“I love to hear you admit I’m right,”
she teased.”

Chuckling at Ingrid’s answer, Alan
called places. As soon as his glorious music filled the theatre,
the show took on a life of its own.

As Gene swayed and spun beside her,
Ingrid’s female vampire stalked her werewolf victim with the
stealthy grace natural to her fantasy species. Gene’s wolf turned,
their gazes connecting and their fates sealed as they reached for
each other.

Pack wolves were never allowed to mate
with vampires—an automatic death sentence if discovered. The two
groups were always on the verge of declaring a full out war. Only
The Director, the top masters and alphas he had under his thumb,
and his own demon generals kept the two races in check.

While Ingrid danced, she noticed that
something was different about the quality of the power. It was much
easier to manipulate, crystalline in its precision. She suddenly
realized it was because the actors were still linked together. The
entire acting troupe was sharing psycore energy at the same time,
even without touching.

“Do you feel it?” Ingrid whispered to
Gene as they began to dance more slowly. He smiled and nodded,
lifting her up to slide down across his back. Mack and Alan were
adding their usual boost, but what made her dancing soar and her
projection solidify was the shared power of the other actors.
Ingrid had wished for this so often, and tonight, unexpectedly, it
was real. Whoever had set up that block had done their troupe a
favor.

Gene smiled, kissing her cheek before
spinning her away. "It's you, sugar. You're filtering our
psy-magic. What we get back from you is stronger and easier to
use."

"
You're right, Ingrid's like a buffer. It's so easy
now."
Staci's projection of the vampire
nest was incredible, the best she'd ever managed.

They whispered excitedly as they
danced, some of what was said sliding through Ingrid’s mind like
honey. The troupe was projecting the finest performance of their
lives, and Ingrid was so proud of them all. Dancing in her
vicinity, each actor’s eyes spoke of approval, acceptance, and
friendship, the synergy of the connection exploding between them.
Ingrid allowed her spirit to soar with exquisite abandon, flying at
last.

When the show finished
they huddled in their circle, drenched and almost completely spent.
Their faces shone with a strength born of a communal power they’d
never tasted before. The troupe instinctively knew the danger
inherent in the discovery that they were at least six times
stronger when they worked together. Ingrid’s mind spun with ideas
as she scanned the smiling faces of her new...
family
. She found herself grinning
foolishly back at them.

The mood was upbeat as they broke
apart and walked back in their usual pairs, paying no attention to
the growls and screams still generated by the werewolves in the
audience. Ingrid left Gene with a quick kiss on the cheek, walking
to the women’s dressing room with Staci and Diane.

The Director was there, scowling. “Who
unwove the block?”

Staci and Diane gasped in terror at
the sight of the seven and a half foot monster. Thinking of the
others, Ingrid moved quickly, standing between them and their
terrifying boss. “I did. We needed the power. It was a difficult
script.”

“Did it occur to you that it might
have been put there for an important reason?”

Ingrid answered with a
touch of attitude, too tired to put up with his shit. “If it
was,
Sir
, then we
should have been informed of the reason so we could have adjusted
our energy.”

Diane had backed into a corner,
trembling and weeping quietly. Staci sank into a chair, hugging
herself, her complexion very pale. The Director had that effect on
people the first time they met him, especially when his eyes
flashed red. Like now.

He'd glided over quickly, standing
only inches away from her, his breath hot on Ingrid’s face. Her
stomach was knotted and queasy, but she refused to back away. “You
are not afraid of me, Ingrid. Why is that?” He smelled like cigars
and old blood. Her stomach rolled over, hinting that it might not
be able to hold onto its contents for much longer.

She forced herself to meet his shining
red eyes. "I'd be an idiot not to be afraid, sir, but I was trained
in the institute to put my fear and pain in a box and do what has
to be done. Was the performance unsatisfactory? If so, I take full
responsibility.”

He smirked in his alien way. “The
performance was extraordinary. I believed I was raping you myself,
and when you were ripped apart, your screams made me hard again. I
came twice.” He raked large, thick fingers through her hair,
fisting them, yanking her face closer to his. She gasped from the
sharp pain. Icy fingers of power pierced Ingrid’s skin and snaked
through her body, attempting to probe her mind with his vile touch.
But her shields were carbyne strong, keeping The Director out of
her head, enraging him further.

Mack entered the room. “Sir, she had
my permission to take out the block. You should be angry with me,
not Ingrid.”

The creature answered without turning
around. “If you speak again, your troupe will be disposed of. Take
the other females out of the room.”

“Do it, Mack,” Ingrid pleaded. Staci
and Diane were a mess and needed help. He and Gene helped them up
and took them into the hallway.

The Director tightened his grip on
Ingrid’s hair. Her eyes teared. "Look at me," he whispered
hoarsely.

Somehow, she found the
courage.

“I have special plans for you, and I
expect you to follow them if you want your troupe to survive. I
will skin Gene alive in front of you. I will burn Mack slowly,
finger by finger, and make you watch. Do you
understand?”

Ingrid could barely nod.

“Tomorrow night, at the
party, you will spend time with Joseph Herron. Quality time.
Private time. You will fuck him, or blow him, or let him beat you
bloody. Anything and everything he wants. You will stay with him
until dawn. He has strict instructions not to do any permanent
damage. The only thing you will
not
do is project a fantasy. For that privilege, he
would have to pay quite a bit more.”

Despite the danger she was in, Ingrid
burned with anger, speaking through gritted teeth.
“I’m—not—a—whore.”

“A whore
and
a slave: my property
to share as I please. Joseph Herron has asked to borrow you for the
night, and I have agreed. If I discover you were not one hundred
percent cooperative with the alpha, you will be retired from the
troupe and will take on the duty of becoming my
personal
whore, an experience you
will find brutal and demeaning. Am I being clear?”

“Ye…yes.” Ingrid was trembling now,
unable to hold herself steady. The pain in her scalp was giving her
a pounding headache.

“I have afforded you every chance.
Your projecting skills are without equal, but your behavior has
interfered with my business, costing me time and a great deal of
money. Replacing the Atlanta troupe along with the theatre you
burned down was an expense I should not have incurred.” He ripped
at Ingrid’s dance outfit, exposing one breast. “So far, your
actions have cost me money. Anything worse and you will be the
headliner in my next execution.”

The icy tone of his voice numbed
Ingrid to all sensations except fear. It threatened to shatter the
small shred of hope she’d clung to with broken, bleeding nails. She
knew this sick bastard and what he was capable of. If she attempted
to use her mind to strike out in anger, he would crush
her.

But, oh, how Ingrid wanted to burn him
as she had those sorcerers in Atlanta. It wouldn’t affect him in
the slightest, because he was a creature created of fire and could
probably withstand the hottest of infernos. How ironic that her
greatest weapon was her enemy’s as well.

She took stock of her situation. Her
energy was low because she’d just finished an extremely difficult
performance, leaving her vulnerable to his assault. She locked away
the furious nova exploding in her gut and allowed her fear to run
its course. It’s what he wanted to see: her terror, her weakness,
and vulnerability. He would feel powerful and in control and she
might live through this encounter. One angry word or gesture on her
part, and she would be ash.

“Ingrid, I expect an answer.” He
yanked on her hair again, tearing some out, then moved his other
hand to her exposed breast, and began to squeeze.

Ingrid teared up from the pain, adding
a stronger tremor to her voice. “I understand, Director, and I’ll
do whatever the alpha requires of me. I apologize for destroying
the block without your permission. I won’t disappoint you in the
future.” She allowed some tears to fall, some of them
real.

“You don’t sound grateful, Ingrid.” He
squeezed harder.

“Thank you for giving me this
opportunity.” She was panting now, trying to keep from
screaming.

"Tell me what you are, Ingrid." He
pushed his body closer, grinding his erection into her stomach. He
was hung like a freakin' rhino, not surprising for a creature of
his size.

"I’m the ingénue of the Hudson River
Troupe."

"And what else?"

The Director’s hand tightened when she
didn’t respond. Sobbing for real, she whispered hoarsely over the
excruciating pain. "A whore."

"Yes. You started so young. I will be
checking in with Joseph on Sunday morning.” He kissed the top of
her head, turning a caring act into a vile one. “Now, thank me and
I’ll be on my way.”

“Yes, sir.” She cried out after the
last, brutal caress. “Thank you.”

Pushing Ingrid roughly away, he left
the room, the rest of her troupe giving him a wide birth as he
passed. Ingrid landed on her hands and knees where she remained
perfectly still until she knew for certain that he’d gone. She
couldn’t stand or speak. All that was left was to curl up and wait
for the trembling to stop.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-EIGHT

Gene elbowed his way past Mack,
wrapping his arms around Ingrid’s shaking body and pulling her
against him. She clutched at his shirt, shivering from the
adrenalin overload. The other cast members continued to mill
around, uncertain and frightened.

Mack wanted to rip Gene away from
Ingrid and take his place, kissing her tears away, carrying her to
some kind of safety, but he knew now there was no safety, no
security for any troupe member. He’d probably known for a long
time, choosing to turn a blind eye to the darker aspects of his
job.

As long as Gene’s attentions remained
brotherly, he’d allow Gene to care for Ingrid so he could do his
job. The rest of the troupe needed him now. Like sheep on a
hillside, they were gathered together in the hallway, the acting
couples clutching each other in fear.