When Wicked Craves (10 page)

He watched as she drew in air, saw her shift slightly as if centering herself. He imagined this was what she did in her work, when she had to report bad facts to her clients. Deliver the news fast and flat. Nothing more than a story, a recitation of facts.

“My mother realized, and tried to stop him. But she was weak and didn’t move fast enough. He changed. I can still hear him in my head as he howled, first in agony, and then it changed and sounded like joy. Like he was going to have fun destroying us all.

“Kiril and I were side by side, and she threw herself on top of us. He—” Her voice broke, and a single tear trickled down her cheek, but she wiped it away with the back of her hand, as if the tears were nothing more than annoyance.

He took a step forward, then stopped. He knew how to comfort women, knew how to draw them into his arms and let them cry it out. But how did he comfort a woman he couldn’t touch? A woman who didn’t want to cry?

Aware of the impotence of the gesture, he held out a handkerchief. She glanced at it, but didn’t reach for it.

Slowly, he returned it to his pocket. “You don’t need to tell me the rest.”

She met his eyes defiantly. “You said you wanted to know everything.”

“All right.”

“He destroyed her,” she continued. “It was brutal and bloody and horrible, but it was fast. And then he came for us. I didn’t feel anything. I didn’t understand fear, not really. Didn’t know what was normal in this new world, but I felt fear in the room, and realized that my grandmother was still there, in the corner, watching in horror as her daughter was destroyed. She stopped him. My grandmother’s the one who destroyed him, but at the same time, she destroyed herself.”

“How?”

“Magic. It runs in our family, too, though it runs stronger in some than in others. In my grandmother it was pretty weak, actually, but she drew up everything she knew and did … something … to him.”

“What?”

She shook her head. “I don’t really know. He was there, and then he seemed to implode. There was a shimmer in the air, and then suddenly he was gone. And that was the end of that.”

“You never asked her?”

“She died. She had just enough power to save Kiril and me, then to do one more spell. And then she sagged to the floor and died.” She drew in a breath, a quick shake of her head the only sign that the story was getting to her. “Our aunt raised us—my mother’s sister—and she wasn’t happy about it. Didn’t want us. Blamed us—blamed
me
—for destroying her life. The curse … she hated it. Thought my mother and me were evil. It was horrible.”

“It sounds horrible.”

“She died when we were fifteen,” Petra continued. “But we didn’t tell anyone. We were afraid California social services would get involved, and they couldn’t separate us. There was no way I could live without Kiril, or he could live without me.”

For a moment, he didn’t speak, thinking instead about the strength of this woman who’d become attached to him by circumstance. Then his thoughts cleared, and he got back to business. “We’ll need to look through your things. Any family heirlooms. Diaries. That Bible. Who knows where we’ll find a clue.”

“There’s nothing.”

“You don’t have anything of your mother’s?”

“Sure. A bracelet.”

“Then I want to see it.”

“Fine. Whatever. It’s not going to lead anywhere.”

“It may.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever floats your boat. But I’ve been that route, and there’s nothing there. That’s why I’ve been looking for ways to cast a counter curse. It’s not like I’m surrounded by piles of cryptic clues that just need to be translated.”

He pondered her for a moment, thinking about the ins and outs of her story.

She narrowed her eyes. “What? You think I’m bullshitting you? That I have some treatise on how to break curses hidden behind the toilet?”

“No,” he said. “That’s not what I was thinking. It’s just—Petra, your story doesn’t make sense.”

She stiffened. “Excuse me?”

“It’s the Touch that transforms someone else into a monster, and it’s childbirth that cures the cursed?”

“Yeah.” She tilted her head to the side. “Well, not the act of childbirth, but the birth of a child. I mean, if Kiril were the firstborn, then his curse would lift when his child is born. When the cord is cut, if you want to get all technical about it.”

“Ah …” He hesitated, sounding both amused and uncomfortable. “Sweetheart, I know you’re not experienced in these things, but it’s supremely difficult to get a girl pregnant without actually touching her.”

She blinked, then looked him dead in the eye. “Turkey baster,” she said, then burst out laughing at his horrified expression. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s just … you were approaching the subject so delicately.
You.
I think you were even blushing.”

“
Me?
What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that considering your reputation, I wouldn’t have expected you to get all shy about sex.”

He leaned casually against the wall. “Reputation?”

She stared him down. “Don’t even,” she said, then grinned. “But thanks for the laugh.”

“Happy to be of service, but I still think I’m missing the big picture here.”

“Right. Well, there’s kind of an escape clause. Probably because whoever cursed us in the first place saw the very same problem you did, and wanted to make sure our line kept going on and on.”

“What kind of an escape clause?”

“The night of a blue moon,” she said. “That’s when there’s an extra full moon. They don’t happen very often. Years can go by.”

“I know what a blue moon is,” he said.

“Oh. Good.” She felt her cheeks burn, but forced herself not to look away. To keep this conversation strictly businesslike. “Well, during that night, from sunset to sunrise, I can touch without doing harm.” She felt her insides jolt as she remembered the way she felt when a blue moon filled the sky.

She’d never been with a man—not like that—and not because she hadn’t wanted to. Not that she’d ever wanted a specific man—she’d never let herself fall in love—but on that night … dear heaven, on that night her body longed to be taken, to be held, to be ravaged.

So far, she hadn’t managed it.

The first time it had hit after puberty, she hadn’t realized what was going on until it was too late. The next time, she’d been twenty and visiting Joshua Tree with Kiril—which meant no matter how freaking horny she was, there wasn’t a man around to satisfy that urge.

Kiril had sat with her, though, letting her lean against him and hold his hand, so that at least for once she could feel the sensation of skin against skin, and he’d made the time pass by spinning wild stories for her. Tales that he later wrote in his notebooks and then slid into a drawer despite her constant urgings that he
should send them to magazines and try to have them published.

The next time, she’d told Kiril that she was going to spend the night doing the L.A. club scene. She’d ordered clothes online, practiced her makeup for days, and fantasized about the men she’d press against on the dance floor.

But an hour before sunset, she’d begun throwing her guts up, her stomach so wrenched with a virus or food poisoning that she could only stay inside and let Kiril cater to her and tell her that there was always the next blue moon to look forward to. It had sucked, but she’d been grateful she had a brother who stuck it out with her.

While her stomach had roiled, Kiril held her hand and stroked her hair, letting her have the sensation of touch as he talked her through the night, keeping her grounded and centered. Once or twice she’d gotten so frustrated with being sick that she’d actually been disloyal enough to wonder if he’d done something to her food to make her ill, but then she’d mentally kicked herself for thinking such mean thoughts. Kiril was her rock. He loved her. And because of him she’d been able to keep her sanity on those rare, mystical nights, and for that, she’d always be grateful.

Now, though …

Now, she remembered the way she’d come out of the mist, full of the sensation of being twined with Nick.

She looked at him now, and reveled in the heat that seemed to flood her as she opened herself to the memory, delicious and sweetly erotic and maddeningly ephemeral.

They’d merged like a cloud with a cloud. How much more sweet would it be to feel flesh against flesh?

She didn’t know, but the blue moon was coming, and this time it wasn’t going to be Kiril with her.

This time, it would be Nicholas.

“No, I’m safe. Really.” Petra pressed the handset more firmly against her ear and shifted her position, giving the room—and the group within it—her back. On the other end of the line, Kiril was demanding an explanation, a location,
something
, and she felt like a complete shit because she couldn’t give it to him. They wouldn’t let her give it to him.

Nicholas eased up beside her, sliding into her field of vision, and a knot of irritation twisted in her gut. She knew what she had to do, but there he was, hovering as if he didn’t trust her to do it.

He tapped his wrist, and even though he wore no watch, she knew he was telling her to hurry up.

“Kiril—Kiril, just let me get a word in, okay? I’m fine, but I need help. Meet me in the El Capitan theater, okay? One hour. And Kiril? Make sure you’re not followed.”

She hung up before he could protest anymore, then faced Nicholas straight on. “I don’t like lying to him.”

“It’s necessary. They’ll be watching him. Sending him away from where we need to be is going to buy us time.”

“Maybe.”

“Definitely,” Nicholas countered.

She shrugged. She was being contrary, and she knew it, but she’d told him so much—exposed so much of herself
to him. It had felt right in the dim light of the little room they’d stuck her in. But now, under the harsh glare of the fluorescent tubes, she wished she’d kept her mouth shut. Like he really needed to know about her birth memory. Like she really wanted him to see her cry.

“He’s my brother,” she said. “
He
should be helping me. Protecting me. That’s what he does.”

“And now it’s what I do.” Nicholas’s voice was hard—no nonsense—and Petra closed her eyes, wishing things were different. Wishing Kiril were there. Wishing that the life she woke up to every day wasn’t her own.

But at the same time so damn thankful that she was alive. And it wasn’t Kiril to whom she owed her life. In a way it wasn’t even Nicholas.

He’d only saved her in the hopes of saving Serge.

Which meant she owed her continuing heartbeat to the very monster she created.

Pretty damned ironic when you thought about it.

A huge conference table filled most of the room, and she left Nicholas standing by the wall, then took the seat at the far end of the table, the farthest away from the other men, Rand and Luke. From two chairs down, Lissa smiled at her, and the expression was so warm and genuine that Petra couldn’t help but smile back. Then again, Lissa was a succubus, so who knew what kind of happy juice the girl was filling the room with.

“He’s not being fair,” Lissa said, sliding into the empty chair beside her.

“Nicholas? He damn sure isn’t. If we’re going to go on a scavenger hunt to end this curse, Kiril should be with me. Hell, he’s lived with it as long as I have.”

“I guess he has,” Lissa said. “But what I meant was
that he didn’t tell you why. He’s not the kind of guy who does things by committee, you know? He says what he wants, and it happens. No explanation, no worries.” She shot a quick glance toward Rand. “You’ve been living in the shadow world long enough to know that’s not an uncommon male trait.”

“So what didn’t he tell me?”

“Your brother’s a sorcerer, and pretty powerful. That kind of magic can be tracked. You travel with him, they’d find you before the day is out.”

“But if it’s magic they track, won’t they find me now?”

“This place is protected,” Nicholas said. “You don’t have enough magic to push past the barriers.”

She leaned back in her chair. “Well, then. I guess I’m lucky I’m so inadequate at—
oh, shit
. I didn’t even think—”

“What?” Luke demanded.

“The binding spell.” She looked between Nicholas and Rand. “I told you both about it before. Kiril’s bound to protect me, and to do that, he has to be able to find me. That’s part of our grandmother’s spell. He can feel me. Can search me out.”

The others exchanged glances. “Can you feel him? Is he on his way here?”

“No. It’s a one-way thing.
Shit.
” She levered herself up out of the chair, then started pacing, suddenly afraid. “What if he’s just playing me? What if he’s not going to the theater, but he’s on the way here, and they’re following him?”

“We have protections, Petra,” Nicholas said. “We told you.”

“Not against my grandmother’s spell.” She could see they didn’t believe her. But she knew.
She knew.
Kiril would find her.

“Even if you’re right,” Lissa said, “you told him you were safe. He’s got to know searching you out could be a risk.”

“As far as he knows, you folks are a risk, too.” And they were. If they knew the truth, they really were. “Besides, you don’t get it. It’s a binding
spell
. He’ll come for me. He has to.”

There wasn’t a doubt in her mind. Her brother looked after her with a fierceness that was more than just a family bond, or even the bond of twins. No, their grandmother’s last spell had done the job, and done it well. Maybe too well, if by looking for her, he’d also be leading the Alliance to her.

“It will be fine,” Rand said. “This warehouse is fortified with all sorts of protections, not just ones that shield magic. You’re safe enough in here.”

She frowned, not believing it for a minute.

“And when they leave?” Lissa asked. “Kiril will be all over Petra, and the Alliance will be all over him.”

“Let me call him back. Tell him not to follow me.”

“How sensitive is this binding spell?” Nicholas stood calmly against the wall, watching no one but her.

“It’s—what do you mean?”

“Pinpoint accuracy?”