Chapter 48
Forty-Eight
“All right, I’m ready,” Cally said.
Antoine looked up from where he sat on the bed. “I still have my doubts about this, but I will go through with it if you are certain.” He paused. “Are you certain, ma chérie?”
“Absolutely,” she said without hesitation, trying to convey all her confidence and none of her doubts.
He inclined his head like he expected nothing less. “And can you stop the spell if it draws too much power?”
She’d forgotten about that requirement in the heat of the ‘thrall’ debate. “No.” She winced and braced herself for the inevitable pushback. “I know you’re going to say that we shouldn’t do it—”
“I know you’re going to argue convincingly that we should.” He smiled at her with such love and gentleness that her breath caught.
And it made her reconsider.
“You’re right,” she said heavily. “It’s stupid to risk killing myself with a spell I can’t control, not least when you’d die too.” She huffed a bitter laugh. “Doing Roberto’s work for him.” She reclined on the couch with a sigh and massaged her neck with one hand. “Damn it. So close.”
“Talk me through the spell,” he said, then got off the bed and joined her on the couch.
“Sure, why not.” She turned the screen so he could see.
She’d studied it so much that she knew it by heart anyway.
“So the structure we already discussed. We basically drink from each other, which shouldn’t be a problem for you.
” She gave him a tired smile. “Then the fragments. I’ve gone with these two. ”
Antoine leaned forward, reading. “‘Strength comes from a shining dark; gathering in the heart, it sets me alight.’ Poetic—if it doesn’t burn you from the inside.
” He read the next. “‘Like a stream from the mouth, a flame from the core, it leaves me behind, passing my threshold.’” He raised an eyebrow. “Interesting choices.”
“Limited options.” She shrugged. “In theory, it’s the intent that makes all the difference. I’ve done spells before without any Gaeilge. But these ones are bona fide witch magic—apparently. That should count for something, right?”
He leaned back. “I suppose there’s always a chance you will be able to control the flow of power, and merely stop it when you wish.”
“Yes.” She brightened. “That’s possible, isn’t it?”
“It’s problematic if you can’t.”
She bit her lip. “This might sound extreme, but you could always just knock me out. That would cut it off.”
“Perhaps; perhaps not.” He sighed. “This is the issue with trying to control forces we know nothing about.” He gestured at the books. “Have you read anything to suggest how the spells are powered?”
“No, not really. They talk mostly about structure, fragments, and intent.”
“Intent… Yes, you said.” He rubbed his hand over his jaw as he considered it. “Well, maybe that’s the answer.”
“How so?”
“Have your intent be to transfer a fraction of your power—as a test. If it works, we can try more. You may find you can control the flow, like a tap that can be turned on or off. Or, as you say, we can resort to more violent ways of stopping it, if the need arises.”
“Does this mean you’re willing to try?”
“Willing?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “No, ma chérie, I wouldn’t use that word. But I accept your argument that there’s no success without the risk of failure.” He gave her a smile. “Don’t make me regret this. I will not be amused if you kill yourself.”
“Noted,” she said dryly. “On the plus side, if I do end up becoming your thrall, it’ll be the end of arguments.”
“I very much doubt it,” he said, deadpan. “But we will be able to have them over longer distances.”
She laughed. “You know, it would be absolutely worth it if we could communicate like you talk to Noah.”
“Well, let’s find out. Are you ready?”
She nodded, suddenly nervous. “Yes, I’m ready.”
“Very well. Where do you want me?”
“Uh, sitting right there, I guess. I suppose we could get a whole bunch of candles and do it naked, but it’s not called for.”
“Alas.” His lips twitched.
“Behave yourself,” she muttered playfully. “I need to concentrate.”
“I’ll be a good, quiet Chalice.”
“I don’t think there’s much risk of that.” She read quickly over the Gaeilge one last time, making sure she knew it all. “All right, let’s do this. You’re up first.”
He slid an arm around her waist and drew her against him, then cupped her cheek with his hand, his gaze unwavering. “I love you, Cally,” he said, and she couldn’t remember the last time he’d used her name. “If this makes you a thrall, I swear on my soul that I will never abuse that connection.”
She nodded jerkily, the world narrowing to him alone. “I know.”
He brushed her lips with his, then trailed kisses around to the side of her neck.
She closed her eyes, tilted her head to the side, anticipating the sting of his bite.
It was sharp when it came, and she drew a quick breath.
The rush of pleasure made her swallow her moan, though it was not as intense as when they were making love.
He didn’t take much, drawing back after only a moment, then he licked over the wound to heal it.
She took a steadying breath, her hand braced against his chest. “Now we need your blood,” she said. It came out huskily, and she cleared her throat. “Neck, or inner thigh?” she asked, trying to ease the tension. Her tension.
“Your choice, but you may find the wrist easier.”
“Wrist, then.”
He held out his forearm, then used the edge of his thumbnail to cut into his own skin, the blood welling up swiftly.
She ran her finger through it, leaving a crimson smear, then slipped her hand inside her silk robe.
It seemed natural to use a circle, as she had for the strength spell.
She traced the shape over her heart. “I have to anoint you. I guess that means you get a circle too.”
Antoine pulled up his T-shirt without question, and she bit her lip at the sight of his firm abs and bare chest. He really was easy on the eyes. She took more blood from his wrist and traced a matching mark on his skin.
“I already feel more connected to you, ma chérie.”
She gave him a nervous smile. This was the part she hadn’t been looking forward to. “Now I have to drink.”
He raised his arm in offering, like a waiter with a glass of wine, and she took it in both hands. A drop of blood ran down from the cut, over his arm, and dripped onto the black robe he’d lent her, leaving a dark smear on the silk.
“When you are ready,” he prompted gently, and she realized she’d been staring at his blood.
She leaned over his arm, lifting it to her mouth.
His blood was warm and salty, metallic and viscous. It filled her mouth like oil, and she forced herself to swallow. It didn’t get any better for the second mouthful. That must be enough.
Cally released him and turned so he couldn’t see, then wiped her mouth. She hadn’t been as tidy as he always was, and the back of her hand came away marked with a crimson smear.
But it was done. Her blood was inside him, his inside hers. Now all she needed were the words—and the intent: give him some of my power. Keeping it simple seemed best.
He watched her with an unfathomable look, and she closed her eyes, his gaze too distracting. Especially when she’d just drunk blood from his arm.
“Tig an neart ó dhorchadas glé.” Strength comes from a shining dark.
It helped to focus on her intent, to take her mind off the taste of him filling her mouth. His blood was inside her, and her stomach clenched at the thought. Give him my power. He needs my power.
“Ag cruinniú—” She gasped as her insides twisted and knotted, like the muscles themselves were wringing out, stealing her breath with the stabbing sharpness of it. “Ag cruinniú i gcroí… ag las—”
She clutched her stomach as sudden knife-like jabs pierced her, spreading across her back and ribs, then down into her thighs. “…ag lasadh mé.” She doubled over, clenching her eyes tight against the pain.
Why was the spell fighting her so? Just some of my power. Give him some.
“Ma chérie,” he said urgently, the words heavy with worry.
She held a hand up to ward him off—or tried to. She felt so weak that it was more a limp wave than the firm barrier she had intended. She had to finish the spell. “Mar shruth ó bhé—”
She cried out, unable to stop herself. Something gnawed at her insides, a deep, burning ache punctuated with breath-stealing stabs that radiated out through all of her. “…ó bhéal… mar lasair…”
The words blurred in her memory, fogged by pain. Focus, Cally. “…mar lasair ó lár.”
She felt lightheaded, delirious. But there was only one more line to say. “Imíonn sé…” She was going to pass out. No, she was going to throw up. “…Imíonn sé…”
Damn it, she’d done that bit. What came next?
The coffee table, as it turned out—striking her temple as she slumped forward, Antoine’s hands closing around her a second too late.
And then there was blackness.
*
Cally came to, lying on the bed, her head pounding. She winced. But the sensation gradually faded as she opened her eyes, blinking; even the room’s dim light was too bright.
Antoine sat beside her, worry etched on his face.
“Command me, Master,” she said.
He blinked, then pressed his lips together, giving her a flat look. “I can tell you’re not a thrall.”
“Well, crap. I hoped we’d achieve that, at least.” She struggled to sit upright, still feeling weak from the effects of the spell, and leaned against the headboard. “What happened?”
“You passed out—obviously. I don’t think it was the spell; I think it was my blood.” He paused. “You wanted to become my thrall?”
“Like I said, it’s not that big a difference anyway—I’d already do whatever you ask of me. But if it had worked, we could’ve used the bond to talk.”
He leaned in and kissed her. “I love you more with every passing day, ma chérie.”
“Je t’aime you, as well.”
He paused in the act of drawing back and grimaced. “‘Je t’aime’ already includes ‘you’. Your French is adorable, but—”
She grinned.
He narrowed his eyes, feigning a glare. “You were teasing me.”
“Yes, I was,” she admitted, then sobered. “But now I have no way of helping you against Roberto.”
“No matter,” he said lightly. She still heard the hint of disappointment he couldn’t quite mask. “There is always the political route. Belle tells me Tobias is willing to testify that he was compelled. It may be enough to garner the support of the other vampires in Boston.”
“What time is it?” she asked, pushing herself up. She already felt stronger.
“Early. It’s only seven o’clock.”
Seven in the evening, he meant. But for him, that was early. The whole night lay ahead of them.
“So let’s go and see Belle, and hear what Tobias has to say for himself.”
“Are you feeling strong enough?”
“I’m fine.” She waved away his concern.
He rose, gathering her blouse and chinos that were folded neatly on the chair. She hadn’t left them like that. “Unfortunately, you will have to wear yesterday’s clothes.”
“That’s no problem.” She began to dress.
“It’s not ideal. You were cold when we traveled last night. Would you like a coat?”
“One of your retro grunge leather ones?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. “It would swamp me.”
“Yes, but it would keep you warm. And we’d match.”
She smiled at him. “That has an appeal.”
She had to roll the sleeves back, and it came down to her boots, but the coat was warm, and that was worth it. It was raining hard, and though Antoine’s shadows enveloped them as they flew across the rooftops, they did nothing to keep her dry. Water trickled down her neck.
“You know they have cars these days?”
“We’ll be there in ten minutes. How long would it take to drive?”
An hour, probably. Beneath them, the streets were gridlocked as usual.
“You sure know how to show a girl a cold time.”
He chuckled. “There’s something wonderfully fresh about rain. The smell of it, the promise of life it brings.”
“I liked kissing you in the rain,” she said wistfully, remembering that time on the rooftop of Fisher Hill. Another reminder that the house was gone. She wondered if it was, even now, crawling with police and forensics, and what they would find.
“I would kiss you anywhere, ma chérie. When this is over, we should visit every country and make sure you are well kissed in each of them.”
“Will you take me to France?”
“We would go there first.”
She smiled against his chest. It was a nice idea, and one day it might even happen.
“We have arrived,” Antoine said, touching down on the roof of a moderate-sized house surrounded by trees. He dropped off the edge like the fall didn’t matter, landing smoothly with bent knees, then set her on her feet. “Come. Let us see what Belle has to say.”