Chapter 5 Eryx
ERYX
The way she looked, her hair still mussed from sleep, and those clothes—I’d never seen her in anything so casual.
Rhiannon’s sweats were typically matching cashmere sets, luxurious and elegant, just like her.
But now… now I wasn’t even sure she was wearing a bra underneath the white tank top that clung to her curves.
I was afraid to even look at her, for fear I might combust from the intense longing I had to touch her. All those days she’d been asleep, and I hadn’t felt like this. I thought I finally had this attraction to her under control. I’d only wanted to keep her safe from what lurked inside this house.
But now she was moving, that long, curvaceous body graceful and strong.
Her avid expressions, the bite of her words.
Rhiannon was dynamic in ways that would have terrified a younger version of myself.
But now? Now I wanted to be challenged, and more than anything I wanted the way she pushed me, pulled me—I wanted to let her tear me apart.
There had never been anyone like her. When I fucked someone, it was typically because I had an urge. A need. I didn’t screw just anyone; I did have some standards, after all. But I never had to be attracted to them… not anymore. I never had to want them. Just sex.
With her, it was different. I wanted her.
I wanted the ferocity in her touch as much as what it might feel like to be inside her.
No. I absolutely could not think of what it might be like to be inside her.
My heart raced, my cock so hard I was sure she’d notice.
I’d made a mistake wearing sweatpants. This had to stop.
She was right. Going back to the house was the right move.
We needed to talk to Ember and Ares, and the others.
With the Maere together, along with the leadership of the Necroline Dynasty, there was no doubt we could ferret out what the source of the seasonal shift here was.
And yet… we came here because the Consulate wanted Rhiannon back.
Ever since the heist to reclaim the Maere’s swords, they’d wanted her to return to the home office in Aradios.
A part of me worried that if we left Oleander Cottage, they’d get their way and I’d never see her again—which elicited an ache in me I’d been trying to hide since the moment she’d appeared back in Orphium.
I didn’t allow myself to get attached to anyone but Ares and Av.
We were a closed circle and that was how it had to be.
My job was wretched, and while I could handle it, my lovers could not. Rhiannon Bronte wasn’t just anyone; in fact, she might be one of the few people in the world who could handle the particulars of what I did. But no one deserved to be exposed to the demons that lived within me.
All that aside, she was right. We needed to tell our people that the haunting here was more than we’d anticipated. We were going to need some serious help—and probably a lot of research into how something like this was possible. My mind raced with possibilities. Av would know more.
Finally, my thoughts in order and my cock under control after the sobering reminders of what we were up against, I nodded. “We can come back for our things.”
Rhiannon’s answering smile was a false thing, sending a cold, seeping dread through me.
It was beautifully crafted, and I was sure it fooled most everyone.
But I’d watched her closely since she’d returned to Orphium for her sword.
I saw that smile for what it was—a gorgeous mask.
“Great. I’m gonna order a giant pepperoni and mushroom from Pizza Queen as soon as we get back. ”
Rhiannon stood up, and I followed her through the kitchen, back into the mudroom, trying to keep my eyes off the gentle curve of her hip, the tight roundness to her behind… I had to stop. Rhiannon was not for me. I knew that.
She stared for a long moment at the floral print in the wallpaper. The flowers were supposed to be oleander; I remembered now. But they weren’t. They were roses. Something here was powerful enough to shift reality.
Rhiannon glanced at me. Her smile had disappeared.
As she slid her feet into the boots she’d left in the mudroom, all of her movements were deliberate and smooth, as though she worried she might disturb some trigger and set off a chain reaction of spirit activity.
I couldn’t blame her for that, certainly.
We had no idea what we were up against. I mimicked the quality and pace of her movements, which earned me an approving nod, a curve of her generous lips. I tried not to let it warm me too deeply as she opened the back door, her touch on the brass doorknob delicate—ginger, even.
We stepped out into the thick, humid heat of the afternoon.
The rain stopped as soon as Rhiannon’s feet hit the first step.
She gripped the wrought-iron railing on the stone stairs, glancing back at me over her shoulder.
The timing had been too precise, and the rain didn’t peter off the way it should. It had simply stopped.
We went slowly down the back stairs to the house, a giant lilac blocking our view of the garden. The blooms were fragrant, but out of season for full summer. Lilacs bloomed in spring.
As we came around the bush, Rhiannon’s breath sucked in with a sharp gasp that caused me to follow her gaze.
In the garden, at a set of wrought-iron table and chairs, sat a woman dressed in a corpse’s garb.
A loose, black gown swathed her body. She stared at us through the dark veil covering her face.
For a long moment, we both froze, our eyes locked on the spirit, as hers were locked on us. It didn’t seem to matter that Rhiannon couldn’t die and that I was a necromancer, we were both locked in instinct.
The creature before us was a predator, and we were its prey.
My lungs felt as though they might burst. I’d been holding my breath. I attempted to breathe deeply, but my body wasn’t mine to control. Fear had me immobilized, waves of it flowing over me.
Was it mine?
Was it Rhiannon’s?
Was this all a part of the haunting?
“Do you see her?” Rhiannon whispered, so softly I thought I might have mistaken her question for my own inner monologue.
“Yes,” I answered, as soon as my tongue loosened enough to move.
A voice called out, obviously coming from the dark figure, but ringing inside my mind, not my ears. The spirit’s words were delivered in a discordant tone that immediately brought on nausea. The next generation is the answer. Find the key and find the truth.
She disappeared. Not a slow fade away, but a crisp break in the reality of the moment. The spirit had been there, and now was gone.
Rhiannon’s chest heaved, as mine did, both of us gasping for air. The fear I’d felt a moment ago was gone. The haunting had the ability to affect our emotions. That wasn’t good, but it wasn’t entirely unexpected.
“Is it safe to go?” Rhiannon asked, her voice small as she recovered herself from the apparition’s control.
More than anything, I wished I could reassure her.
But I couldn’t. Not honestly, anyway. Ghosts liked to show you how they died, but often had no awareness of their bodies after death.
If a spirit appeared in corpse garb, necromancers considered it an especially bad omen.
Spirits that had that kind of self-awareness were dangerous, and quite rare.
But she was gone now, and we had all the more reason to get back to Hemlock House. “Yes.” I chose lies. The truth was that I had no idea if we were safe to cross the yard. But I was certain we weren’t safe to stay here. “Go.”
Rhiannon moved quickly through the garden.
We were both on high alert. The stone patio where the spirit had been sitting was at the center of the garden.
The wrought-iron table and chairs still sat in the same spot.
As we approached, a glass of iced tea appeared, condensation beading on the bevels of the footed cup.
Rhiannon glanced at me, pointing to a newspaper.
We stopped. I read the date at the top of the paper. “This is the year Cassandra went back to Aradios,” I said.
A chill slipped down my spine. When we came to the cottage, I’d remembered that Magnus had lived here for a few years, of course, but I hadn’t thought this might be about him.
When Ares killed him, he’d bound his spirit, kept it to the netherworld.
Now, I had to wonder if my brother’s preemptive exorcism of our uncle had worked.
“What’s wrong?” Rhiannon asked.
I was tempted to shrug it off. But I’d been the lead on too many investigations for the Necroline Dynasty.
If I had to enforce our brutal rules, I always wanted to be damn sure that the person Ares was punishing really needed it.
The small things were important to me. It wasn’t wise to dismiss any one.
“This…” I fought the childhood stammer in my voice. “I think this might all be about Magnus.”
Rhiannon’s deep blue eyes met mine, searching. She was so close to me now, and her role as the Orphium Maere’s assassin meant she had plenty of experience evaluating people, ferreting out their secrets. I was suddenly uncomfortable with what she might find in me.
Her tone was even with certainty. “Magnus hurt you, didn’t he?”
I tore my eyes from hers. I wouldn’t be able to stand it if I found pity in them. “Yes. He was cruel.”
“Roman let him get away with that?” She sounded sharp, accusatory.
“No,” I breathed. “He never knew. I never told him. I only told Ares after Roman was dead.”
Her eyes narrowed. “It is good that he’s dead,” she said with a vicious edge that drew my gaze back to hers. There was a heat in her eyes I’d never seen. “Or I’d have to finish him now.”