Authors: Elizabeth Amber
Bastian (2 page)
But this was a public room. If he had a firestoneâor relic as he and the council termed themâin his possession, it was likely he would have hidden it in more private quarters. She took the stairs upward again.
Down the corridor from his bedchamber she found what appeared to be his library. Its perimeter was lined with costly bric-a-brac from his excavations and travels, as well as books and statuary. And not just any statuary. These were striking pieces. Familiar ones sculpted by the ancients. They were the sorts of treasures that only museums housed. How had he come by them? Had he, in fact, stolen them from the Forum? Interesting indeed.
Despite the profusion of items, everything was as orderly as a monk might keep it. She ran her fingertip over the edge of a picture frame and found no dust. The busts on the shelves all sat parallel to one another, noses turned precisely in the same direction.
Surely no one who wasn't slightly deranged kept their lodgings this tidy. Though there were no servants about, he obviously employed some. Likely hamadryads, the traditional servants of the Satyr, who worked only after midnight.
One thing was certain, if any of the firestones she'd come to find were here, they would have been cataloged, numbered, and filed. All she needed to do was locate his records. Someone as finicky as he would undoubtedly have boxes of excavation cards, documenting each and every find, no matter how minuscule. Where were they? She took one step toward the desk, then froze.
A harsh, masculine, guttural groan chased down the corridor, unerringly finding her. The unmistakable sound of a man achieving sexual fulfillment. She hunched her shoulders, as if to ward it off. But in her mind's eye, she pictured them together. Saw the sleek, powerful muscles of Satyr's back arched taut, his face contorted with his lusty coming. Saw Michaela's fingers clawing the bedclothes in ecstasy, her opulent breasts heaving with each breath as he fountained hot seed deep, so deep, inside her.
Silvia clasped both fists tight to her chest, strangely helpless to block it all out. Helpless to stop the liquid heat that pumped through her system at the vision she'd conjured of their coupling.
Moments later, she heard him moving through the hall, coming in her direction. Her eyes flew to the door in time to see it open in a smooth swish. Although well aware he could not see her, she quickly tucked herself between two of the tall statues. Standing among them as if she'd become one of them herself, she peeked at him.
Gods, he must be almost seven feet tall. And naked! Or nearly so. Unbelted, the front of his long robe swirled open as he cut through the room, coming her way in a confident, pantherish lope. His passing stirred her unbound hair and the thin fabric of her long white shift.
Her eyes dropped as he came even with her, widening at what was on display. Rooted in the dark nest at the apex of his thighs, his manhood hung long, ruddy, and thickâstill semitumescent in spite of his recent climax. It was quite . . . extraordinary. A fleshly instrument of pleasure surely forged by Vulcan himself. No wonder her best friend was drawing this assignment out so long!
As if he felt her study, he whipped the front of his robe together and tied it closed with a hard jerk of its belt. He reached inside a corner cabinet at the far side of the room, then moved her way again. He came closer.
Wham!
She slammed back against the wall of books, cringing away from him as he leaned forward. A well-muscled arm lifted toward her. She muffled a shriek and sidestepped. When his hand merely withdrew his shaving apparatus, she realized she'd only been in the way of his reach.
Wham!
She slammed back against the wall of books, cringing away from him as he leaned forward. A well-muscled arm lifted toward her. She muffled a shriek and sidestepped. When his hand merely withdrew his shaving apparatus, she realized she'd only been in the way of his reach.
Beside him now, she watched him stand before his mirror, beginning to razor away his dark, morning stubble. This masculine ritual seemed so familiar, yet strangely threatening at the same time. She wanted to shut it out. She pinched her nose against the tang of shaving cream, forgetting that she could not scent anything in her current state.
With a growing sense of unease, she found herself taken back to memories of her childhood. Then the reason for her skittishness came to her. She'd watched Pontifex do this many times, long ago when she was a girl.
“If you hurt her, I'll kill you,” she blurted, then pressed trembling fingers to her lips.
He jerked, cutting himself, and swore. Then he whirled around, confronting the room as though facing off with an unseen enemy. “Who the hell's there?” His voice was velvet and black sand, low and dark. And sexyâeven when he wasn't fornicating.
“Answer me,” he said, a graveled warning in his tone. She folded her arms. As if she'd simply drop her deception at his command and give him her name! Despite her silence, he somehow detected her whereabouts. Abruptly turning her way, he planted his forearms on the wall on either side of her, surrounding her with masculine strength and heat.
Startled, she leaped forward. Her body passed through his toward escape. It was the way of all Ephemerals that they could move through fleshly beings and any clothing they wore or objects they held. This was not accomplished without difficulty and complications, and was therefore something she normally tried to avoid. And she wasn't unaffected by their contact. She rubbed her arms, hugging herself, feeling unsettled and jittery in her own skin.
It was as if, for a split second, she'd become part of him. And now his most recent memories swirled chaotically in her brain and flashed sensation through her body in unexpected, erotic pulses. She now knew as well as he did how it had felt to press his flesh between Michaela's thighs. Knew the pleasure he'd known as he'd moved inside her, knew the pure, sharp ecstasy of his climax. She shook her head, backing away from him, from his private memories. She didn't want them.
Standing in the center of the room, her heart thumped erratically as she surveyed him. From fear or desire? Fear, yes, of course it was fear!
He'd swung around and now stood half-crouched in a battleready posture, watchful eyes scanning the room. He looked . . . stunned. “What are you?” he rasped.
Fool!
This wasn't a human she was dealing with. He'd sensed her presence, even when her very closest friend had not. Who knew what sensory gifts he possessed? Quickly, she flung an echo of herself as far into the distance as she could. Sent it through window glass, beyond stone steps and the shrubbery in his garden, and farther onward, into hilly fields, and deep into the lush forest on the outskirts of his land, and through the wrought-iron fencing that marked the perimeter of his holdings.
This wasn't a human she was dealing with. He'd sensed her presence, even when her very closest friend had not. Who knew what sensory gifts he possessed? Quickly, she flung an echo of herself as far into the distance as she could. Sent it through window glass, beyond stone steps and the shrubbery in his garden, and farther onward, into hilly fields, and deep into the lush forest on the outskirts of his land, and through the wrought-iron fencing that marked the perimeter of his holdings.
He moved to the window to survey sweeping landscape, his body a dark silhouette against the pale morning sunlight streaming in. Her ruse had worked. He assumed that sheâthe presence he'd feltâhad departed his home.
Eyeing him as she would an unpredictable viper, she left the library and scurried down the corridor toward the bedchamber he'd recently departed.
Behind her, Lord Bastian Satyr was left reeling. He ran his fingers through his dark hair, hardly able to credit what had just occurred. When he'd felt the presence move through him, for just a moment the world had no longer appeared to him only in stark black, harsh white, and dull shades of gray.
Heâa man born color-blindâhad seen color.
Glorious, lush color.
For the first time in his life.
And now it was gone again.
2
U
pon entering the luxurious bedchamber Lord Satyr had recently vacated, Silvia rendered herself visible. Immediately, the scent of sex hit her and she staggered back a step under its impact.
pon entering the luxurious bedchamber Lord Satyr had recently vacated, Silvia rendered herself visible. Immediately, the scent of sex hit her and she staggered back a step under its impact.
Her eyes went to the massive bed. In its center, looking fragile among rumpled covers, lay an exquisite beauty. A woman whom exalted, ancient practitioners of the Sensual Arts had trained in the giving of pleasure. One whom knights had waged tournaments over in medieval times. One to whom a Venetian prince had recently offered a priceless tiara encrusted with rare jewels for a single night in her company. A woman Pontifex had lusted afterâMichaela.
Her face was turned away, her dark hair in a silken tangle across the pillow. Her arms were artlessly flung overhead, her knees still slightly raised and apart. The bunched hem of the frothy gown she wore swooped low between her stockinged thighs like some sort of exotic bunting that just barely preserved her modesty.
Quickly, Silvia shut the door behind her and locked it. “Michaela!” she whispered.
There was a rustling of sheets as Michaela came up on her elbows. “Via? Is that you?” Her violet eyes found Silvia across the room, and her lips, berry red from her lover's kisses, curved in delight. In the aftermath of lovemaking, she was quite simply stunning.
And quite simply . . .
mortal?
mortal?
Praying she was wrong, Silvia rushed forward and took Michaela's wrist in her hand. Turning it over, she saw the blood pumping there through pastel blue veins. She dropped it and stepped back, aghast. “What have you done? Made yourself fey again, and mortal?”
“As you see,” said Michaela, unrepentant. “I have indeed permanently reverted to my own form. I'm no longer an Ephemeral. Can never be one again.”
For the past fifteen centuries, they'd each gone from one fleshly host to another in order to survive. They could only reclaim their own corporeal forms briefly before supplanting them with new hosts, which must be shed again in favor of another upon the coming of each full moon. They'd seemed likely to remain Ephemerals forever, and their friendship had seemed destined to be an eternal one. Now, in an instant, all that had changed.
“You'll die!”
Michaela smiled, her eyes teasing. “Not right away. But someday. Mortals do. Oh, don't be cross with me, Via,” she coaxed. Rolling to her knees on the mattress, she stretched out both hands toward her.
“Cross? You've thrown your immortality away for some infatuation with a Satyr. Do you expect me to congratulate you?” Distress had Silvia pacing over the thick carpet, which was patterned with a design of exotic ElseWorld beasts entwined with grapevines. Ogres, monsters, demonsâshe'd done battle with them all. But nothing had ever frightened her as much as the thought of losing her most cherished friend to Death.
“I fell in love. I wanted to be with Bastian in my own form, which meant becoming mortal. It's done. And cannot be undone. I won't return to Pontifex ever again. Let's speak no more of it.” Michaela pushed the covers aside, making room. “Now, come sit beside me. We haven't seen each other for months.”
Silvia's gaze dropped to Michaela's belly. Her eyes went wide and she put a hand to her breast, another shock striking at her like a body blow. Unless she was very much mistaken, her best friend was with child.
“Oh, no.” Her appalled gaze shot to Michaela's. Read the dangerous truth.
“How could you be so foolish?” Silvia demanded. And then in the same breath, “Is it his?” She nodded toward the door to indicate the man beyond.
“No.” Michaela laid a palm over her slightly rounded abdomen as if to shield it from Silvia's disapproval. Her gaze slid away. She was hiding something.
“Whose, then?” Silvia persisted. Going to sit beside her on the edge of the bed, she tried to catch her eyes.
Michaela shrugged. “It simply happened. A hazard of my profession.”
“Does he know?”
“That I'm with child?” asked Michaela. “Of course. It's the reason he brought me into his home.” She grinned, happy. “He's the protective sort.”
“You mean you actually reside here in this museum?” Now that she thought about it, though, she hadn't seen any evidence of feminine occupation.
“Temporarily. But I will become a permanent fixture soon enough, if I have my way. For now, I'm still employed in the
Salone di Passione,
the pleasure house owned by Sevin.”
Salone di Passione,
the pleasure house owned by Sevin.”
“His brother,” Silvia noted, having done her research.
Michaela nodded. “Officially, I still live at the salon, but I use it as nothing more than a glorified closet. I spend most of my time here. And after I miscarryâ”
Silvia grabbed her arm. “What?”
Sadness twisting her features, Michaela clasped her hand. “I fell ill with the Sickness just after Venice,” she admitted.
“Oh,
cara
, no.” Silvia slipped both arms around her friend, grieving for her. Michaela had long dreamed of having her own family someday. When things were safer for them. When they'd freed themselves of Pontifex. But now, that family could never be. The Sickness had killed half the females in ElseWorld and had rendered the rest incapable of bringing a child to term. Did Satyr know she'd been ill? Is that why he didn't mind that his paramour carried another man's child? Because he knew it would not live?
cara
, no.” Silvia slipped both arms around her friend, grieving for her. Michaela had long dreamed of having her own family someday. When things were safer for them. When they'd freed themselves of Pontifex. But now, that family could never be. The Sickness had killed half the females in ElseWorld and had rendered the rest incapable of bringing a child to term. Did Satyr know she'd been ill? Is that why he didn't mind that his paramour carried another man's child? Because he knew it would not live?
Tears welled in Michaela's violet eyes, and she scooted lower to lay her head upon Silvia's lap. Silvia stroked her hair, comforting her. Just as she'd sometimes done when Michaela had nightmares as a girl, holding her until they'd drifted off to sleep in their shared bed in the Atrium House near the temple. There had been twelve of them residing in the house and temple complex then, centuries ago. Six Companions and six Virgins, all of them servants of the goddess of hearth and home, Vesta.
Long since, all twelve had become Ephemerals, gifted with eternal life. All changed by the goddess fifteen hundred years ago during the temple's fiery destruction, when it had seemed the only way of saving them. Of the original twelve, only she, Michaela, and another Vestal named Occia currently roamed free.
Michaela turned on her back, gazing up at her. “Remember how we used to pluck daisy petals on summer nights trying to guess who we might someday marry, after our service to Vesta ended?”
“Umm-hmm.” Silvia remembered:
Who will I bed?
Who will I wed?
Merchant, Taverner, Baker,
Guard, or Ribald, or Candlestick Maker?
No one.
You'll marry no one.
It's your destiny to be alone.
Who will I wed?
Merchant, Taverner, Baker,
Guard, or Ribald, or Candlestick Maker?
No one.
You'll marry no one.
It's your destiny to be alone.
“I used to secretly change âbaker' to âSatyr' in the rhyme, and try to trick the flower into promising me the latter as my husband,” Michaela confessed with a giggle.
“I miss that time,” said Silvia. Her palm smoothed over Michaela's hair, enjoying its silky texture. “Before the temple was destroyed, when we were so innocent of the worlds' evils.” When they'd both sworn to protect Vesta's flame forever.
She gazed toward the fire in Lord Satyr's grate, feeling a deep sense of loss. She was glad Michaela had found love. But Bastian had taken up residence in her heart, and now there would be less room within it for a friendship with Silvia in the future. It was simply the way things went with love.
Michaela looked up at her through her lashes, her eyes knowing. “You're aroused.”
Silvia straightened. “What? No.”
“Don't bother fibbing. A Companion can always tell.” With sensual grace, Michaela shifted aside and patted the mattress between them. “Come here,” she urged gently.
Silvia's white teeth tugged at her lower lip, her blue eyes searching violet ones. Michaela's hand lifted, her fingers tangling in Silvia's long, red-gold hair. The backs of her knuckles dusted Silvia's breast, forcing her to acknowledge the need that surged at the light touch. All that Silvia had learned here tonight was staggering. She was going to lose her friend one day to Death. Had already lost a part of her to Lord Satyr. The desire to feel close to her now was acute.
Silvia glanced toward the door.
“There's time. He'll bathe, dress, and work at his desk before he returns to make his farewells for the day. Please. Lie with me.” Michaela tugged lightly at one end of a lock of her hair. And Silvia gave in because she wanted to, sliding low until they lay facing one another.
For these rare few moments, Silvia would pretend they were ordinary beings without worry or care. She would forget that all the plans she and Michaela had made were suddenly crumbling. That she would soon be alone. She sighed, allowing herself to relax, and rested her cheek upon perfume-and-passionscented sheets. Upon a feather mattress still warm from the powerful body of the man who'd just left it.
Michaela lifted the weight of Silvia's hair and pushed it back over her bare shoulder, smiling at her affectionately. “Did you watch us?” she asked softly.
Silvia shrugged, letting the truth show in her eyes.
“I'm glad, Via.” Their eyes held as Michaela's palm smoothed over Silvia's throat and breast, shaping the contours of her body as it moved down the curve of her waist and then her thigh, her knee. Then it caught her hem and drew upward again, dragging the front of her shift along the seam of legs still firmly locked against invasion.
Silvia gasped as an olive-skinned hand found the pale silk triangle that shielded her privates, cupping her there. The heat of Vesta, which Michaela held in her palms, was designed to arouse. Silvia felt herself surrender to it, melt for it. Somethingâthe pad of a fingertipâbrushed her clit, once, then again. Pulling upward and gently distending it. Though the touch was light, its effect on her was profound.
Suddenly, her entire being was urgently focused on a single objectiveâthe swift pursuit of sexual gratification. She turned into the touch, and her thighs parted in tacit assent, her calf wrapping itself over Michaela's. For this, she was rewarded by the tantalizing rub of Michaela's skilled fingers. Fingers that had entertained legions of both sexes in similar circumstances over the centuries. High between her legs, her nether flesh flushed and wept with the beginnings of pleasure.
Silvia's eyes fluttered closed, her long lashes fanning dark against ivory skin. A soft moan left her. Sex with Michaela would beâhad always beenâtender and calm. It was all she required; all she would accept. An occasional act born of sisterly affection, it would satisfy her need for physical comfort. It would reaffirm the bonds of a centuries-old shared history between them. It would be a welcome relief from the tension that had filled her after watching the act of copulation that had so recently occurred here in this very bed. Nothing more.
“What did you think?” Michaela whispered.
“A-about what?” Silvia managed. A slim finger pressed, parting her petaled feminine folds, stroking along them in precisely the sweet, gentle rhythm that would best excite her. Another moan escaped her.
“Lord Bastian,” Michaela murmured, her lips brushing Silvia's temple. “He's something special,
sì?
” Her voice was rife with concupiscent memories of her lover.
sì?
” Her voice was rife with concupiscent memories of her lover.
At her words, an erotic vision of Lord Satyr laboring over Michaela in this very bed only an hour ago rose in Silvia's mind. She nurtured the carnal image, remembering, allowing thoughts of their coupling to fuel her own rising passion.
“Mmm-hmm,” she said. “I noted the dimensions of his most
special
attribute when I encountered him just now in his study.” Against her hair, she felt Michaela's smile.
special
attribute when I encountered him just now in his study.” Against her hair, she felt Michaela's smile.
“I don't mean
that,
Via, although I agree it's quite nice.” She sighed contentedly. “Shall I tell you what I truly love best about him? Physically, I mean?”
that,
Via, although I agree it's quite nice.” She sighed contentedly. “Shall I tell you what I truly love best about him? Physically, I mean?”
“As you please.” Her eyes fell upon Michaela's breast. Saw the bruise-like splotches there on voluptuous olive fleshâmarks made by the pull of
his
mouth. Mesmerized, she placed her own mouth where his had been, sucking gently, tasting
him
on her skin. That slender finger chose that moment to dip inside her, spiking feverish need throughout her entire body. Silvia gasped and gripped Michaela's wrist in warning. “Not tooâ”
his
mouth. Mesmerized, she placed her own mouth where his had been, sucking gently, tasting
him
on her skin. That slender finger chose that moment to dip inside her, spiking feverish need throughout her entire body. Silvia gasped and gripped Michaela's wrist in warning. “Not tooâ”
“Deep. Yes, I remember. I'll take care.”
Michaela shifted closer and Silvia lay back.
Damp now with Silvia's honeyed balm, slippery fingers rouged her clit and then worked inside her again, and then out, and in and out, rocking over her clit with each push and tugging with each pull. Her back arched and her own fingers curled into the bedcovers. She felt herself moving swiftly toward the precipice of release and hardly realized when she began moving her hips, riding Michaela's touch. Gods, it had been almost a year since they'd done this together. Climax would not be long in coming. And Michaela knew. Always knew.
“It's not what you think.” Michaela's voice was husky as her lips traced upward along the side of Silvia's throat.
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