Raven Mask (6 page)

“Is?” I questioned. “As in, she’s still alive or, well, undead?”

She nodded.

I spoke my thoughts out loud. “I guess it’s better than her Ladyship.”

“Far better,” Lenorre said.

“So, why are you awake? What do the words
Mistress
and
rumor
have to do with it?”

“You weren’t this coherent when I woke you that one time…” Rosalin said.

I gave her an irritated look. When we had first met, Lenorre sent Rosalin home with me. She’d snuck into my room and woke me up. I was pretty sure she’d woken me on Lenorre’s orders, as Lenorre had planned a big, spiffy date. I had to choose between going or not going and pissing off a Countess vampire. Guess which option I chose?

I responded to Rosalin’s statement with, “Apparently, I got nine hours of sleep.”

“As I was saying before you woke,” Lenorre changed the subject before either Rosalin or I could say anything else, “I had heard a rumor when I was still in my creator’s care that some days she was able to escape death at dawn.”

“How is that possible?” I asked.

Zaphara’s expression was detached when she said, “Powerful food.”

“Indeed,” Lenorre said, “powerful food.”

“I am not food,” I said. “Stop, both of you. Use a word other than
food
.”

“Dessert?” Rosalin asked with a giggle.

“Ha, ha, fuzzy butt, very funny.”

“Fuzzy butt?” Rosalin burst into laughter. “Oh, you’re cute when you throw childish insults at me.”

I glared at her.

Lenorre said, “Rosalin,” and Rosalin closed her yap. I knew I was being childish, but I had to smirk at the now-silent werewolf.

“As I was saying,” Lenorre continued, “my mistress was able to escape death by drinking the blood of one who was powerful enough to offer such sustenance.”

“The question is,” Zaphara looked at me, and something in her gaze made me want to squirm uncomfortably, “is Kassandra that powerful?” She seemed to be talking more to herself than anyone else in the room. No one answered, and neither Rosalin nor Lenorre attempted to stop her when she began to walk toward me. She moved in a predatory way, using all her height. The pants Zaphara wore were so tight I could see the play of muscles beneath them. If the room hadn’t been carpeted, I might’ve heard the clacking of her heels, but as it was, her boots were quiet. Why was that suddenly very unnerving?

Zaphara reached out to touch me and I recoiled. Though I didn’t know what she was, I didn’t want her to touch me. Somewhere inside, the wolf agreed, pacing back and forth. I closed my eyes. Calm. Calm was a good idea.

“Are you afraid of me?” she asked.

“I don’t like strangers touching me.”

“Am I that strange to you, little one?”

I didn’t like being called “little one.” It made me feel like a child.

“Yeah, you are.”

Her laugh was rich and throaty, and so abrupt I actually jumped. What the hell was she? I felt my eyes widen as she reached out to touch me again. Though I resisted the urge to slap her hand away, I couldn’t stifle my low rumble.

When I growled, Zaphara hesitated, and a wary look slipped through her eyes. “I do not want to hurt you.”

“Then, what do you want?”

“A taste.”

“A taste of what?” My voice was beginning to fall into the huskier, deeper tone of the wolf.

“Your power. I promise I won’t bite, though, from what I have heard, you enjoy that.”

“You don’t know what I enjoy.”

“One can take a guess.”

“No, you’re being presumptuous.”

A look of amusement flashed through her amethyst eyes. “Maybe.” She reached for me again. This time when I tried to move out of reach I was too slow. Zaphara showed me that she had been polite during her first two attempts. She caught my arm, digging her fingers into my skin hard enough to bruise. If I hadn’t been a werewolf, it might’ve. She pulled me roughly toward her.

“I told you I won’t bite,” she murmured. A shudder rippled through her body and through the fingers that were digging into my skin. “But now I’m tempted to.”

Before I could frame a reply, Zaphara pressed her mouth against mine. I brought my arms up to push her away and the air was suddenly warm, so warm, like the glow of the sun kissing my skin. The magic hit me, and I forgot why I had been trying to break free of her hold. Her lips that had seemed harsh were soft and yielding. Her breath filled my mouth, like autumn wind unadulterated by pollutants. Fresh, like the air might’ve been a million years ago. The wolf and I turned our faces into the warm pulse of Zaphara’s power.

The heat of that metaphysical sun intensified, suddenly too hot, threatening to burn the skin, and then it changed… Stillness.

Her power slammed into me, crushing the breath from my lungs. The smell of fresh dirt and decaying leaves filled my senses. Ice. The harshness of winter pierced me. I screamed against her mouth and the wolf howled with me, alarmed and angry.

Something stirred at the center of my being, rushing past the wolf’s alarmed rage. It spilled from that center in a breeze of heat, trying to push away the coldness that threatened to eat me alive. The raven swooped from its perch somewhere inside me. It opened its large black wings and pushed against the weight of Zaphara’s magic, fought against the unforgiving cold.

The frost melted. There was only water, and with nothing to hold on to, I was suddenly drowning. I tried to breathe but the air was too heavy.

How do you fight against a magic you do not understand?

A voice flowed through my mind. “You explore that magic, find its weakness.”

Weakness?
Zaphara’s power was overwhelming. I did the only thing I could think of. I willed myself to be still, as I often did in meditation. This was a place inside myself not even the beast within could touch. It was not her room to retreat to. It was mine. All the emptiness and heartbreak I’d ever experienced was in that one place of my psyche. All the pain and loss and resentment came tumbling like a ball of yarn into my hand.

I cast my will into Zaphara’s magic like a spear.

Her spell wavered, and I was suddenly able to feel her rough grip on my arm. I let my anger call me back to my body and tried to keep my focus on my shields. I swallowed, stifling the wolf’s rage. I didn’t need her anger. I had my own, thanks.

“The problem with your magic, Zaphara,” I said harshly, “is that it’s not real.”

She let me go, climbing off me. At some point, we’d both fallen back on the bed.

Lenorre and Rosalin stood close by. Lenorre’s face was as blank as it usually was. Rosalin seemed ready for a fight, her shoulders tense. It looked like they had been ready to interfere if Zaphara had decided to take things too far. I would’ve appreciated them interfering before she kissed me.

Zaphara stopped and looked at Lenorre. I heard her say, “She is more than she seems.”

Lenorre gave her a disapproving look. “You need to leave now.”

Zaphara laughed and directed a sweeping bow at me. “It’s been a pleasure, Kassandra.” She made my name sound disturbingly intimate.

“You keep pushing me,” I growled, “and you’ll make it on to my shit list.”

She raised her brows. “Oh?”

Zaphara made it to the door before she stopped. “One day we will see who is the more fey of us. You and your Goddess, or me and my blood.” With that, she left, shutting the door behind her.

Fey?
What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Rosalin let out a breath she’d been holding. “You know,” she said, “I can usually tolerate Zaphara, but sometimes she’s so arrogant.”

“Zaphara is not a modest creature,” Lenorre said.

“Creature,” I mumbled. “I could think of other words to call her right now.”

“Now that I think of it,” Rosalin said, “so could I.”

Rosalin and I both turned to look at Lenorre, who spared a glance at Rosalin and then steadily met my gaze. If I had thought she would share her thoughts with me, I was wrong. Lenorre kept whatever opinions she had to herself, which only made me more curious to know what was going on inside her head.

Chapter Seven

Rosalin offered to go make coffee. I knew there was a kitchen somewhere in the basement level, but I didn’t know where. I’d only seen the one in the main part of the house.

Lenorre paced in the middle of the room like some dangerous black leopard slinking back and forth in a cage. She stopped, as if feeling my gaze, and turned to look at me. The bell sleeves of her black robe fanned out gracefully about her wrists. The sash was tied loosely at her cinched waist, showing off her hourglass figure. Lenorre’s figure wasn’t exactly subtle, but it wasn’t sickly looking either. Was she old enough to have worn corsets most of her life?

“What are you thinking about, Kassandra?” The curls falling over her shoulders and to her lower back were messy. It was nice to see her hair less than perfect for once.

“You wore corsets, didn’t you?” I wanted to know and didn’t want to know how old she was. Why? I’d dated women older than me. I never looked at age, but if Lenorre had been alive during the Victorian Era, that would make her over a hundred.

That’s the thing with vampires. They don’t grow old in appearance. Whatever age a vampire is when they die is the age they appear for the rest of their lives. Had any vampires been turned when they were already old humans? How much would that suck?

“Are you trying to figure out how old I am?”

I shrugged guiltily. “Kind of.”

“Kind of?” She gave me a curious look. “Are you fretting over the generation gap?”

I shook my head. “No. It doesn’t bother me.”

“Yes, I wore corsets.” She looked amused. “If you must know, I was changed before that era.”

“So, you’re over two hundred?” Yeah, I was guessing.

“Yes.” She sat on the bed in front of me, and I reclined against the pillows, keeping the sheet tucked up under my arms so that I was covered. I still needed to take a bath, or a shower. “How old were you when you were turned?”

“I was in my early thirties when she turned me.” I knew when she said “she,” Lenorre was referring to her old mistress.

“When I first met you I thought you were younger. Until you smiled, and I saw the tiniest of lines here.” I brushed my fingertip across the corner of her eye.

Lenorre smiled and showed that faint line where crow’s-feet would’ve set in. How many women chose to become undead just to avoid having Botox injections and face lifts?

She slipped her arm around my waist, between my naked back and the pillow. “She did not like them young,” Lenorre said, “nor old. She delayed the change until a woman’s body had fully developed, till she was at the height of her womanhood and beauty. When we were truly women she turned us.”

“Us?” I asked.

“She was a Countess,” Lenorre explained. “I was not the only one in her care.”

I put my arms around Lenorre’s back, pulling her into me. The V of the robe pulled away from her body and I followed the line of her neck, and lower. “Tell me more about this…mistress. You said she was still alive?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Lenorre kissed my neck, nibbling a path toward my shoulder. A twinge of heat ran through me.

“Why are you not with her?”

She spoke against the sensitive skin behind my ear. “I was strong enough to break away and create my own clan.”

I gasped when she placed her hand over the sheet, sliding it up the front of my body to cup my breast. “Are you trying to distract me?”

“Mayhap,” she purred, tucking the tips of her fingers under the sheet and inching it down. She kissed my shoulder, her mouth working its way toward my clavicle.

“Well, it’s working.” I moaned as her hand stroked my breast, the barest of touches. “But if that’s not something you want to talk about, Lenorre, all you have to do is tell me.”

Without warning her hands slid under my ass, pulling me lower so I was no longer propped against the pillows. Lenorre grabbed a fistful of sheet, tossing it aside with a whoosh. The cool air caressed my naked skin.

“It is not something I wish to talk about.”

Her head bowed and she kissed the pentacle scar on my sternum, just above my breasts. Goose bumps broke out on my arms.

Lenorre began tracing the circle around the pentacle scar with the tip of her tongue. “You never told me just how this happened.”

My legs spread wantonly. “I told you it was an accident, didn’t I?” I wrapped my arms around her, hands stroking small circles on the back of her shoulders. The robe was smooth and slippery. I arched, raising myself off the bed as my hands sank lower. She was so tall that from this angle I had to settle for playing my nails along her spine.

“Nay, you have not told me.” Her tongue licked over the first diagonal line of the star. “Mmm, I know witches are fond of their symbolic jewelry. Silver?” Her breath was cool against the damp lines. The combination of her tongue and words against my skin made my neck prickle.