Maelstrom (17 page)

“If only I’d been able to break the cipher
before the codex was stolen, we might know what they want,” he said
unhappily. “Or at least what is the nature of this ‘Restoration’
they desire.”

Christine’s skin took on a slightly greenish
hue. “The codex. I don’t suppose it was a coincidence that the graf
chose now, of all times, to donate the library.”

I sighed. “Probably not. Do we know if
anyone suggested the idea to him?”

“I certainly didn’t,” Christine said. “But
it is possible.”

“Someone knew the Wisborg Codex was in the
graf’s donation,” Whyborne said. He turned to us as he dried a
plate, leaning his hip against the sink. “They wanted it, but I
removed it from the library before they could get it. They arranged
for the ambush on the island, because they knew enough about my own
history to realize I’d recognize the standing stones were the same
as the ones on the farm. When they failed to kill us, they set up
poor Mr. Durfree as a distraction, so the horrible familiar could
climb in the window and make off with the codex while I wasn’t
there.”

“Don’t forget the surveyor’s map and Mr.
Lambert.” I sipped my coffee, barely noticing its taste. “Mr. Tubbs
said the museum wanted their older maps and such. Our culprit
probably tried official channels before resorting to magic. And
there were three names on Mr. Lambert’s client list: Dr. Norris,
Dr. Osborne, and Mr. Quinn.”

“Mr. Quinn,” Christine said, glancing at
Whyborne. “It must be him.”

Whyborne nodded slowly. “I thought he seemed
annoyed when a junior librarian brought the codex to my attention.
No doubt the one-eyed cultist had come to take possession of it.
When I took it to my office, Mr. Quinn redirected him there.”

“Not to mention, if anyone in the museum
belongs to a secretive cult it would be him,” Christine said. “The
entire library staff is probably in on it.”

“Let’s not go that far,” I cautioned. “But I
agree with Whyborne. All the pieces fit.”

“So what are we to do about him?” Iskander
asked.

I considered carefully. “Open confrontation
might not do us a great deal of good. We don’t know how many others
are in the cult, or where their leader is. Assuming the one-eyed
man is their leader, of course, and not Mr. Quinn himself. At any
rate, we can’t risk them escaping to carry out whatever it is they
have planned.”

“Should we keep a close eye on Mr. Quinn?”
Christine asked. “I’m sure I can spend the day reading journals or
something like that in the library.”

The thought of Christine trying to spy on
Quinn without alerting him made me cringe inwardly. She’d lose
patience and threaten him with her pistol inside of an hour. “It’s
too much of a risk,” I said. “Does anyone know where he lives? No?
Very well. I’ll follow him when he leaves the museum tomorrow.” I’d
have to put on a disguise of some sort, as I’d seen him far too
often to remain inconspicuous otherwise. “Surely the entire cult
doesn’t work at the library, so he must be meeting them elsewhere.
And if nothing else, I might be able to break into his flat and
take a look at his possessions.”

Whyborne looked worried. “I should accompany
you. I’ll tell Father he’ll have to visit Stanford without me.”

I shook my head. “You’re too conspicuous.
Christine will surely stand out as well.”

“Then let me,” Iskander offered. “I’ve seen
sailors from distant ports here in Widdershins, and some of them
are as dark as myself. With the proper attire...”

I considered. “Actually, it might work.
People are inclined to see what they expect. Very well.” I drained
my coffee. “All of you stay away from Mr. Quinn during the day
tomorrow. We don’t wish him to realize that we suspect anything.
Iskander, change clothes and meet me shortly before working hours
end. With any luck, he’ll lead us straight to some evidence we can
take to the police and have the lot of them arrested for
murder.”

“Excellent,” Christine said, finishing her
coffee and rising to her feet. “Then all we must do is survive the
wedding, and everything can go back to normal.”

Griffin

“I don’t like this,” Whyborne said as he
shut and locked the door behind Christine and Iskander. “What if
you run afoul of the cultists tomorrow? What if Mr. Quinn realizes
you’re following him and lures you into a trap? What if—”

“I’ll be exceedingly careful, my dear.” I
slid my arms around him from behind. “Believe me, I’ve no desire to
get Iskander killed just before his wedding.”

“I know. But I can’t help worry about
you.”

I let go of him. “Here. I’ve something to
take your mind off of things.”

He arched a brow. “Do you, now?”

“Not that,” I said. “Well, not to begin
with.” I led the way into the parlor and unlocked the cabinet. The
facets of the Lapidem caught the light, and for a moment distant
voices whispered in my mind.

The four wands we’d taken from the island
lay within as well, their surfaces still gleaming with a knot work
of enchantment. “I don’t care for the thought of these simply lying
about, waiting for someone else to come along and use them. I
thought we might break the spells.”

“Not a bad suggestion,” Whyborne agreed
slowly. “Although, you do recall the, ah, effect the curse breaking
spell has on me?”

The memory brought a rush of blood to my
cock. “I do indeed. It will be safe to touch you, won’t it?”

“It should, so long as I don’t draw from the
maelstrom while we’re in contact.” He indicated the desk. “Place
the first one here, if you’re certain, and we’ll begin.”

I did so. “Sit down, and I’ll guide your
hands,” I said.

He sat, and I leaned over him. I’d grown
used to my shadowsight, and it seemed almost strange to me that he
couldn’t perceive the latticework of magic bound to the wand. His
hands hovered over the smooth wood, and I placed my fingertips on
their backs, guiding his touch. “Here,” I breathed into his ear and
felt him shiver against me. “And here.”

His hands tensed beneath my fingers, and the
scars on the right flashed with unnatural light. He pressed his own
fingers down, murmuring something beneath his breath. There came a
spark like a sudden discharge of electricity, leaping from the wand
to him. His breath caught sharply.

“Good,” I whispered into his ear. “The
spell’s beginning to untangle and come apart. Now here.”

With each repetition, his breathing became
slightly more ragged. His skin grew warm. Soon, the wand was
nothing more than an ornately carved length of wood set with
crystal.

When I went to retrieve the next wand, I
noted a flush staining Whyborne’s cheeks. His eyes were dark with
arousal, and a delicious shiver went through me as he followed my
every move. “Ready for more?” I murmured, laying the wand on the
desk.

“Are you?”

“Always.”

We repeated our actions for all of the
wands. A little moan escaped him each time a spell unwound, feeding
its stored energy into him. His hands trembled with leashed desire
beneath my fingers, and my prick ached in response.

“There,” I said, when the last one was
finished. I stepped back, giving him space if he wished it.

He rose to his feet; the chair fell back,
unnoticed. He burned in my shadowsight, his eyes blue flame and his
scars a lacework of fire. His breath came in short, heavy gasps,
lips parted, and the rigid outline of his cock pressed against his
trousers. His gaze pinned me, hot and commanding, and I could only
obey.

I went to my knees, reaching for his
trousers. He was ahead of me, long fingers flying over the buttons.
He freed himself with one hand; the other seized the back of my
head, fingers curling in my hair tightly. Ordinarily I would have
taken my time, admiring and teasing his length, but tonight I
simply opened my mouth and let him push in.

His grip tightened on my hair, riding the
line between pleasure and pain. The head of his prick hit the back
of my throat, and I swallowed convulsively. He tasted of salt and
skin, smelled of the ocean and musk. I fumbled at the buttons of my
own trousers, desperate to relieve the ache. He gave my head a
short shake.

“No,” he growled. “Not yet. I’m not done
with you by half.”

His words set a fire in me, and I moaned
desperately around the cock filling my mouth. I let my hands fall,
gripping my ankles to hold back the urge to stroke myself. I kept
my gaze on his face, his lips parted, eyes black with desire and
blazing with power. If I could have spoken, I would have begged him
to use me more, to do anything he wanted with me, because I was
his.

But he knew that already, of course.

He pulled free, then dropped to his knees to
kiss me, his mouth hard against my bruised lips. I returned his
kiss with equal ferocity. Then he drew back, panting softly. “Yes?”
he whispered.

I grinned. “God,
Ival,
yes.”

He laughed softly, a hungry grin curving his
own mouth. The hand still in my hair tightened, tugging my head
back. His tongue caressed the base of my throat—then he bit me,
hard. I gasped and bucked against him, desperate to grind against a
thigh or his stomach or anything. His free arm snaked around me,
gripping my ass and hauling me close, while he sucked on the patch
of skin on my neck.

“St-stop,” I gasped. “Or you’ll make me
come.”

He drew back slightly and ran his tongue up
my throat, across the vulnerable cartilage and sinew. “You aren’t
coming until I decide you do. Now get undressed.”

My cufflinks went spinning off across the
room, so great was my haste to strip. I expected Whyborne to do the
same. Instead, he went to the desk and yanked open one of the
drawers. He took out the small jar of petroleum jelly I kept
inside—and my handcuffs.

Oh. So this was how things were going to
go.

“On your knees,” he ordered. “Hands around
the leg of the desk.”

I hastened to obey. He pushed my shoulders
down, leaving my ass in the air while the cuffs clicked into place,
chaining me to the desk. I tugged, more for show than anything
else, but there was no escape.

Cloth rustled behind me, and I twisted about
to watch him fling aside his clothes into a messy heap. He looked
utterly wild, eyes blazing, his prick at full attention. I wanted
him as much as I’d ever wanted anything in my life.

He gripped my hips, pulling them higher. I’d
have bruises tomorrow where his fingers bit into my thighs, but I
didn’t care.

Teeth nipped at one buttock, and I let out a
cry of surprise, the handcuffs rattling as I jerked. He repeated
the action on the other side, then licked my crease from balls to
spine. I let my head droop, soaking it in, fluid dripping from my
cock onto the rug. “Ival, please.”

He took me, hard and fast. I cried out,
spine bowing, the handcuffs jerking tight. God, it felt good, his
cock plunging into me, again and again. Then he bent over and bit
me savagely on the back of the neck.

I went wild, bucking against him, crying out
incoherently. It was too much, too good, and my whole body begged
for release. He ignored my pleas, peppering my shoulders and neck
with stinging bites, fucking me mercilessly.

Magic crackled in the air. I opened my eyes
to see frost race across the floor and coat the windows. The breeze
through the window strengthened, sending the curtains
billowing.

His hand wrapped around my aching cock. I
came almost instantly, my lungs seizing up with the force of it. He
wrung my orgasm from me, milking every spurt, until pleasure kissed
the borderland of pain.

Then he gasped and stilled, shuddering as
his climax took him. I closed my eyes and pressed back against him,
as tightly as I could.

Silence claimed the little room, except for
our breathing. My muscles felt limp, my limbs boneless, and I
wanted to melt into the floor. After a long moment, Ival’s weight
lifted from my back, and his hands trailed along my spine.

“Griffin?” he asked tentatively. “Are you
all right?”

I grinned. “More than all right.”

“Let me find the keys.”

Within seconds, he’d freed me. I sat back,
stretching to work out the kinks. Whyborne slid his arms around me,
and I sagged into them gladly. “I love you, Ival,” I murmured.

His lips pressed against my forehead. “I
love you too, my darling.”

Tomorrow, I’d be sore: my knees burned from
friction against the rug, my wrists bruised from the handcuffs and
my throat from his bites. And I’d savor every moment, because it
would remind me of this.

“Take me to bed,” I said. “I want you to
hold me.”

His hands stroked my face tenderly, and I
opened eyes I hadn’t realized I’d closed. “Of course,” he said, and
kissed me again.

Whyborne

I woke to the sense of being watched.

Griffin slept beside me, his breathing soft
and even. Saul curled at our feet like a hot, fluffy cushion. The
window stood open, letting in the night breeze.

A dark shadow peered in at us.

“Persephone!” I exclaimed. “What have I told
you about doing this?”

Griffin jerked awake. “What?
Persephone?”

“We must talk,” she said, slipping
inside.

“Indeed we must!” I clutched the blanket
about my neck. “About your abominable manners. If you need to talk
to us, go to the back door and knock.”

“This was much easier,” she said with
sublime indifference to my concern.

“Persephone obviously came for a reason,”
Griffin said. “But please, wait for us in the study.”

We dressed in haste and emerged to find
Persephone perched on the edge of the couch. Her tentacle hair
curled and twisted in agitation, and she tapped her claws on her
knee. “All right,” I said, “what was worth crawling in our window
at—dear lord, three in the morning—for?”