Come to Me (9 page)

Lac Strigoi

"Samira," Nicolae said, as he drew another of the strange symbols on the floor in chalk. He leaned over to where he'd laid the book on the floor, checking that he had the symbol drawn correctly.

He felt foolish crawling around the stones like this, drawing pictures and speaking aloud to no one. It was a feeling that had grown familiar to him during his time at Lac Strigoi. There was still a powerful part of him that refused to believe he was no longer a warrior of the sword and horse; that he was no longer a man unbroken in body and soul, who could stride onto a battlefield with an army at his back and their confidence in his strength pulling them forward.

It was hard to accept that he was reduced to dabbling in magic and conjurations like a deluded alchemist, seeking strength in books written by madmen and fools. It was only his own body and the ground beneath his feet in which he felt he could put his trust, and there were some days that he doubted even those.

Just as, since last night, he had begun to doubt that a succubus named Samira had actually visited him in his tower. Surely he had merely dreamt the whole thing. Already the memory, as vivid as it had been, was taking on a disjointed, blurry feel.

He had fallen asleep while reading of succubi. It was reasonable that he had dreamt of having one visit. Nightmares were common for him.

What was unreasonable was to drag himself like a crippled dog across the floor, making erratic claw marks with a stub of chalk.

Which was what he was reduced to. With no strength of arm or leg, with none but a handful of beaten soldiers at his beck and call, with the loathing of his father and his brothers, he had no power in this world. He had to seek it elsewhere.

An eager scholar he had never been, but one found new interests when forced to it. He laughed under his breath. Would that his old tutor could see how diligently his careless student had dredged up every fragment of Latin from his memory, these past two years.

Nicolae crawled a few inches, careful not to smudge his work, and then started drawing another symbol.

"Samira," he said aloud. Repeating the name of a specific succubus was supposed to ensure that she was the one who came, the book claimed.

He supposed it didn't really matter if it was Samira or another who showed up, just as long as one did. All the same, he'd rather have Samira. Her nightmare sisters might be… well, just that: nightmares. At least Samira was not openly set on aggression, as far as he could tell.

Granted, his experience with demons was extremely limited. That nipple-rolling mischief could have been part of her plot to take him into her power.

Demon minds doubtless worked in devilish manner.

He drew the last set of symbols and then stood, absentmindedly rubbing the soreness out of his thigh. Following the book's directions, he placed lit candles in a circle around the drawing, and then recited the spell given, in Latin:

Creature of darkness,

Come to me.

Circle of light,

Bind thee.

Fly through night,

Into sight,

Speak to me,

Come to me,

Samira.

He waited.

A draft went through the room, making the candles flicker. The hairs rose on the back of his neck. Was that draft caused by succubus wings?

He was tempted to lay his hand on the book, to test whether or not he could see Samira. He checked the impulse, fearing it might somehow interfere with the spell.

He waited. The candles stopped flickering. The only sounds were the crackling of the wood burning in the brazier, and his own breathing. Minutes passed.

Nothing happened.

He frowned, and read through the instructions again. It wasn't clear whether the spell would command a succubus, or only entice one. Nicolae tapped his fingertips on the tabletop, considering.

He shrugged, then said the entire spell again. "
Speak to me, come to me, Samira
," he repeated again at the end. Once, twice, three times he repeated the phrase, putting a final, strong emphasis upon her name.

With a whoosh of air, Samira fell suddenly into the circle, landing on all fours, with her black leathery wings spread wide, their ends touching the floor.

A cry of surprise caught in his throat, and he stared wide-eyed at her. Good God, had it worked? His brain momentarily shut down in shock.

Samira was motionless for a long moment, as if as stunned as he, and then she slowly turned her head to look at him, her bloodred hair sliding over her shoulder and pouring like a waterfall down over her hand and onto the floor. Her glowing blue eyes were stunned and confused.

"Samira?" he said, finding the wit to step forward, and just managing to stop himself before he reached through the magic circle. To do so would destroy the spell.

She shivered all over; wings, hair, and pale flesh all quivering with the fine movement. Then, with a quick stroke of her wings, she lifted herself onto her haunches, and thence to her feet. She looked blankly at him, with only the dimmest glimmer of stunned recognition that a beast might give its master, and then reached out toward the boundary of the circle.

Nicolae stumbled away from the threat of her soulless touch and caught his balance on the table edge.

Her fingertips touched the invisible barrier of the circle and she shrieked in pain, jerking her hand back and then cradling it against her chest, her eyes wide and accusatory. She looked as if she was asking why he would do such a cruel thing to her.

"It's the circle," Nicolae explained. "You can't go beyond it." God's blood, that shriek of hers had sent unholy shivers up his spine.

She frowned at his words and reached out again with her unharmed hand. Again, she hit the boundary. She shrieked in pain, the tone high and piercing, setting the bones in Nicolae's head to vibrating. Samira looked back at him with anger in her eyes, clearly recognizing him now and focusing all her rage upon him. He felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck, and sent a prayer heavenward that the circle would hold.

Samira yowled in fury and flung herself at the invisible barrier. She bounced back off it and howled in agony, dropping to the floor and curling into a ball, her wings wrapping protectively around herself. As the howls died away, whimpering sounds emerged from somewhere under the huddled mass of red hair and black wings.

Nicolae shook, a fine tremor of both fascination and horror running through his body. A long-buried instinct toward pity emerged gradually within him as her piteous whining went on and on. She was a creature suffering horribly at his hand, and a forgotten sense of compassion made him reach down to pinch out the flame of one of the candles.

As his hand neared, Samira looked up, strands of red hair tangled across her face. She hissed, baring her teeth at him like a cat. He jerked away, leaving the candle burning.

God's blood, man
, he said to himself,
you don't want to let that thing loose, do you
? "If you behave yourself, you won't be hurt," he said aloud, forcing his voice to a calm steadiness he did not feel.

She bared her teeth again in response, saying nothing.

"Do you understand me?" No response, beyond a curl of her lip.

"Can you speak?" he asked.

Still nothing.

He tilted his head to the side, narrowing his eyes and looking carefully at her. Damnation, had he gotten the wrong succubus? Maybe they all looked alike. "You
are
Samira, aren't you?"

At the sound of her name, her curled lip relaxed a fraction.

"Samira," he said again.

She pushed herself up into a sitting position and turned her back to him, wrapping her arms around her knees and tucking her face down against them, her wings cradling her body. Nothing could be seen of her but black wings, red hair, and a strip of pale flesh down the center of her back. She looked for all the world as if she was sulking, feeling sorry for herself.

He felt a flash of annoyance. He found no charm in human females who pouted, and he was damn sure not about to find it fetching in a demoness.

So be it. She wasn't going anywhere, and a sulk was best left unrewarded. He would let her stew until she was ready to respond to him and behave in a civil manner. The last thing he was going to do was ask her what was wrong, or pretend to care about her.

Her
. He'd graced her with a gender, when it would be more true to call her a thing. An
it
. A denizen of Hell, without a drop of mortal blood.

He went back to his worktable and sat down, the muscles in his leg quivering along with the rest of him, and thanking him for the rest. He poured himself a glass of wine with a shaking hand and tried to concentrate on the open pages in front of him.

From the corner of his eye, he saw a shudder run down Samira's back, almost as if she was weeping. He turned his head farther away, willing himself not to watch her or to feel pity. She was a demoness, a creature of darkness. She had no soul. He must remember that.

The words on the page before him made no sense to his distracted mind, and he pulled a different book forward. He turned pages without seeing the script before him, while his ears strained to pick up each small sound of Samira's movement.

He heard a few rustlings and shifts, and then nothing. Time crawled slowly by, his own breathing and the crackle of the fire in the iron brazier sounding so loud that he feared they would drown out any sound she made. An eerie certainty that she was staring at him made the hair stand upon the back of his neck. A shiver ran down his spine, and then he began to imagine that a candle had gone out or the circle had not held, and she was standing right behind him, fingers curled into claws, ready to strike. He could almost feel her breath stirring the hairs on his head, and could all but see her hand reaching for him, toward his vulnerable, exposed neck.

His muscles tightened in anticipation of her touch, and then, unable to bear the suspense any longer, he spun about on the bench to stare at the circle.

Samira stood motionless at its center, her wings folded behind her, her arms down at her sides. Her face was expressionless, but her eyes glowed with a furious blue intensity as she watched him.

Gods above, what had he gotten himself into? He'd thought he could control this thing.

He set his jaw against his doubts, determined not to show them. Surely she would take advantage of any weakness or compassion he showed. One could not deal gently with the denizens of Hell.

"Good evening, Samira," Nicolae said coolly, with all the poise he could muster. "Welcome again to Lac Strigoi."

"Why have you done this to me?" she asked. Her voice was as rich and smooth as cream poured across velvet. The sound of it sent licking tongues of desire over his skin, and once again Nicolae felt a deep arousal start in his sex, as if his body were a puppet under another's control. He strove to ignore the sensation, and to use his will to beat his arousal into submission.

"I wanted to speak with you," he said.
Down, down, for God's sake, down! She is not the ripest, most luscious piece of fruit you've seen your entire life. No
!

"You have the book. Touching the page would have allowed that easily enough," she said, her tone betraying no hint of the anger that he could see burning in her eyes.

"This way… is more useful to me."

"Let me go."

"Yes, in the morning."
After you've shown me what that body can do… No! She's a devil
!

"Let me go," she repeated, an edge to her voice.

"In the morning. If you agree to do as I wish." And he had so many wishes, most of which he could never let her fulfill.

"You cannot keep me here past the dawn," she said archly. "You know, of course, that your spells will not hold me in the daylight."

He felt a start of alarm. "No," he agreed, "of course not." The book hadn't covered that issue. All the book had done was talk about spells for capturing a succubus, not what limits such a spell might have. "But if you disappear in the dawn I will simply summon you again when night falls. I do not imagine you wish to spend any more nights trapped thus."

Her cool façade slipped a fraction, and her lips parted, fear and disbelief struggling to show themselves on her features. "You would do that to me?"

"I will if you force it upon me," he said, trying equally as hard to hide his surprise at her strong reaction. She must truly loathe captivity. Perhaps that threat was all the leverage he needed to have her do his bidding. "Do as I wish and you will be free."

He didn't much relish the idea of setting her free at all, really. Once loose, she might seek whatever revenge she pleased, attacking him before he could defend himself. He hadn't a choice about eventually letting her go, though, had he? He couldn't spend every evening for the next fifty years reciting that spell, just to keep her caged.

She was staring at him. Then her lips twitched and tightened, as if forcing herself to swallow something distasteful. "What is it that you wish me to do for my freedom?" she asked bitterly.

Nicolae felt his muscles relax in relief. The battle had been more easily won than he had imagined, and at no cost to himself. He had been certain he'd have to offer Samira some sort of bargain to get her to do as he wished. He had hated to think of what she might have asked of him. A night with him, where he made no protest to whatever depravities she desired? A month of visits, where she drained him of his essence?

He'd spent a good part of his day lying half-awake in bed, trying to imagine what she might want and how he would be able to give it to her. A virgin he might be, but he had a healthy imagination. Too healthy. Unfortunately, the imaginings had not been nearly as distasteful or distressing as they should have been, and if he dared to admit it to himself, he'd come to hope that she'd demand a great deal from him in whatever bargain they struck.

She was dangerous, clearly. If mere thoughts of offering her a bargain had been enough to obsess his thoughts all day, how much worse off would he have been if he had had to give in to some strange, erotic demon request and let her have what she wanted? He might never have had the strength to rise from his bed again.