Enthroned by Amethysts (A Dance with Destiny Book 3) (12 page)

She giggled. “His is a rather crude language, is it not? Now, listen well, sweet warrior. He did not touch me, even as you just did.”

Vittorio blushed at her honest words.

“Vareilious and I, we fight together, we talk, and we share… perhaps too much. It’s too easy for me to fall in step with his actions, with his emotions. When he and I are together, we bring out the wicked in each other. Notice I said
in
each other, not
with
each other.”

Vittorio only snorted into the mound of curls still firmly grasped within his massive hand.

She smiled and rolled her eyes. “I enjoy it more than I should, I suppose. But certainly not as much as I want to, especially since my recent
blending
with my dark husband. Black pieces of him still rage within me, they always will.” She continued to chatter on. “Varick tries to limit our time together. Vareilious says it’s because we make his royal head hurt. But he doesn’t say it where Varick can hear. So, you caught me, Brother. I admit it. I like to play. Apologies. It’s a flaw I stepped out of hell with, it seems. But I’m not real keen on getting rid of it, not just yet.”

She untangled his fingers from her hair and headed toward the waiting armored hoard.

“Aye, Lass, remind me tae thank good old Vareilious upon our return.”

“I will do no such thing.” She cut her eyes sideways at him. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

He chuckled softly. “Aye, but do ye kiss an’ do
other
things?”

“I do. But not this day, Brother.”

Her words were cut off by the grating sound of her claws scraping across metal.

They became separated during the hard fought battle. Vittorio liked to keep an eye on her, even though he knew full well she could handle herself. His fierce need to protect her never ebbed. Realizing he could no longer see her glittery blurring wings, he crashed through the surrounding adversaries with a maddening frenzy of desperate vehemence. His breath returned only after he caught sight of her—curls soaked in blood, felling men three times her size. Relief washed over him like a euphoric paradise.

God, I love that wee Angel
, he thought.

Her claws proved little help against their polished steel. She could slice through it, yes, but not with enough speed and accuracy to comfortably keep up with their advancing numbers. So she started snapping necks and slicing off legs with her wings. Bloodier work, yes. Much more screaming, but gruesomely effective. Jenevier didn’t carry a physical sword, had never saw the need to add one to her arsenal. Besides, they always seemed to get in the way of her claws. And her priceless wings were more than adequate. She would cut with one while using the other as a shield against their barrage attacks.

Always, she kept one eye on her treasured brother, taking note if he happened to be in trouble. Perhaps she was watching over him a bit too much that day, for she soon found herself completely surrounded by shiny metal men with sharp pointy blades. Doubling her efforts, she turned her attention back to her own hide.

There were hundreds of them. They fought hard for many hours before the two tattered warriors were finally the last ones standing among a sea of their slain.

Leaning upon his sword, panting from exhaustion, Vittorio remembered being wholly smitten by her bloodied, disheveled form as she placed her hands on the small of her back, stretching out her spine, arching her weary chest toward the heavens. He could hear the bones popping in her neck just as clearly as he had that day.

“Why do ye resist me?” he had asked.

She looked at him as she grabbed her left arm, pulling it across her body until the shoulder blade jerked back into place.

“I cannot answer you, Brother. Not in truth.”

“Aye, an’ why’s that, Lass?”

“I know not, Vittorio. I’ve asked myself that exact same question many times.”

“An’ ye’ve failed tae come up with an answer?”

“I’ve failed to come up with an answer that satisfies me, yes.”

“I’ve thought of naethin’ else since I confessed myself tae ye while ye lay in the grass of yer secret place, crying for yer lost husband, hurt by Varick’s jealous words. I’ve wished every moment since then, I hadnae shown ye the error of yer ways. Nae sent ye running back intae his arms. I was a fool. Alas, I did learn a few things, Princess. I know ye find me attractive. I know ye love me madly. I know the feel of my arms aboot ye calms yer heart, an’ sets it tae racing as well. What I dunnae know is why ye deny my passion; deny the truth living in yer heart. Yer nae bound, Milady, nae truly. Yer husband is forever gone, his manacle left with him. Ye dunnae love Varick as ye do me. Yer bound tae him through guilt an’ obligation only. Why cannae ye confess yer love for me an’ fall intae my arms? I wulnae hurt ye, an’ I cannae leave ye. Believe me, Lass. I’ve tried. I’m yer loving warrior for all eternity. Dunnae doubt that.”

She smiled as she stared out over the littered battlefield. “It warms my heart when you say such things. I love you, Brother. With all there is to me… I love you.”

“Aye, an’ I love ye more, my wee baby rabbit.”

She giggled. “Why am I always a rabbit or a lamb?”

“Aye now. Have ye ever seen anything as cute as a wee lamb on toddling legs, or a baby rabbit with its wee nose scrunching up like that? Nae. Naethin’ in the world can touch yer heart like those precious wee things can. Naethin’ but ye, Lass.”

A painful knowledge choked her, tightened in her throat. No matter how badly she wanted this man, she could never have him. Fate denied their paths from joining. They would travel in the same direction, even cross occasionally, but never would they join. The truth of that lonely future caused his tender words to be as a vise upon her heart, a curse upon her soul.

“I just think you love me too much, Brother,” she said through her smile.

“Aye, that be the truth of it, yes.”

She hadn’t the strength to meet his gaze when next she spoke. “Perhaps I don’t allow my heart a voice concerning you because… I fear our unbridled passion would burn down the heavens. Once released, it would be an uncontainable thing.”

“Aye. That it would, Lass. That it would.”

“In truth, I swore never to hurt Varick again. And I never shall. At least, not through purposeful intent.”

“I knew that truth minus yer words.”

She closed her eyes, sighing wearily. “You also know I no longer have a choice in this, Vittorio. As you say, I am bound. It may be guilt-ridden and obligatory, but it’s an obligation I will never ignore. I’ve accepted my Fate. Do both our souls a favor. Accept yours as well, Brother. Your glorious heart is too precious a thing to waste upon the likes of me. Give it to a
real
Princess, receive the love you deserve in return. Don’t play around with such folly as this.”

“Aye, but all I want tae do is play, Lass.” He stood up straight, sheathing his stained sword. “Play with yer curls, lick yer soft body, cup yer sweet hips in my palms as we sway tae a tune only we can hear. Do ye have any idea how turned on I am right now? Gazing upon yer battle-weary form, that wee trickle of blood-tinged sweat sliding down yer luscious throat, defining the line of yer muscle there—ye’ve nae idea how badly I want ye.”

The right side of her mouth turned up in a smile. “Yes, I do. I feel the same. My desire mirrors yours. Alas, it will pass. It’s only battle rage that heightens you so.”

“Aye, that it does. But that’s nae the whole of it. Bloodlust is nae the only lust I feel.”

“Perhaps not.” She wiped the drying blood from her sparkling wings on a dead man’s pants. “But that’ll be the end of it. Our words are done. I will not speak further with you concerning this.”

“Aye, Princess, my mind wasnae on speaking.” He wrapped his perfect arms around her tiny waist, turning her to face him, lifting her up. “Ye dunnae have tae say a word. Moaning is acceptable… an’ perhaps the occasional scream.”

She laughed. “Stop your play and put me down. I mean it, Vittorio. My words to you were not in jest, Brother.”

“Why cannae we even
speak
of it, Jenevier? Our love is nae hidden from anyone. Every Vanir knows our feelings for each other. They may nae understand it, but they know it’s there. If we’re nae truly going tae act upon these feelings, then why cannae we at least speak on them?”

She quit squirming in his arms. Her stillness only caused him to tighten his embrace. Her face was firm, serious when next she spoke.

“I do not wish to speak openly with you about my raw desire to have you, to taste you, to feel you moving within me. Because I fear giving voice to these feelings will give permission as well. And that, my most beautiful of brothers, is a dark path we must always avoid… if we wish to steer clear of hell.”

His heart had ceased pumping during her sensual sermon, he could barely draw breath.

“Ye wish tae feel me moving within ye?” His voice was thick and raspy.

“Of course I do. Who doesn’t wish to feel that with someone they love? And this is exactly what I was talking about. Had my dark desires been withheld from your ears, you wouldn’t be thinking as you are now.”

“Aye, Milady, I always think this way aboot ye.”

“Perhaps so, but my words were fuel to your flame.”

“Aye, that they were. I burn with a fire that cannae be quenched by another. For ye, I will gladly burn for all time.”

Vittorio laid his head upon her chest, tightening his grip about her waist and breathing in her intoxicating scent. He smiled when she ran her fingers into his hair.

“You know how much I love you,” she whispered. “That’s all that matters.”

“Aye… perhaps.” He tickled her ribs then. “An’ perhaps in a couple thousand years or so, ye’ll weaken just enough tae allow me…
entrance
,” he said as he released her, playfully popping her on the bottom for emphasis.

She snorted and cast him a sideways glance. “…Pervert,” she said, then winked.

He chuckled. “Aye, an’ that be the truth of it.”

She laughed and teasingly punched his hard stomach in retaliation for the swat across her backside. “Well, I guess you can never be
too
sure about the future. Who knows, right? Perhaps… I mean… in a couple thousand years.” She kissed his cheek. “We shall see.”

*****

Vittorio blinked the tears away and took a deep breath, trying to shake off the blissful memory of that day. Honking horns reminded him he was yet in Detroit. Italy was many miles from here, and that was a different time.

He grunted out a small chuckle.
Aye… an exceptionally delicious poison
, he thought as he entered the clouds, leaving layer eight behind, but taking his memories with him.

Chapter 17

Musashi

(moo-SAH-shee)

“What did you do to Master Mikage?” Musashi’s words weren’t harsh, but his tone left no doubt. He expected an answer.

Jenevier bit her lip. The only thought running through her mind was how this imposing man would look, headless, slumped upon the floor, blood pooling around his silent form.

The Emperor of Jinn wasn’t just a large man, he was lethal as well. His broad shoulders and thin waist made him deceptively graceful, elegant looking. Alas, there was no grace or elegance in his heart. This she knew.

Vittorio and Varick had both mentioned this man by name many times before. The way his skill seemed almost inhuman, how regret was a word he knew not, a red sea of blood always following in his wake. Musashi was a terrifying enigma, to men and Guardians alike.

She kept a close watch on his reflection in the giant looking glass as he advanced into her prison suite. She took note of how he would cut his eyes toward her, but never for more than a fleeting breath. He was cool, distant. She read murder plainly within his thoughts. But it was twisted with doubt, muddled by indecision. He wanted her dead, yet feared that reality above all things.

She determined madness to be his true affliction.

Mad people often prove to be the most fun. But this man, his psychosis is dark, icy. Ugh, why must I always be forced to deal with the mad ones? It seems they flock to me. Madness and malevolence… my constant companions.

“Did you not hear me, Milady? What could a tiny little thing like you have possibly done to shake a mighty ninja master?”

I want his summons… I want his summons… I want his summons… I want my wings… I want my wings… I want my wings.
Her internal mantra continued, right along with her cold silence and heated glare.

He moved closer. “I must admit. I had you pictured in my mind as being a great deal larger, a much more ferocious creature. Your lovely presence has taken me by surprise.”

His deliberate, intentionally heavy steps echoed eerily in the room. They seemed to shout at her, torturously dragging words through her soul. Dark words, terrifying words, words that shouldn’t creep into the mind of a fierce Warrior of God. They filled her with a language akin to:
vacant… abandoned… solitary… friendless… alone… bleak… tiny… hopeless
.

“You are no Dragon, Milady.” He chuckled softly. “In my mind, you had giant wings and breathed fire through your nostrils. In reality, you’re more comparable to a sparrow—petite, fragile, so delicate and lovely. I was prepared to face a Dragon. I know not how to treat a tiny bird.”

Her hands were shaking. She was mumbling to herself, fussing with the layers upon layers of silky fabric. “How in the world am I expected to tie this damn thing?” Her words exploded with frustration.

She caught a glimpse of his stern shoulders. They jerked in surprise to her outburst. Glancing once more into the looking glass, she was met with an icy lavender glare.

You must not kill him… You must not kill him… You must not kill him.
And so, her mental hymn grew.

He moved not.

“Can a woman possibly dress herself on this horrid layer? How do they manage? Do the men make all the clothing here? Is this some sort of jest?”

Yes, she had heard the Emperor’s questions. But bottling her internal rage was proving a much harder thing than she had anticipated. She was just a girl now, a weak, human, pregnant girl. Her lovely kimono was taking the brunt of her anger.

“I can see them all now.” Her ramblings continued but she kept a close eye on the crowned Ronin behind her. “I can imagine them standing around as they lay out the designs, having a good laugh at the fragile little lady’s vain attempts to secure the intentionally frustrating garment.” She audibly sighed with disgust. “Why? Tell me. Do the men of Jinn have not the nerve to touch a woman? Do they lack the charm, the sweet words needed to receive an invitation? Must they resort to games such as these? Must they force a lady to require assistance in donning her own attire? Is that what turns the men of your world on, Emperor? Forcing women to depend on others, never allowing them independence, freedom?”

Musashi’s hurriedly approaching steps echoed in her trembling heart, rattling her already frazzled nerves, hitching her breath in her throat. The first tug upon her sash was sharp, quick, ceasing the even sharper words that had been flying from her now closed lips. The following tugs were more gentle, yet precise to a fault. She watched him through the mirror. Noting the fierce determination on his brow, the deft, lithesome movements of his elegantly thin fingers as he manipulated the soft pink silk, his full attention on the exquisite clothing he’d gifted her.

“Apologies, Lady Jenevier. I’ll have an attendant see to you on the morrow.” He spoke without looking up from his ardent task. “I’m not used to being around women, nor am I comfortable with having the frailer sex within the palace suites. A regrettable oversight I will see to at first light.”

She studied him closely, watching the movement of his shoulders, the set of his jaw line. She recorded it all to memory. He was extremely tall. Not compared to the Vanir, but big by human standards. His arms were exceptionally defined, sculpted from obvious years of constant training. His hair, the same raven black as was the mark of his people, yet his chosen style was much different. She wondered if he fashioned those thick locks himself. Three small braids at his temples, each pulled back, effectively containing the mass of shimmering strands flowing freely down his back. A simple red stick running through every braid pierced the hair tied at the crown of his head.

So engrossed was he with the task of her raiment, she took full advantage of his misplaced attention, noticing how long and nimble his fingers were, how accurate his movements. Hands, confident and steady.

Definite swordsman
, she thought.
These hands are graceful tools of destruction, lethal as are my own claws. I do not relish the thought of fighting this man fairly. Were we to face off, I wouldn’t wager upon the outcome. No, I shall not attack him head-on. If it comes down to it, I’ll slice his throat as he slumbers. Dead is dead, irrelevant the process. I long for his summons… yet fear it.

“Why do you bear false tongue on our first meeting, Your Grace?” she said. “Do you wish me to always name you liar? I didn’t take you for such a man. I assumed one as powerful as you would loathe deceit, praising only truth.”

Her words dripped with sarcasm but her mannerism displayed a nonchalant guise as she adjusted her curls, peering innocently at her glowing reflection.

His massive hands were now upon her shoulders, gripping painfully tight. She looked up to meet his glaring eyes within the large looking glass. There was shock mingled with rage in those deep purple orbs as he spoke through gritted teeth.

She had pushed the right button.
Very well
, she thought.
It wasn’t right that I should be the only one vexed this day.

“What did you just say?” he hissed. “How dare you name me liar to my face.”

“I would never name you liar behind your back, Emperor. That would be spineless. I am many things—spineless isn’t one of them.”

“So I gather,” he mumbled angrily.

She continued, “And I only named you liar because you prove yourself thusly by your own actions.”

He gave her shoulders a slight shake. “Speak not to me in riddles, tiny woman. They try my patience.”

“Hmm, that’s good to know.” She didn’t even try to hide her smirk. “It may prove useful in the future.”

Musashi was shocked when he caught the evil glint flashing briefly within her ethereal eyes, then disappearing.

She knew he saw. She could tell by the sharp intake of breath near her ear.

“It wasn’t a riddle,” she continued, satisfied she had his proper attention. “You confessed to being unaccustomed to having women living within these palace walls. Yet your knowledge, your precision with my attire, would suggest otherwise.” She smiled, mockingly feigning innocence. “I believe you’ve done this on numerous occasions, Milord.”

His skillful hands froze in their action.

Jenevier wished, by all that was holy, she could don Vashti’s glowing ruby eyes right now. Alas, she claimed only these alluring pink and blue pupils, the ones marking her new form. A haunting gift from her lost husband, father of her unborn child. They were a blessing and a curse… these
Angel eyes
. They were highly effective weapons. Men were so easily lost in them, good and bad alike.

Musashi proved to be no different, even though she had hoped against hope he would be. His once busy hands slid up her back, now resting lightly on the same shoulders he’d left bruises upon only moments before.

She quickly averted her gaze, hoping the spell would be broken. His hands didn’t move.

Dammit, this was not my intent.
She cursed her carelessness.

“Apologies, Milady. They tie much the same.” His voice was now soft, soothingly low as he turned her around to face him.

Mustering her courage, determined to face the ramifications caused by those damn eyes, she finally looked up. Instead of meeting his gaze, Jenevier noticed the Emperor was motioning to his own sash, expertly cinched about his thin waist. Relief washed over her as she realized she had mistaken his intent as being desirous. She couldn’t help but smile with relief, immediately wishing she had not.

“What kind of creature are you?” His words held a childlike fascination, a wonderment that terrified her. “No one else is as you upon the whole of this land. Tell me, Princess. What could one so frail and beautiful have done to a wise Shinobi wizard to haunt him so?”

She believed this was probably the kindest he would ever be toward her. So she determined to make the most of it before his ruthless Samurai side reappeared.

“I will answer you true, if you return in-kind.”

“As you wish, little rainbow. A question for a question, then. I’ve already formed the words, give me the answers I seek and I’ll withhold nothing in return.”

“The kind of creature I am, good sir, is an Angel. I was born of a woman, raised as a normal girl, trained as a warrior, and then graced with the cursed power of life and death.”

Musashi was obviously shaken by her raw, honest answer. Shock danced across his once stoic face.

“I will not lie to you, Emperor. It’s not within my nature. Ask not if you do not truly wish to know.” She crossed her arms atop her enlarged belly. “My turn. Why have you brought me here?”

“I desire the powers you wield, the ones draped about your lovely neck.”

She’d already known the answer, but hearing it spoken so plainly caused fire to course through her marrow.

“You have no part or lot in these matters, Shogun. Be careful what you wish for. Look to wisdom forged during your journey. Let it serve you now. Lean upon the lessons of your youth. Is this the battle you seek? Are you certain this is the stand you wish to make, the one you wish to draw your blades upon? Choose wisely, Emperor. Some lines are better left undrawn.”

“Wise counsel, Lady Jenevier. I will solemnly take it under advisement. And my second question,” he pressed.

She closed her eyes, sighing wearily. Relinquishing her rising anger, she slowly let it ebb away. This man carried his every emotion plainly within his breathtaking depths of lavender. The bloodthirsty Ronin was gone, only a curious man remained before her. Sending up a silent prayer for much needed help, she looked back at the ruler of this realm.

You are but a child, an abandoned little soul playing at being a warrior… and doing one hell of a job at it
, she thought.
I like the Ronin better than the man. I know how to handle a single-minded warrior on a mission. But a man, a now gentle man… Ugh.

She looked up at the ceiling, waiting impatiently for the help she had only just prayed for, hoping for a sign. Jenevier knew she didn’t have a clue how to avoid the looming disaster she could all but see coming, felt it in her bones, tingling up her spine.

She released a resigned breath. “I bound Mikage Abe from doing harm unto me,” she confessed. “It didn’t sit too well with him. I’m afraid he took great offense to it.”

Musashi’s knees wavered slightly before he regained his balance, briefly relying upon her strength. She felt the tug of his sway upon her imprisoned shoulders.

What was that? What unknown thing just washed over his essence?
She wondered at his strange reaction but could glean nothing else from his eyes.

“Second question,” she continued. “How did you come to know about my powers?”

He stiffened. Holding still his tongue, he spoke not.

“Come now, Emperor,” she coaxed. “You chose to go first. This question has already been paid for.”

He sat down upon the bench in front of her mirror, bowing a heavy head. “I know everything about you, Jenevier,” he whispered. “I’ve thought of little else since I first…” He paused.

She thought she heard him sniff. The mighty Emperor of Jinn took a deep breath, steadying his trembling shoulders before he continued.