Master of Shadows (11 page)

And she was supposed to be finding the little witch werewolf, not ogling Tristan. No wonder she’d been working for two hours now with no luck at all. She couldn’t concentrate.

Forcing her attention away from him, Belle focused her will on the charred fragment of the spell book, trying to use it to locate its creator. Despite its badly burned condition, the magic that clung to it was strong; Miranda had a great deal of power. Belle had known that from their brief encounter last month before Miranda’s frightened mother dragged the girl away.

As Belle focused her will on the book, she sensed a definite pull.

 

Miranda crawled into
bed and flopped over on her back. She knew she was going to have a hell of a time relaxing after her clash with Eddie.

A leaden depression lay over her like a fog, clinging and cold, and she didn’t know why. After all, she’d made it possible for Hannah and her children to escape an abusive bastard who regularly beat her and threatened her kids. In the process, Miranda had struck a blow against Warlock and all the others who thought women were weak and inferior. She should feel a sense of satisfaction.

But she’d also terrorized Eddie Gibson and used her magic to alter both Hannah’s mind and his. It didn’t matter that she’d had good intentions. She’d still misused her power just as her father misused his. Was she any better than Warlock if she used the same methods? Was she just an abuser, striking out against those weaker simply because she could? She . . .

Miranda froze in terror as the power brushed featherlight against her consciousness, touching her like a questing hand.

Warlock
. Her father had found her!

Driven by pure panic, Miranda reached into the Mageverse and dragged in every bit of power she could, then blasted it at the source of the magical probe.

 

“Arrgh!” Belle’s blond
head snapped back as if someone had punched her in the face. She flew out of the circle, banged into the shelves lining the opposite wall and collapsed in a heap of gold curls and white silk.

“Belle! Dammit!” Tristan leaped to his feet, charged across the circle, and dropped to one knee beside her. At least she hadn’t been driven halfway through the wall, like the last time a magical search had gone bad. And she was conscious, he saw as she stirred. Relief made his voice sharp. “I told you to keep your fucking shields up!”

She slitted her blue-gray eyes open like an irritated Siamese cat and straightened her long, deliciously bare legs. “I did. Shielded just before she hit me. You can’t find somebody and maintain a barrier against them at the same time.”

Relief gusted through him, and he sank back on his heels. “Have you ever tried?”

“Funny.” The word emerged as a groan that suggested genuine pain.

“Fix that.”

Another Siamese glare. “I was going to.” A slender hand touched her temple, and a faint golden glow danced. She sighed in relief.

“You okay otherwise?” He looked her over critically. “Nothing crispy anywhere?”

Belle laughed, which encouraged him. “No, nothing crispy. Would have been if I hadn’t shielded in time, though.” She started to sit up. He took her hand and helped, bracing his other palm against her warm, slender back to push her into a sitting position. The fact that she allowed it worried him, as did her weary slump when she was upright.

He frowned. “So Warlock has the girl?” If Belle had tangled with Warlock again, it was a miracle she hadn’t been killed.

“No, the blast came from Miranda. Same magical signature as that.” She nodded at the charred remains of the spell book.

“Then why the hell did she hit
you
?”

“God knows. Might have thought I was Warlock. I don’t think she and Daddy get along.”

“I’d wonder about her taste if they did. Gonna try again?”

“Oh, yeah. Really, reeeally carefully.”

“You sure about that?”

“What are you,
my
daddy? Yes, I’m sure. Get your brawny self out of my spell circle so I can work.”

He grinned. “Brawny?”

“Beefy? Muscle-bound?”

“I am
not
muscle-bound.” Tristan got up and stomped out of the circle, then sat down again to pick up his sword and glower.

After a moment, Belle growled, “Quit giving me that look.”

“Your eyes are closed. How can you tell what kind of look I’m giving you?”

“I can feel it burning the outside of my eyelids. It’s distracting.”

But not as distracting as you are,
Tristan thought, staring at her hungrily.

 

Half an hour
later, Belle gave up with a disgusted grumble. “That girl’s shielded tighter than a Crusader bride’s chastity belt. She is definitely not taking messages.”

“Maybe she’s got a Facebook page, like every other kid in America. We could put something on her wall.”

Her eyes lit up very briefly before she slumped. “No, she’s far too paranoid for that.”

“I was
joking
.”

“Yes, but you know how kids are about Facebook.”

“But she’s hiding from an eight-foot-tall sociopathic werewolf wizard who can call down
lightning bolts
.”

“We’re also talking about
Facebook
.”

Tristan contemplated her. “I think I need to feed you. Your blood sugar must be getting low.”

Belle snorted, rose to her feet, and stretched, reaching her slender arms toward the ceiling and arching her back. “Yes, but I’ll do the cooking. I have no taste for E coli.”

He eyed the luscious jut of her breasts. “Hey, I can cook.”

“How do you know? You haven’t eaten anything since before the Norman Conquest.”

“I’ve never had any complaints.”

“Given the infants you date, I’m not surprised. You could serve them sawdust and they’d eat it with a smile, dazzled by the swing of your broadsword.”

“What do you know about the swing of my broadsword?”

“More than I care to. Women talk.”

Which shut him up, as he started wondering who’d said what. Tristan followed Belle into the kitchen and took up a position leaning against a counter, making sure to flex his biceps periodically. He’d spotted her eying them a time or two, though she always looked away when she realized he’d caught her at it.

Belle pulled out a carving knife and went to work. She chopped leeks, carrots, and celery with skill and speed, then put them into a stock pot to sauté. Intriguing smells wafted into the air as she moved around the kitchen, all competent grace and economical movement. Lentils, chicken stock, and tomato paste joined the vegetables as she turned up the heat.

Then she reached into the refrigerator and emerged with more than a foot of the most phallic piece of meat he’d ever seen. Giving him an evil grin, Belle pulled a huge carving knife out of a wooden block bristling with blades, and brought it down on the kielbasa with a
thunk
.

“Ahh!” Instinct took over. He cupped himself protectively.

She hooted in triumph at his reaction and went on chopping up the sausage with gleeful savagery.

“You’re deadly with that thing,” he told her. “I gather you don’t let
your
infants see you with a knife.”

The humor fled her face. “No.”

Touched a sore spot there
. Tristan winced as she grimly dumped the sausage into the soup. Hoping to change the subject, he asked her how her meeting with Justice went.

She described the whole depressing incident as the soup finished cooking. “So those damned Chosen bitches have everyone convinced we killed Miranda’s parents, burned their house down, and abducted her for some nefarious purpose.”

Belle handed him a glass of that wonderful blood, and he followed her to the table. “Joy.” He paused to sip, letting the taste of her roll over his tongue. His cock promptly sat up and took notice. He reminded it of the fate of that poor kielbasa.

It didn’t seem intimidated.

“Who do you
think killed the mother?” Tristan asked.

Belle paused to sample her soup and take a bite of a crusty French loaf. “My money’s on the stepfather, that Gerald Drake character. Joelle certainly seemed afraid of him.” So much so she’d turned into a werewolf in the middle of Joan Devon’s tea party and threatened to attack Belle and Tristan if they tried to help Miranda leave.

“Wonder what happened to him.”

“He’s probably dead and magically disposed of. If he killed the mother, could be Miranda killed him.”

“Then she burned the house down and took off?” He took another slow sip, trying to make the glass last.

Belle shrugged. “All the magic I detected on the scene had the same signature as the spell book.” She poured herself a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon that was almost the same shade of red as her blood.

An unpleasant possibility occurred to Tristan. “Could Miranda have killed her mother, too?”

Belle slowly buttered a piece of bread while she thought about it. “I doubt it. She seemed to really care about Joelle. Otherwise she’d have accepted our offer to shield her from Warlock.” Unfortunately, Joelle had been vehemently against the idea, predicting that Gerald would beat her, Joelle, if Miranda left. The girl had given in.

Pointlessly, as it turned out. Joelle had ended up dead anyway.

“Nasty piece of irony there.” Tristan crossed his booted ankles and stretched out his legs to contemplate his toes. “Wonder why Miranda hasn’t tried to contact us.”

“How? She doesn’t have a focus. Her mother wouldn’t let her take one of my spell stones, so she’s got no way to reach me in the Mageverse. It’s like not having the telephone number.”

“Dammit. I wish you’d been able to slip her one of those stones. It would make life one hell of a lot easier.”

Belle snorted. “We’re Magekind. We don’t get easy.”

 

Tristan took another
one of those sensual sips. He was the only man she’d ever met who could look like he was making love just drinking from a wineglass. His lips shaped over the rim, and his eyes slid closed with an expression of pure erotic bliss. His head tilted slowly back. The overhead light gave his bright hair a glow and painted his hard profile with a rim of gold.

God, he was gorgeous.

“Quit performing cunnilingus on that glass,” Belle heard herself say. “That’s just
wrong
.”
Oh, damn. Should have kept my mouth shut.

He opened one eye. “Jealous, darling?”

“Actually, I’m wondering if I should leave you two alone.”

“You taste good.” The words emerged in a rough growl, stripped of the sarcastic sophistication of their usual banter.

To hide her erotic reaction, she gave him a sneer. “Does that line work on those Malibu Barbies you usually date?”

“It’s not a line.” Tristan stared at her, his direct gaze a bright, piercing green. He reached out to thread his hand through her hair, wrapping his strong fingers around the back of her neck. “It’s the truth. I want to taste you.” His eyes burned hypnotically into hers. Magi had no magic, but he seemed to work a spell on her just the same. “I need you.”

“You spent the last month banging every Barbie in Avalon, Tristan,” Belle said, but her tone lacked bite. “You never even gave me a hello.”

“I seem to have lost my taste for plastic. I want a woman.” He was so close to her, his lips brushed hers when he spoke. “How about you? Aren’t you tired of seducing boys?”

God, yes. How long had it been since she’d slept with a man she wasn’t afraid she’d have to kill? How long had it been since she’d been able to enjoy a touch, a kiss, without watching her partner’s eyes for signs of blood madness?

Belle wanted to make love to Tristan. She ached to touch him, to kiss him. She’d wanted it for weeks. But . . . “You cut me dead, Tristan. I spoke to you at the High Council meeting, and you wouldn’t even look at me.”

“You have too much power over me. I was trying to fight you off.” His tongue flicked out, traced the seam of her lips. “But now I’m tired of fighting. Aren’t you?”

“
Dieu,
yes.” Tired and stupid. She was being stupid. If she made love to him now, there was nothing to stop him from freezing her out again.

So what?
a mental voice demanded.
This is just sex. I have sex all the time. It means nothing.
If he decided to freeze her out again, she’d probably be too busy to notice.

Belle was a court seducer and Tristan was a Knight of the Round Table. That was duty. And duty was all there really was. Moments like this were only a brief reward.

She opened her mouth and let him inside.

God, she was good. Her lips felt exquisitely soft, and her tongue welcomed his with a seductive little curl and swirl. She tasted of spices and Cabernet and Belle, pure Belle, and she flooded his vampire senses with the smell of sandalwood and arousal.