Scala (10 page)

Dad pats his pockets. “I never can remember those things.”

“The President wants you at her office.”

“I'll be over soon.”

“She said you'd say that, and I'm supposed to accompany you. There's a car outside right now.”

Dad chuckles. “Camilla was always the only one who could out-General me.”

Cissy hitches her thumb towards the front door. “Ready to go? We can't keep the President waiting.”

“Of course.” Dad snaps his fingers. “Hey, will you two be alright on your own for a little while?”

The words ‘on your own' reverberate through my mind in odd ways. As in Lincoln and I. Alone. In this house.

Ooooooh, yeah.

Suddenly, my recent igni-shock seems a million miles away. My lust demon awakens, filling my mind with all the yummy things Lincoln and I could be doing
in a few minutes. When I speak again, my voice comes out as a high-pitched peep. “Sure.”

“Bye, then.” Dad and Cissy walk away.

For a while, Lincoln and I stand in a kind of suspended animation. At last, a click sounds as the front door closes. Dad and Cissy are gone. The two of us are alone. And we just got expert advice to take the night off.

But alone in a house with Lincoln? This brings up all the lust-demon-comfort-issues that I've been able to avoid over the last two months, mostly since Lincoln and I haven't been alone for more than five minutes.

Unlike what's happening now.

Suddenly, I realize that I've been standing around, saying nothing for quite a long time. I blurt out the first thing that comes into my head. “Hey.”

Lincoln rocks back on his heels, a crafty light in his eyes. “So, what do you want to do?”

No question, I want to kiss his face off, but I'm still not sure about this whole lust-demon thing.

“How about a tour of the new house?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

Lincoln and I stand by my bed, arms wrapped about each other, our mouths meeting in a gentle kiss. My tour of the house basically began and ended with my bedroom. No regrets, there.

Our kiss becomes slow and teasing. Every nerve ending in my body's attuned to Lincoln. The pressure of his hands. The sweet play of his tongue. The feel of his firm chest against my soft curves. It all feels real, intense, perfect. I can't help but moan.

Lincoln senses my rising desire, and it drives his heat as well. He lets out a yummy growl that makes my legs feel boneless beneath me.

Our kiss turns deep and fierce. We're together, we're alone, we're in love. Who knows what will happen next in our crazy lives? Why not take what pleasure we can, when we can? Closing my eyes, I soak in the sensation of the Lincoln's firm hands moving down my spine, the heat radiating from his palms. I suck in a shaky breath.

Warmth pools behind my eyes, which can only mean one thing: my lust demon's getting ready to take over. I'm seconds away from my irises flashing with demonic power.

Alarm bells go off in the logical part of my brain. The last time Lincoln and I hooked up, this is exactly what happened then, too. After my irises flashed red, I almost stripped down and did who-knows-what with him in a hedgerow maze.

You're heading into dangerous territory yet again, Myla.

I'm ready to put on the brakes when Lincoln nips my lower lip between his teeth. Suddenly, my inner alarm bells seem like so much nonsense. What harm
can a few kisses really do? And while I'm at it, who cares if we happen to be horizontal while they happen? Balling my hands into Lincoln's white shirt, I guide him over to my bed. Sliding across the mattress, I settle onto my back and wait.

Lincoln stands at the foot of my bed, his mismatched eyes locked with mine. His face is the picture of power and control over mounting desire. Unholy Hell, that's hot. My heart kicks harder in my chest. I twine the comforter cover in my fingers.

Come on, Lincoln. Be with me.

Bit by bit, he crawls up the mattress, careful to keep his body inches above mine. I feel his warmth radiate over my legs, my belly, and finally, my mouth. My heart thuds so hard, I'm sure it'll burst from my rib cage. Lincoln lowers his hips; the firm muscles in his waist and thighs finally press against me. My inner lust demon starts to get rowdy, but I keep her in check. Our gazes meet, and I could drink in that look all day. Rock-solid control over raw desire.

Footsteps echo down the hallway outside my bedroom. I freeze.

Crap, someone's here.

With that realization, my logical self springs back into life with a loud ‘told you so'. My lust demon fades. I lower my voice to a whisper. “Someone's outside.”

“It's Cissy. I recognize the step.” A conspiratorial gleam flickers in his mismatched eyes. “So, we'll be very quiet.”

My breathing comes low and quick. “Quiet. I can do that.” I close my eyes as he kisses my neck. “Maybe.”

Another logical realization appears in my distracted mind. Quiet or not, there isn't much separating me from unwanted visitors. I shoot a worried glance at the door. “Is it…”

“Locked? Of course.”

Heat, sense and pleasure careen through me. My lust demon roars to life again, growling how there's too way much clothing here, and not nearly enough moaning. I grit my teeth, trying to get her under control.

“Full disclosure.” I'm panting at this point. “I've never really let her out.”

Lincoln leans in, nipping my earlobe in his teeth. That's so not-helping my lust-demon-control issues. “Her who?”

“You know. Her-her.” Right now, eloquence isn't my strong suit.

Lincoln pauses, propping up his weight back onto his forearms. His gaze meets mine, his face doing that unreadable-thing. “Your lust demon?”

I nod. “Even when I'm alone, I kind of keep her on a leash. It's not easy. But with you, it'll be impossible. I think she might be really noisy and, uh, physical.”

Lincoln's mouth slowly winds into a Cheshire-cat-style grin. “Oh, I can handle noisy and physical. Don't worry.” He lowers his voice to a sexy whisper. “Do whatever you want to do. I'll follow your lead. No one will know a thing, Myla.”

My tail hovers by his collar, ready to slice the shirt right off. Man, it would be so easy. Nakedness could be ours.

Lincoln leans in close, his mouth just above mine. “In case you're wondering, I hate this shirt.” Translation: If you want to slice this off me, feel free.

The arrowhead end of my tail toys with his shirt-collar. Lincoln closes his eyes, soaking in the feel of my dragon-scale skin on the nape of his neck. Inside me, my lust demon instinct grows stronger. The drive to tear everything off him is almost irresistible.

And I can control my lust demon. Possibly.

My tail slides around to Lincoln's throat, tugging right below his chin. We're here. And all of this feels amazing. Plus, there are no guarantees about our crazy futures. Why wait? My eyes flicker red with lust.

Lincoln lowers himself on his forearms, stopping when his mouth's a breath above my own. “That's it, Myla. Set her loose.”

All right, big fella. You asked for it.

A knock sounds on my bedroom door. We freeze.

The knock repeats. Someone's here.

Aw, fuck fuck fuckity FUCK fuck.

A muffled voice sounds through the thick wooden door. “Myla?”

No question who that is. “Hi, Cissy.”

“Your Mom's been calling and calling. I have a limo waiting outside for you. We need to go to an emergency press conference. Guess who's gone public with her complaints about the Ghost Towers?”

Ugh. That would be Adair.

“Alright, Cis. Be right out.”

Lincoln gives me one last kiss before rolling off the bed. “I'm afraid I must meet your lust demon another time.”

I open my mouth, not sure what to say. On one hand, I'm colossally bummed out that Lincoln and I aren't kissing anymore. On the other hand, I can't say I'm too upset that I can keep right on avoiding my inner lust demon. Which hand is the right one?

Tough call, really.

I straighten my Scala robes and decide to worry about my lust demon later. Right now, it's time for my first serious press conference.

Cissy, Lincoln, and I sit in a limousine on our way to Adair's so-called emergency press conference. Lincoln's in a fine mood, especially since minutes ago, he almost met my inner lust demon again. He starts rolling the windows up and down, picking through the wet bar, and in general playing with every button, lever and knob in the limo. He even rolls open the skylight and stands up through it as we drive along. I pull on his pant leg.

“Down here, honey.”

He crouches over. “Wow. Not that I don't like riding Bastion, but limousines are phenomenal.”

Cissy and I exchange a look of disbelief. Sure, Lincoln lives underground in a locked-down version of the Middle Ages, but I figured he'd ridden a limo at least once before. After all, he is royalty.

“Have you ever been in a limo before?” asks Cissy.

“No, why would I?” He stands back up in the skylight.

I tug on his pant leg again. “Down here, still.”

Lincoln crouches once again. “Yeah?”

“Emergency press conference planning going on here. You need to participate.”

“Right now?” He looks so disappointed; I hate to burst his bubble.

“How about this? One of these days, we'll ride around in a limo for as long as you want. How's that for a deal?”

“I like.” Lincoln plunks back onto the seat beside me, a silly smile on his face. “Alright. Ready to focus on the emergency press conference.”

Cissy hands us each manila folders. “It's being held at the Thrax Embassy.”

Lincoln's grin melts away, along with any sense of playfulness. “I wasn't made aware of it.” He flips through the pages inside the folder. “Acca informed Father, though.” The muscles along his jawline tighten with rage.

I scan the documents myself. “Adair's formally announcing results from her investigation of the Ghost Towers tonight. What a very-very suspicious emergency, considering we're slated to find Lucifer's Orb tomorrow morning. Methinks she's trying to steal our thunder.”

The limo turns off the back roads and heads into more populated areas. Almost immediately, quasis start to fill the roadsides, holding up signs that say ‘quasi lives first' and ‘iconigration now'. The crowd boos, shakes their signs, and screams obscenities as we drive by.

I point to the window. “What's up with this? I thought we were flying under the radar with the Ghost Tower risks.”

Cissy shakes her head. “Adair's been giving speeches around the Thrax Embassy for days. Local schools, coffee houses, that kind of thing. Now, the quasi population around here is in a full-blown panic.”

My hands ball with frustration. “So, we focus on the warehouse for two days and this is what happens. Adair takes to the streets.”

“It totally sucks,” says Cissy. “But, we hardly have enough staff to cover regular Diplomatic work, let alone following around Adair.”

“I know, Cissy.” I set my palms onto my eyes. This situation bites. So. Hard. “The biggest question is what to do now?”

Cissy's mouth thins into a determined line. “We have to nail this press conference, Myla. Otherwise, Adair will use the TV, radio and print coverage to spread that same panic all over Purgatory. Have either of you done damage control in a press conference before?”

“Antrum doesn't have an independent press,” explains Lincoln. “At least, not when it comes to royalty.”

“And I've only had Scala-love interviews. Everyone's been so thrilled that I'm from Purgatory, it's been one fluff piece after another.” A pang of worry constricts my throat. How's this press conference going to work, exactly? I'm the girl who causes damage, not controls it.

We turn down onto a major street and the handful of quasis at the roadside turn into rowdy crowds. More signs. More screaming as my limo drives by. Some of my people actually hold clubs and guns above their heads. A new sign gets added into the mix: ‘Cursed Scala, Cursed Purgatory'.

Hells Bells. For the first time, I'm very-very glad Purgatory doesn't have any cell service or Internet. Otherwise, we'd already be in full-blown riot stage by now.

The limo pulls up to the Thrax Embassy, a small stone castle whose even smaller front yard is crammed with people. I count three TV vans from Purgatory alone. Hundreds of reporters and photographers jostle for position. I see folks from Antrum, the Dark Lands and even Heaven. Thousands of protestors line the streets. My heart sinks to my toes. The situation's already veering dangerously out of control.

Cissy curls her fingers around the door handle. “Here's the drill. Adair will make her announcement. After that, Myla will say a few words. Lincoln, Xavier, Camilla and I will be on-stage for backup.” She looks me over and frowns. “Maybe it's better if Camilla spoke, instead. You've never done anything like this before, Myla.”

“True enough.” I rub my chin, considering. Cissy's right. Mom does damage control all the time. She could easily take this press conference, too. I picture myself standing at the back of the stage, looking goddess-like while Mom works the crowd. Some of the anxiety eases from my neck and shoulders. That could totally work.

“You really think Mom can do it?”

“Oh yeah,” replies Cissy. “I mean, she knows Soul Processing as well as you do, right?”

Wrong. The tension returneth.

“No, Mom's had enough to do without learning my job, too.” Worry settles back onto my shoulders, heavy as stones. “No, Cis. I'm the Great Scala and this is my responsibility.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sure, I'm sure.”
Total lie.

“Okay,” says Cissy. “We're on.” She pushes the door open and steps out first. The crowd on the Embassy lawn goes crazy. Two lines of Purgatory police in black riot gear hold back the mob on either side of us, creating a makeshift aisle to the front door. Dozens of flash bulbs go off in my face. Everyone yells questions at once. It's an assault without weapons, and that awakens my inner wrath demon. I snap into battle-mode, my mind quickly running through strategies galore. My next step instantly becomes clear.